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amphiptere-art · 18 days

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Safe waves.

Chapter 6

Moon watched with quite a bit of suspicion as the humans behind the glass increased. It was not common that there was humans behind there. Sometimes he would see the humans called Molly or Samantha there. A lot of the time it was the white coats. It made him snarl. But this time there was quite a bit more. An assortment of people wearing similar things to Molly and the white coats. Some are quite different.

Sun had also noticed. Although he was antsy for different reasons. Both of them had gotten somewhat comfortable in this new tank? The humans here called it an enclosure. They still weren't quite comfortable calling what they had thought was an arena their new tank or enclosure. Sun even more so. And with all the people crowding around. It really started to feel like an arena.

Sun had even attempted to push him down into the hole. But Moon had gotten bored after an hour of waiting. Sun explained to him that the human stopped whatever they were doing when Moon left. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He wasn't a fighter. At this point Sun was convinced he was going into a fight.

Both of them kept their eyes wandering to the two potential doors. They were so discreetly hidden they were still unsure if they were doors. But it was the closest things. Sun kept pacing between the two. Sun had convinced him to stay hidden behind a couple of coral higher up on one of the huge pebbles. He kept his eyes close on the potential larger door.

He watched in his peripherals as the humans finally started to relax. All of them standing at attention. It made him more nervous. Sun seemed to compound in his nervousness. He watched as Sun tracked their eyes towards the big door. Instantly swimming over and curling around himself in his defensive posture. Spines ready to prickle if the other advancer were to charge. Moon himself geared to dash. The big hole was just below this giant pebble. It would be so easy to hide.

Both of them startled as the big door moved. It slid out to the sides. He could hear Sun hiss. He himself melted into the coral. Wishing not to be seen. As the door opened sure enough there was a mer there. Both of them tensing even further as they spotted them. Sun snarled. Fin's bristling ready for an attack.

But nothing happened. Instead the mer just sat there. Waving their tail idly to stay afloat. Sun stared at him for quite some bit. Neither one of them really moving. Then Sun dashed forward. Intending to circle and get behind by how he curved. Only to smack into a wall. It took him a couple seconds to calculate that there was somehow a glass door. Sun themselves was left sputtering. Attempting to compile themselves after the surprise.

The other mer also finally moved. They seem to attempt to approach his brother as best they could behind the glass door. Moon couldn't help feel that they looked worried. With his panic somewhat subdued. He finally got a good look at the mer. They were a seal type mer. They mostly were a lighter orange ish brown. With red speckling here and there. They're underbelly had a speckling of blue. Falling up their neck and on to their muzzle. Almost outlining their eyes.

He was caught off guard as the mer tried to speak. It was weird. It definitely felt like talking. But it was different. Sun shared the same sentiment as He gave the mer the most confused look. The mer then made another noise that sounded like talking. Different from the first but still not quite recognizable. Sun looked back at him absolutely confused. Moon got up a bit more. The extra barrier from the glass door making him more comfortable. But still he was so confused.

Moon: “Are they trying to talk?"

Sun: “I don't know. It sounds all funny."

Freddy: “Do you understand me now?"

Both of them whipped back to the stranger. The stranger clearly startled by how fast they turned to him. Although they relax and wave one of their hands. A smile growing on their face. He and Sun just continue to stare with utmost confusion.

Freddy: “Well I'm assuming with that reaction you can hear me. Hello! I'm Freddy. What's your names?"

Freddy seemed to be patient with them. As both he and Sun were speechless. Both of them had never really spoken with another mer. Sometimes they would hear words at the arena. But it was mostly growls and insults. They both didn't quite know what to do with a person who is just being so…Open? The Moon wasn't sure how to describe it. His brother though decided to play into those old rules of the arena. Letting out a low growl and snapping at the glass.

Sun: “Names don't matter! What are you going to do?"

Freddy: “Nothing! I'm not going to do anything. Not that I can. If there's glass between us.”

Sun: "I get that, I don't care! What were you going to do before you figured that out?!

Freddy: “Before I figured it out? Nothing still. I just want to say hi to my new neighbors and potential friends."

Sun attempted to look back at him. Only to quickly realize he had moved. Ignoring the low warning hiss from his brother. Moon swam closer to another giant pebble. As far as he could reason. The stranger couldn't get to him. So he was safe to move up closer so he could hear the other mer more clearly. He stuck his tongue out towards his brother. Clearly not wanting to listen to what might be an argument about safety. He didn't really care how much of a know how on mer his brother was. It was hard to hear from that distance.

His brother made a disgruntled noise. Although he moved over towards his brother. Arcing above him defensively. Still giving the stranger a death stare. Moon looked at the stranger more curiously. This one wasn't immediately aggressive like the others. Talking about “neighbors” and “friends”. He had only heard mer be called mer and enemies. Sometimes fish or fry. Some people call him a shark. He was genuinely curious what they meant.

Moon: “What's a neighbor?"

Sun: “Yes! You're speaking nonsense! Is friend just a weird way of saying enemy?!"

Freddy: “No no. Friend is like.. Ah. Somebody you like? Somebody you trust. Neighbor means somebody that lives by you. In the nearby area."

Sun: “So what? You're just saying hi to the ones that share a arena? No one does that?!"

Freddy: “Well this isn't exactly an arena. This is an enclosure. We do things differently here."

Moon: “You do things differently? Isn't this just a bigger tank?"

Sun: “Yah! What do you mean you do things differently?"

Freddy: “Well I mean. I don't know too much about you. But we definitely don't work like an arena. No one's supposed to attack each other here.”

Sun: "Then what's with the doors?”

Freddy: "The doors? They're just a way to keep places sectioned off. Able to open it so those different sections can temporarily be connected.”

Moon: "So they're just openings that can close?"

Freddy: “I suppose that's one way to put it."

Sun: "But when they always open a door I was supposed to attack the mer on the other side? Why are these doors so different.”

Freddy: "Like I said, It's because we do things differently here. Doors can be used for a lot of things. But the simplest thing is that they are opening that can close. Whatever happens between that door isn't connected to the door itself.”

Sun: "So you're saying that every door doesn't lead to an enemy?”

Freddy: "Exactly! Sometimes they can lead to food. Sometimes they can just lead you to another place. They do a lot of things.”

Moon: "I didn't know that."

Sun: “So you aren't going to attack me?"

Freddy: "No. And no one here will ever plan to attack you."

Moon: "What are you called again?”

Freddy: "My name's Freddy! Do you guys have names?”

Moon: "Which one?’

Freddy: “Um. The one you like better?"

Sun: “The humans here call me Sun. Much shorter than my other name."

Moon: “Molly called me moon."

Freddy: “What was your other names if I must ask?"

Sun: “Burning fire!"

Moon: “MD034."

Freddy: "Oh… Well it's nice to meet you Sun and Moon. Is there anything you want to ask me? I know lots about this place!”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Francis let out a sigh of relief as Freddy came back. Hearing as Molly and Samantha ran off to go celebrate and probably give treats to their mers. The meeting had gone well. It was clear from Francis's view the sunny mer was a tad more aggressive. Hell he had attacked the glass. But in the end the blue one had calmed down their sibling and the rest of it went without a hitch.

Freddy swam up to the platform easily. Sliding up halfway and giving a honk. He came up and quickly gave them a fish as a reward. Allowing them to chow down their food before asking some questions. Eternally very thankful that Freddie not only knew sign language. But multiple mer language. He might be one of the few that can't ever be released into the wild. But sometimes it honestly helped with the ones that should.

Francis: “So how did it go Freddy? I looked a little bit scary at the beginning."

Freddy: *Only little. Thought doors led to hurt.

Francis: “They thought the door led to hurt?"

Freddy: *Door lead to enemy. But it okay now. I told them no*

Francis: "Oh. That's nice to know for the future. Anything else I should know?”

Freddy: *Their vocabulary small. Thought outcropping was giant rock. Called den a hole.*

Francis: “Oh did they? I mean if they thought a door always led to enemies I guess that makes sense. You can probably help them learn more words though right?"

Freddy: *Yes. I will help teach. They learn some words from humans though. Figured out word for kelp. Called it long hard algae before.*

Francis :“Well.. ha. I'm sure I can tell Molly and Samantha to explain things a little bit more. Do they like their handlers?”

Freddy: *Sun likes Samantha. Said fun. Moon more weary. Uses name though. They call humans by color of clothes. Hate the white coats.*

Francis: “Well at least that sounds good. Even if Moon isn't quite there. They hate white coats? Like scientists and doctors?”

Freddy: *Yes. Moon called evil. Sun call steelers. Scared of pain and separation.*

Francis: “Poor fellas. Moon needs to see a doctor though. Did he seem to have any pain?"

Freddy: *Asked. Said just achy. Said likes bubbles. Help breathe.*

Francis: “So he does have a hard time breathing. Molly was right. At least he's not expressing terrible pain about his missing fin.”

Freddy: *That was sad.*

Francis: " Yeah I guess it is sad. He's missing an integral part of himself.”

Freddy: *Struggle to swim. Stayed on outcropping. You have fix soon?*

Francis: "That depends on when Moon likes Molly enough to let them see a doctor. We have a couple of test ideas though. Nothing finite until we see though.”

Freddy: *I teach white coats good and do sooner?*

Francis: “Maybe yeah. Probably will help. Is there any other color differences I should know? Might actually be best if we send a doctor in with different clothing."

Freddy: *Not like black either. Associated with arena. Said purple and orange unique and so far good. Don't like coat. Said shirts are better.*

Francis: “well thank you for all this information my friend. I'm sure this will help Moon go to a doctor sooner, And hopefully make it less stressful. Will probably have meetings like this more often.”

Freddy: *With less people?*

Francis: " With less people? I mean it probably will have less. But we have to watch to make sure you don't get hurt.”

Freddy: *Sun was scared. Saw audience like arena.*

Francis: “Oh. We will definitely keep the audience to a down low then. Will keep them on this side of the tank.”

Freddy: *Thank you. I go now?*

Francis: “Yes yes you can leave Freddy.”

Francis sat up as Freddy swam off. Waiting patiently by the metal gate so that the two sections of the bigger enclosure could be united. The doors to the quarantine enclosure shutting once again. He watched as the other Murs joined Freddy. Chica seeming to chat up a storm while Roxy and Monty simply hung around to listen. Roxy even seeming to preen her fins as if she was next in line to meet the newcomers.

It probably wouldn't be a bad idea to introduce every mer behind the glass door before a true introduction was attempted. Francis nodded to himself as he left the enclosure. Closing the door behind him. Everyone wanted to ask him what Freddy said. And he of course shared everything he could.

Explaining that they didn't have a deep understanding of everything around them. That they had specific colors for specific classes of bad. Explaining that he was planning to have Freddy meet them more often to help fill in their gaps of knowledge and make a greater impression. He hoped that with this intimate knowledge Freddy could offer. That hopefully those two could recover quickly and head back to the ocean where they belonged.

#Safe Waves #fnaf au #fnaf dca au #fnaf daycare attendant #dca au #fnaf daycare au #mer au #mermay #mer sun #mer moon

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luveline · 2 years

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a special friend, part 8 | fred weasley x reader

summary fred does your laundry, negotiates your diet and gets invested in arts and crafts [5.1k]

warmings fluff, hurt/comfort, mental health issues, implied/referenced self-harm, issues with eating/ disordered eating, body image, she/her pronouns used for reader, fem reader

chapter list here

Fred's pale hand was flecked with purple, drowned in red. The split skin of his knuckles looked sore, crimson and tender. Despite this, he allowed you to kiss them whenever you fancied, hands held to your mouth on the sofa. You were doing so, kissing the skin gently before getting distracted by the TV and pausing with your lips pressed there. When you remembered periodically that they were, in fact, his hands, you would dole out another soft peck.

"It'll get infected," he finally broke the silence to whisper, having been facing you whilst you watched TV.

You dropped your gaze to glance down at his hands. You let his hands go with a guilty smile on your face. "Sorry, Freddie."

"S'okay, sweetheart," he pushed his fingers between yours, "truth be told, I don't think I'd mind so much."

He suspected if he pressed his hand to your cheek he'd find it warmed. You nestled the top of your head into his arm and sighed happily.

"I love you," you told him, voice hardly discernible from the hum of the flat.

"I love you," he replied, pulling you flush against his chest.

Fred woke up before you and found himself betraying your trust. He stretched, slunk off of his lumpy mattress and out of your shared warmth to fiddle with the finicky drawstring of the windows blinds. Dull, grey light poured into the room and coloured your skin.

He looked at your sleeping body and felt a mixture of content and worry. He was always worrying about you, of course, but this worry was worse because it was threaded tightly with guilt.

Your face had shown clear signs of distress last night - and what was worse, you'd gone quiet, non-verbal, not for long but enough to worry he'd erased any progress you'd made over time with a split-second decision. He flexed his aching knuckles, sitting at the end of the bed by your feet, pushing his hand over your soft calf sticking out of the duvet.

He pulled back the sheets, careful not to wake you. Felt as though he were being a massive pervert, and if he wasn't this might still be an invasion of privacy.

You were lying on your side in your underwear and a t-shirt, your own for once. The t-shirt had ridden up to show the flesh of your tummy. He withheld the urge to lean down and kiss your naked skin and instead pushed his head flat to the fitted sheet to peek at the skin of your thigh.

Nothing new.

He sighed and pulled away, tugging the sheets back over you. You huffed, eyes screwed shut at the sound.

He'd made two twin cups of tea before you appeared in the kitchen, his jogging bottoms low on your hips. The toaster popped and his attention was forced away from you, though he listened keenly to your tired sighs and the edges of a yawn, covered by your hand.

"What do you want on your toast, baby?" he asked softly, already feeling lovesick.

You hid your eyes with your hand and looked down at the rugged table, thinking. He pulled out a rich raspberry jam, sweet orange marmalade and the small, sticky jar of honey he kept around for you in the cupboard and set them in front of you with a butter knife and a teaspoon before making his own toast.

"Freddie?"

"What?" he asked, scratching absentmindedly at his neck, feeling the heat from the toaster rise to kiss his face.

"How's your hand?"

He popped the toaster early and the bread got stuck. Cursing, he poked at the sides with a knife and held the bruised hand up over his shoulder for you to look at.

"Can I heal it?"

Fred put his slice of brown bread out on a small plate, the edges burned. He balanced the plate and the tea in his hands and hurried to sit across from you. You hadn't touched your food. "Ghost!" he protested. He spread a thick layer of honey over your toast.

He'd managed to butter and jam his own before you asked again.

"It's honestly fine,” he replied, mouth full of bread.

You leaned forward to catch his bruised hand. He moved out of your grasp, jam slipping down his freckled fingers like blood.

"Ghost," he said again, laughing, licking his hand. "Eat your breakfast and I'll let you do whatever you want."

"Whatever? As in anything?"

"You are the most insatiable girl I've ever met, you know that? You're constant," he teased.

You flushed and swallowed your bite of toast, quick to explain yourself. "I didn't mean it like that," you mumbled.

"So I imagined your tone?"

"Fred, it's so early. Too early for this."

"That's what I thought, too!"

You really hadn't meant anything by it and he knew that. He liked how you looked when you were arguing with him over these silly things - eyes bright, smiling like you couldn't help it. His expression mirrored your own and you were still going when he washed the dishes.

"I'm not that bad."

"You're a nymph."

"Am I really so terrible?" you asked, leaning backwards on the countertop to grin at him.

"I lived in a dormitory for seven years with teenage boys and you're actually worse."

"By extension," you said, nudging him with your arm, "you're as bad as me."

"I won't argue with that," he said. He set the last plate on the drying rack and turned around to rub his wet hands on your arms.

"Charming," you mumbled, wiping the wet from your skin.

Knowing he could go back to bed and take you with him was almost enough to tempt Fred. Instead, he searched through his room for your dirty clothes. You were mumbling about something you'd read in your latest novel whilst he was doing his best to listen, cleaning half-heartedly as he went. You were passionately incensed about the newest development in your story, standing in the middle of the room while he skirted around you, pressing your dirty socks and one of his musty smelling shirts into the washing basket on your hip.

You blushed when he dropped a pair of your underwear into the basket.

"I'd wondered where they went."

"I like those ones," he said in turn.

You filled the washing machine and he finished squaring up his room the best he could. Your stuff was everywhere at this point, nail polish on the bedside table, cleaner clothes on his desk chair, toiletries in a fabric wash bag on the floor beside his wardrobe. He'd learned a while ago there was too much stuff to organise.

You shed his too long jogging bottoms at the end of his bed and crawled back under his sheets, eyeing him up.

"Thought it was too early?"

You shrugged. "If you don't want to," you said, hand disappearing under the sheets, moving in circles. He pulled them back and found you twisting your fingers in the elastic of your underwear. "Got you. Eager much?"

He stole your hand and pressed them flat over your tummy firmly, leaning down to chase your mouth with his. "What's gotten into you?"

"Not you."

"Oh my god," he said against your mouth. Your lips were soft under his. He gave you three quick kisses and pulled away. "Did you wake up this bad or did my domesticity turn you on?"

"Definitely the domesticity. Nothing gets a girl going like watching her boyfriend do the dishes."

"I always do the dishes."

"Exactly," you exclaimed, bursting into giggles. You lay down heavily into his pillow and brought your hands to cradle his face. He liked the feeling of your palms against his cheeks. "You're quite handsome, too."

He stopped holding his weight off of you and found his chest pressed to your chest, his stomach against your hip. Your lashes fluttered like the fast wing of a river dragonfly and your lips parted delicately.

"This is a horrible angle for me," you moaned.

He disagreed wholeheartedly. "On the contrary, you've never looked so lovely."

"You're a biased party."

"An infatuated party, I'd say. Smile for me?"

"I'm not in the mood now. Get off,” you joked, giving him a very small smile.

He laid by your side with his hip against yours. You both looked at the ceiling, a landscape of white peaks.

"Reckon there's asbestos up there?" he asked, squeezing your twined fingers.

"Worse. Wizard asbestos."

“Wizard asbestos,” he said, overcome with fondness. He brought your joined hands together and kissed your knuckles. “Deadly.”

It was an uphill battle.

Fred had started buying you things. He'd always been generous, but he was ramping it up. The shop did well, you were paid well — you didn't need gifts all the time and you told him this.

Genuinely perplexed, honestly, he said. "Well, what do I do with it all?" You knew he wasn't being arrogant.

"Start saving?" you suggested.

"For what?"

"Well, what do people our age save for?"

"Houses," he said, like this was preposterous. And yet he listened. You didn't miss the constant barrage of sweets and books and things, though it had been lovely, you had trouble accepting gifts. It was more a gift to be left out of his spending habits.

Still, every Sunday he went out early in the morning (to your protest) for milk and fresh bread and, every time, something for you.

Every now and then there would be a fashion magazine or something. Always with a title about how to build your own confidence, how to feel good in your skin. He was a charming idiot.

You read them to make him feel good, though you'd rather crawl into his lap and talk nonsense at him. He was doing something responsible for once, balancing books and expenses and things you were no good with while you sat on the other end of the sofa, flicking through glossy pages covered in models with perfect skin, tips on how to get a man, tips on how to keep him.

The advert was small, a tenth of a page.

"Mandy isn't pretty, but she could be." It was a weight loss ad. Mandy didn't look any different to you.

You felt mildly sick as you read through it. Mandy is pretty, you thought to yourself. Wasn't she?

You peeked over the page to see what Fred was doing. He was on the edge of the sofa, bent over the coffee table with his shirt sleeves rolled up, fingertips stained with ink, scratching away at a piece of parchment. You'd meant to buy him a notebook and biro a million times by now.

You slunk down behind the magazine and brought the edges closer to you.

The magazine was very clear. Mandy's weight was undesirable.

You bit down on the inside of your lip.

Fred squeezed the curve of your foot. "Anything interesting?"

"No," you said lightly. "Nothing."

Later, you sat in front of Fred's floor length mirror with your knees up and analysed yourself.

You didn't know what to think. Maybe you could lose weight, but should you? Fred didn't like when you didn't eat. He would notice quickly, and he would worry.

But did he only worry because you did it irresponsibly? Maybe he would like it if you lost weight. And maybe you should. You turned sideways and looked at the roundness of your tummy.

"Ghost?"

You covered the bottom of your face with faked disinterest and turned to him, pinky touching one corner of your mouth and marriage the other. "Hm?"

"What are you doing?"

Too smart for his own good. "Nothing," you said. He stood in the doorway, eyes downturned. You turned away from the mirror completely. "S'just thinking."

"About what?" he asked, sitting on the end of the bed.

You pushed your legs down flat. "Nothing, Freddie. Really."

You knew he wanted to keep prompting, keep asking, wouldn't stop until he knew what it was. But he'd gotten really good at trusting you to do what was good for you. You'd gotten really good at breaking that trust.

It was his silence that got you. He was giving you privacy and you were using it maliciously.

"Do you think…" you pushed your hands under your legs and couldn't get the words out.

"What, baby?" he asked. If he knew the power he had over you when he used his softest voice he didn't show it, waiting patiently for you to begin again.

You couldn't look at him as you asked. "Do you think I need to lose weight?"

"No," he said, so quickly you were startled into looking at him. "Do you?"

"I don't know."

He pushed back on the bed just enough to accommodate you and held his arms out. You got onto your knees and pushed up into his arms. He leaned down to receive you, heaving you up into his lap. You wrapped your arms around his chest before he could around yours, forcing him to go over your shoulders.

He huffed. You sighed. His hands pushed you deeper into his hold, cheek pushed against the top of your head.

"What made you think about that?" he asked quietly.

"Nothing."

"Was it me?"

"No, Fred."

"Are you sure?"

You tightened your arms around his chest. "Swears."

You were content to stay in his arms forever, drifting. He swayed you from side to side so gently you almost didn't notice. You really would've fallen asleep in his arms if he hadn't winced.

"It was that fucking magazine."

Your silence confirmed it.

"So it was me."

"It wasn't you," you murmured. "Freddie."

He pulled back to push the hair from your face. "I don't want you to lose weight. I don't want you to read that stupid magazine again, either, though both are up to you. But, baby," again, baby, so sweet it made you want to cry, "you don't need to change anything about yourself."

You wanted to believe him.

You looked at your arms in the light one morning and thought, oh. The next, your legs getting out of the shower. You'd always been prone to the insecurity that came with being a young woman, worse one who hated herself more than the average. But, but, but — Mandy isn't pretty, but she could be.

She could be.

You wore a hoodie to work. Not your usual. It was just cold enough to get away with. You skipped breakfast in the morning citing a bone deep nausea and Fred didn't believe it for a second. During the lunch break he sat on the countertop next to the till and you sat on the stool, kicking your feet as he talked about nothing. You loved when he talked, truly, but your mind really wasn't in it that day.

He'd procured a big tangerine, the kind you'd only find at the Christmas markets. You had no clue where he found it or where he'd been keeping it. The smell of citrus burst into the air, pith and tang, something sweet at the ends. You watched his fine hands as he peeled the skin away, watched the tendons jump in his arms, the bones in his fingers, his bruised knuckles which faded more and more each day.

"It'll be a warm summer," he said, looking up to see what you were doing. You looked from his hands in embarrassment and traced your eyes over the left wall of the shop instead.

Fred used the barest pressure on your cheek, the very tip of his finger, to encourage your face back to his. He smiled at you kindly. "You okay?"

"I'm fine," you said.

He dragged his finger down your chin softly before returning to his diligent peeling. Once he'd removed all the skin he began pulling the white stringy pith off of each slice. You were mesmerised and confused. You'd seen him eat a tangerine in three bites, pith or no pith.

"I was thinking we'd make a little magic fan that sprays water on you when it's warm. That'd do well, do you think?" he asked you without looking up.

He broke the tangerine in half and set one on top of the skin lying on his thigh.

"It sounds like a good idea," you said, leaning forward to scratch what looked like paint off of the knee of his jeans.

He carefully picked away the white insides of a slice until all that remained was a very perfect segment of tangerine.

"Here," he said, holding it out to you. "And," he jumped back in, "they'd be pretty easy to mass produce. We'd source the fans somewhere else. All we'd need is a tank modification and a little bit of piping, and the charm. Ghost, take the orange."

You faltered. He visibly withered, tilting his head.

"I'm not above baby-birding you."

You sighed and took the orange. He waited until you'd actually put it in your mouth and started chewing before he started talking again. You loved him, but you weren't sure you could eat food he'd chewed up first.

"The spell work wouldn't be so hard, I don't think. A temperature sensor, a timer. Something to persuade the water up, like a cohesion spell. There, wasn't that nice?"

You swallowed and scowled at him.

"Don't patronise me," you muttered.

"I'm not patronising."

"You're – parenting me."

"I'm feeding you. It's actually a very common boyfriend duty. Especially if you won't do it yourself," he said, the last part heavy weighted.

He passed you a second and third segment.

"You won't eat any?" you asked him.

He raised his eyebrows. "Sure, I'll eat some. You eat two of these and I'll eat one."

"That's not fair."

"I had breakfast and you didn't."

"I was feeling sick."

"Come on, Ghost. Please don't lie to me."

You looked down at the floor. "Sorry."

"Will you…" he set another naked slice on his leg and sighed, "can we talk about it? Please. Before you start hurting yourself."

You flinched and looked up at him with wide eyes. "Fred, I'm not."

"What, you think not eating is going to be all daisies and dreamscapes?" he said, though he said it gently. "You're smarter than that."

"But I'm not cutting," you said, the word a foreign object in your mouth.

His expression saddened but he looked up at you and smiled. "I know that, lovely girl. And I'm-" he caught your face in his hand, smelling sharply of citrus, "-I'm so proud of you for it. But if you stop eating, that's replacing one hurt for another."

His thumb pressed into your skin, slid over your cheekbone. You felt tears well up in your eyes, your throat burning, at the tenderness with which he touched you, worse the tenderness he treated you with in his words.

"I didn't eat at school," you argued weakly, knowing you'd already lost.

"And look how sick you were, sweetheart. You were so tired, always so tired, and there was-" he paused again like he was, his eyes on your eyes. “You have life in your eyes, colour in your face. I know this is really hard and that I'm always asking you for things, but I need to ask you to keep eating properly. And you have to say you will."

He waited for your answer. You nodded, a lone tear being forced from your eyelashes. He wiped it away and sighed.

"I'm sorry, Ghost. I know you're always struggling," he said.

You shook your head, putting your hand over his.

"I'm not. I'm not," you repeated, rushed, "Things are better. I'm happy," you said, and it wasn't a lie. He didn’t smile — he had this look on his face, sometimes like he’d look at you when you were in school. Like he wasn’t sure he could fix this anymore. It made you feel sick. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said, his hand moving to your neck. He pushed his fingers under the material of your hoodie and smoothed down the hair at the back of your neck. “You don’t have to be.”

"I'll do whatever you want me to," you said.

"I know," he said, pulling his hand away. "That's what worries me."

He passed you the last of the orange and you ate it fast. It tasted like nothing.

"You have to eat now," you insisted after a second. He rolled his eyes and did as you asked. When he kissed you on the forehead he smelled so much like oranges you could've confused him for an orchard, his fingers sticky with drops of juice.

Standing with his hands on your shoulders he looked over the shop and smiled to himself.

"You did it," you said happily.

"Hm?" He looked down at you, distracted.

"You both did it. I know you don't need me to tell you, but you did it."

"Did what?" he asked, looking charmed.

"The shop, the tricks. A new age of magic jokes. Well done, baby," you said, pet name a whisper in shyness. "I knew you could."

He laughed, familiar and big and bright, scooping his arm around your face to press his nose into the side of your head.

"Not without you," he said. You highly doubted that.

George emerged from the upstairs, gagged loudly and covered his face with his hands.

"Fred, get a grip," he demanded.

"Don't be jealous," Fred said, standing back to full height though his hands remained, one flat against your collarbone and the other on your shoulder.

"How dare you insinuate such a thing. I'm an engaged man."

"You are not!" you said, gasping.

"Okay, I'm not," George said, putting his ring of keys down on the counter where Fred had been sitting earlier. "But I will be."

"What?" you asked, standing up from the stool so quickly you ended up stepping on Fred's shoe. He pushed you off of his appendage and sighed.

"What a way to tell her," Fred said, and then to you. "Georgie bought a ring."

"You didn't!"

"I did," George said, grinning.

"Oh my god!" you called, and then threw yourself at him. George chuckled and patted your head as you tried to squeeze the life out of him. You pulled back and laughed, delighted. "George! That's amazing!"

"I know! Thank you, ghostie."

You nodded. "Can I see it?"

He wheeled his fingers into his back pocket and pulled out the box. You couldn't help it – you gasped again. "You're carrying it around?"

"No, no, I just took it to show Mum."

"What did she say?" you asked. Before he could respond he'd opened the box and you'd almost shrieked. "George!"

The ring was beautiful, sparkling and silvery and magical, like something a princess would wear. He encouraged you to hold the box and you took it from him, turning it in the light.

"Mum likes it."

"Likes it," Fred repeated, rolling his eyes. "She more than likes it." There was something in his tone.

George smirked. "Mum wants Fred to-"

Fred stepped on his foot, hard, and the three of you sprang apart to avoid anymore injuries. "Mum wants George," Fred said loudly, "to be less of a dickhead."

"As if she doesn't know," George said.

"Know what?"

They both looked at you, Fred with an abundance of nerves and George like it was the funniest thing a person could ever say.

"Well, she wants Fred to get married too."

Fred stepped in front of his brother. "She's wanted all of her kids to get married as soon as they can walk,” he said, hand in between you both like you would bite him. You were so weirdly excited that you might've. "You know, it's-"

"Well, she did offer me your gran's dress, you remember?" you cut him off, looking at George for approval of your joke.

George let out a chesty chuckle. "I'd pay to see you in that."

"You're not wearing my gran's dress at our wedding," he protested loudly, and then bit his tongue.

You blushed as madly as a girl could, then, and smiled more than any girl ever should smile, turning to the till to mess with the buttons in an approximation of somebody busy. You then neatened up the edges of the mail order forms.

"Alright, Fred, no need for the dramatics," you teased. Said a little softer, "I'll wear whatever."

"And you'd look good in whatever!" George proclaimed greatly, putting the ring box back in his pocket. "I've some ideas, if you're looking."

"Lay them on me," you heeded.

"A clown suit, a doctor's uniform. An inflatable dolphin costume. Oh, Ronald's yule ball dress robes are mouldering away in the burrow attic, those would look particularly endearing."

Fred took a moment to come into himself, and then glared at his twin with the force of a thousand suns. "You'd wear them yourself if you were a good brother."

George began walking toward the front of the shop. "I never claimed to be any such thing."

Fred looked at you apologetically. You shook your head to stop from splitting your face with the force of your smile. "I'm not wearing a dolphin costume," you said. "No matter how much you want me to."

He stepped into your space. You peered up at him and worried he'd see the heat rising from your face at your pleasure and embarrassment. His own face was a little more red than usual.

"You're blushing," you said.

He covered his face with his hands. "Am not."

You wrapped your fingers carefully around his wrists and pulled them away from his face, leaning up on your tiptoes. He quickly moved his arms to wrap around your back and hold you up, always so considerate.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and put your face in his chest.

"When you marry me," he said, words cautious and scared but underlain with fondness, "it won't be in my grandma's dress. Let's get that clear."

"It's clear," you murmured, nestling your nose into his chest. He leaned heavily forward until his hair fell into his face and your back was bending, the both of you smiling.

"Or a dolphin costume," he added dryly.

You kissed his neck, felt him tip you back further.

"What are you doing?" you asked him.

"I'm practicing my dip," he said seriously.

"You're forgetting a crucial part."

"What am I forgetting?"

"The kiss," you whispered, hand pressed over his chest.

He leaned down slowly and kissed you slower, long seconds of his soft mouth over yours. A firmness that even now had you alight, a hand open between your shoulder blades.

"Think it's acceptable?" he asked, pulling back.

You barely opened your eyes and shook your head. "No, it's awful. You need practice."

"Oh, I do?" he asked, skeptical but grinning. You shut your eyes expectantly. He came forward again. You felt the sound of his words against your lips as he spoke. "Awful, really? Might need lots and lots of practice, in that case."

You didn't answer, only pulled his head toward you and kissed him eagerly, lips parting to deepen it, feeling a little curl of love as he moaned into your mouth.

Yeah, you were more than up for some practice.

You did as he asked, like usual, and ate as properly you could. The stupid magazine advert floated around your head for days, and sometimes a mouthful of food made you nauseous, made you worry you'd end up less pretty than you could be.

Fred flung the magazine in the rubbish and apologised again for it. "I know you don't even like that rubbish, I just wanted to do something for you."

You rushed to save his feelings. "I did like the magazine," you said. You weren't fully lying, a small white one at most. "I did. They're fun."

"Oh," he said. "Well, I'm still sorry. I didn't think they were riddled with, like, subconscious messaging. Or less subconscious, actually."

You shrugged your shoulders and the conversation moved on, but that Sunday he came in from the shops and went straight into the kitchen. You lounged on the sofa and waited for him to come back with the usual tea he'd bring out, flicking through the TV channels with the volume low. You heard the drawers go, heard the kettle click off. Time stretched and he still hadn‘t returned.

"Fred?" you called.

"Two seconds, my love!"

You repeated my love under your breath until he emerged with the tea and a newspaper, as well as a magazine. You took the tea first and eyed the glossy magazine. You sipped. It was a little cold. "I thought you were anti-magazine these days."

He rolled his eyes, wincing as he sipped his own tea. He warmed your mug with a charm said quietly and turned to his newspaper. "I'm against any media that messes with my girlfriend's pretty head, but you said you liked the magazines, so."

You took a warmer sip of tea and turned the first page of your magazine. Fred pulled your foot into his lap and played with the elastic of your sock, and you both enjoyed the other’s company in silence while the TV played a movie you'd seen before.

You turned to the next page, and the next, and then found a section missing, like it had been cut away from the paper.

You looked over the top at Fred. He was watching the telly with his tea against his chest, and when he felt your gaze he turned to you quizzically.

"What?"

You didn't say anything, turning to another page. Intact. Another – a section missing.

"The magazine's defective," you said, though you had a growing suspicion it wasn't the magazine's fault.

He smiled. "How weird."

You turned to the contents page and read the missing sections names. Weight loss tips, an article on how to look skinnier, a section on what boys don't find attractive. He'd cut them all out.

You put your cup of tea down on the coffee table, took a great big intake of breath and shut the magazine over your chest. Fred smiled nervously at you.

Yeah, you'd marry him. In his gran's dress or a dolphin costume or whatever he wanted, you decided, right there and then.

You smiled at him and watched as his expression relaxed, his hand smoothing up the length of your leg. You didn't have a clue what you could say then that would convince him of the depth of your affection, so you held out your hand. He gave his quickly and you brought it to your lips, adorning the last hints of his bruises with kisses.

a special friend taglist @msmimiandrew @runningonstardrip @lightininglydia @wanniiieeee @spunky-89 @levylovegood

some tags didn’t work ! sry <3

#fred weasley x reader #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfic #fred weasley #fem reader #reader uses she her pronouns #reader insert #implied referenced self harm #please be careful reading

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killingitreservoirdogsstyle · 2 years

Note

Would you be willing to do a HC for Freddy having an SO that’s suffering from insomnia like you did with a few of the other dogs? 🌸

HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY!! 🎈🥳🎊🎁🎉🎂🥳🎈

Hey anon! I would be thrilled to do this for you! And thank you so much for the birthday wishes! It was really cool, I had a great time! But yes, I can absolutely write you up Freddy headcanons. I actually was originally going to include him instead of Brown, but I chose to write for the latter. So, all's well that ends well, as Shakespeare said. I hope that these suffice, and don't hesitate to let me know if they weren't satisfactory--I will gladly rewrite to fit your needs :)

FANDOM: Reservoir Dogs

GENRE: Requested headcanons, slight hurt-comfort, romantic relationship, and gender neutral s/o!

SYNOPSIS: Freddy Newandyke/Mr. Orange is more than willing to help his lover who has insomnia!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: Hurt-comfort slightly, physical discomfort, anxiety, and swearing!

Freddy is in between in terms of his sleeping patterns. He’s not a light sleeper but he’s also not necessarily a deep one either. He’s in the happy middle, if that makes any sense. He can have his bad nights, of course, however he usually sleeps pretty well.

You do suffer quite badly from your insomnia, which you keep a secret from him because you don’t want to worry him or be judged. And while you understand that those fears are irrational--Freddy loves you to death no matter what--you can’t help but be hesitant. So you don’t say anything right off the bat.

Being a cop, Orange has some idea of how to read body language, especially after being in the Reservoir Dogs for so long. He doesn’t like to do it to you being that you are his lover and he respects you. After awhile though, he starts to notice your sleeplessness getting out of hand. Your face says it all, the consistent exhausted expressions, half lidded tired eyes, sudden bursts and declines of energy, moodiness, and an almost lethargic state you’re stuck in. And it does alarm him, he doesn’t understand what’s happening to you.

Pink has been explicit in regards to his insomnia with the other Dogs, particularly Orange and Brown as they are his best friends after all. When Freddy begins to piece together that you’re struggling, he goes straight to Pink for consultation. He questions him about all the symptoms and effects that insomnia has on a person, and is shocked to hear how exactly yours match. That’s when it hits him, making him kick himself for being so clueless. Of course you’re dealing with insomnia, it makes so much sense to him in retrospect.

When he gets home, he confronts you about it albeit rather suddenly. He isn’t harsh nor angry with you, he’s just worried. And you cave finally, telling him everything about your sleeping issues. Freddy listens, cradling you against his chest. A cigarette hangs between his teeth, as he smokes to ease his nerves.

“ Oh my god, baby. I had no fucking idea, why didn’t you say anything? You know that I only want to help you out.” you nod, apologizing to him for your lack of transparency. He shrugs it off, giving you that boyish grin.

“ Hey, it’s okay. I’m just glad you didn’t bottle it up any further. But we got ourselves some things to figure out now, huh?”

You both do have some ideas as to how to help your insomnia, and you try them all. You don’t watch any TV an hour or two before bed, hot baths and showers with Freddy ease your muscles and relax you, incense is great aromatherapy ( I SWEAR BY IT ), reading books are good too, and of course, cuddles make everything better! While these routines don’t solve all of your problems completely, they do help you to sleep without as much difficulty.

Freddy is so generous and calm with the entire situation, he just loves you so much and only wants the best for you. And whatever he can do for you, he is on top of it, and he is there.

I hope that these are good, and again don’t hesitate to tell me if I missed the mark! I don’t mind it at all, it makes me a much better writer after all. Have a great weekend anon and everyone, and thank you all for your continued support! Love y’all!

#killingitreservoirdogsstyle #quentin tarantino #reservoir dogs #movies #mr orange #freddy newandyke #tim roth #mr orange x reader #mr orange headcanon #reservoir dogs x reader #reservoir dogs headcanon #anonymous request #thanks for the request #thanks so much anon

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evermoreweasley · 3 years

Text

it was all yellow (fred weasley x reader)

(all images are from pinterest)

summary: fred and y/n are just friends. however, when the two of you go on a camping trip with your friend group you both are pushed to finally tell each other how you really feel.

fluff prompts:

“I think I’m in love with you.”

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.”

song prompt:

yellow ~ coldplay

warnings: brief mention of battle of hogwarts, food, kissing, fluff!

a/n: this is for @theweasleysredhair 9k writing challenge!! I couldn’t help myself, this is also a friends to lovers, hope it’s okay that I included a trope :)

You double checked that you had packed everything in your backpack as a soft, familiar voice interrupted your organizing.

“Are you excited, y/n?” His morning voice spoke out.

You looked up and saw one of your best friends, Fred Weasley, sleepily glancing at you as he made his way into the kitchen, his red hair sticking up in all directions. You had to admit it to yourself, he looked adorable.

“Tired, but excited.” You smiled as you made your way over to the coffee pot.

Today you were going to go on a camping trip with your best friends. This was a trip you all had been planning and looking forward to since the battle of Hogwarts. You all decided you needed to get away for a bit, relax, and unwind since the stressful and heart crushing events that had taken place two months prior.

Ginny was visiting Charlie in Romania, along with Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Molly and Arthur Weasley. So this trip was just you, Fred, George, Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

“I don’t know why Hermione insisted on us waking up at 5 am,” Fred mumbled as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

“Are you at all surprised that she wanted to get an early start?” You responded as you poured him a cup of coffee. “Here, I know you need this.” You handed him the cup.

And as tired as Fred was, he still managed to smirk at you. “Thanks, darling.”

“Hey,” Hermione started, bolting down the stairs. “We got to get there to see the sunrise and the sunset.”

“But why?” Fred challenged as he sipped at his piping hot cup of coffee.

“Cause it’s beautiful of course, maybe you should be asking why not.”

You walked into the backyard of the Burrow as Hermione strutted right next to you. She was holding a spare piece of parchment as she read out loud the list of items for the trip.

“Sleeping bags?” She called out.

“Got em.”

“Tents?”

“Yes, ma’am.” George called back, sending an unexpected wink your way.

You furrowed your eyebrows in question at him and he simply nodded his head over at Fred, winking once more.

You turned and looked at Fred, who looked back at you, just as confused.

“George, what are you-” You started to ask.

“Wands?” Hermione interrupted.

“George, I swear to Merlin if you-” Fred started as he quickly approached him.

“Yup!” Everyone, except you and Fred, said quickly in unison.

“Who brought the food?” Ron asked as he shoved a peanut butter & jelly sandwich in his face.

Hermione giggled as she playfully pushed his shoulder. “Ronald, you’re eating all of it, save some please.”

“Fine,” He sighed as he wiped his mouth with his shirt sleeve.

“Okay,” Hermione sighed, looking around at the group. “Is everyone ready to apparate?”

You all nodded, getting close to one another. Suddenly George lightly bumped Fred into you. “Oops.” George said cheekily as he eyed you both. Ron made eye contact with George and started to chuckle.

Fred lightly blushed as he opened his mouth to respond but Harry interrupted. “Everyone, get ready.”

You closed your eyes tight and felt a quick rush of air pass you. The smell of the sea hit your nose and you felt plush grass tickle at your ankles.

You opened your eyes and saw a bright, beautiful stream of orange and yellow as the sun rose high in the sky over the sea. Your mouth fell slightly open as you took in the beautiful sights of Wales.

“See,” Hermione hummed. “Now aren’t we happy we came early?” She interjected.

“We’re tired.” Fred and George said in unison.

“Oh, shush you two.” She responded and you giggled as you started to help her set up the tents.

You pulled away to admire your work.

“Wait a moment,” You started as you turned to look at Hermione. “We only have three tents here, where is the fourth one?”

George suddenly appeared on the other side of you. “Oh no,” He said in a sarcastic tone. “Ron, my dearest little brother, did you forget to pack the extra tent?”

Ron held in a chuckle as he responded. “Oops. I must’ve, George.” He then turned to you. “So sorry, y/n.”

“You two are so not sorry,” you hissed.

“What are we going to do?” Hermione asked as she folded her arms across her chest.

“It was going to be Fred and George, Ron and Hermione, Harry in one, and myself in another.” You spoke out, slightly annoyed.

“What a predicament,” George smirked. “Oh well, I guess it’ll just have to be Ron and Hermione, Harry and myself, and Fred and y/n in the tents.”

Fred suddenly appeared behind you as he nibbled at a peach. “What’s going on?” He asked suspiciously.

“Freddie,” George cheered. “So glad you came by to hear about our new sleeping arrangements.”

“New?” He questioned as a bit of juice from the fruit ran down his chin. You first looked there, then at his soft lips, then his chocolate brown eyes. You swallowed hard before looking away as you ignored the fluttering feeling in the pit of your stomach.

“We’re sharing a tent.” You muttered quickly, before looking down at your feet.

Without even looking at him you could tell a fiery blush had set place on Fred’s supple cheeks. “George-” He started but was cut off by Hermione.

“You guys.” She huffed. “Let’s just eat some breakfast and carry on. Nothing we can do now.”

You blinked quickly, looking Fred up and down as you thought over something quite strange. Fred was not acting like himself. He was fidgety, quiet, and seemed nervous about something. He wasn’t his normal outgoing, goofy, high energy self.

You shook your head and convinced yourself it was probably just cause he was tired.

Later that night, you all sat around the campfire. Ron had eaten at least six s’mores and was currently sprawled out across Hermione’s lap as she gently ran her fingers through his red hair.

George suddenly stood up and gave out an over exaggerated yawn. “I’m so tired,” he started.

“It’s not even 10pm!” Fred challenged back.

“Bed!” George exclaimed.

“What?” Harry questioned, clearly confused at George.

George gave Harry a stern look and then Harry suddenly started following him to their tent.

“Us too,” Ron said as he stretched out. “Come on, Hermione.”

“What is going on?” Fred asked, very annoyed.

“Goodnight.” George said to you and Fred with a smirk and a wink as he turned to his tent.

“But-” you started.

“Goodnight.” He said again cheekily as he closed the tent behind him.

Fred looked over at you sheepishly. “Are you tired at all?”

You shrugged in response. “I could try, I guess.”

Fred quickly put out the campfire before he followed you into the tent, closing it behind him.

“This is...” you started, looking around the small tent. “Cozy.”

Fred chuckled in response. “I’m convinced that they gave us the smallest tent.”

The feeling of Fred’s body lightly touching yours as you kneeled in the tent was overwhelming. You had to remind yourself to breathe.

“I’m gonna go look at the stars for a bit, actually.” You lightly smiled as you made your way out of the tent.

You looked up at the night sky. Bright stars shined up above you and you smiled as you fell backwards into the soft, green grass. You were full from campfire s'mores and you were so content.

“Hey y/n,” Fred started as he walked over to you before sitting down. He laid on his back and placed his hands behind his head to prop himself up.

“Hey Fred,” you smiled.

Silence filled the space around you for a moment, but it was a comfortable silence. You could hear the wind and the sea. Everything around you felt very still and calm but also every part of you felt electric.

Your senses were heightened. But why?

Why were you nervous, you asked yourself. Fred is your best friend, you’re never nervous around him.

You broke the silence as you looked over into his chocolate brown eyes. “Are you also surprised that everyone else is already in their tents?”

“Not really, no,” he said sheepishly, looking up at the stars instead of over at you.

“What do you know that I don’t?” You giggled as you cocked an eyebrow up at him.

“Isn’t it obvious, y/n?” He grinned as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“What?” You asked as you looked him over, the moon illuminating over his face.

“Apparently all our friends have a bet going that we end up together.” He breathed out.

You giggled as you looked up at the night sky. “You’re joking.”

When you stopped laughing you looked over at Fred to see that he wasn’t laughing with you, just staring at you intently.

You didn’t know this but Fred thought you were the most beautiful person he had ever met, the way your eyes sparkled when you saw the sea, the way your laughter filled a room, the way your smile brightened up his day. The way you made him feel.

He was in love with you ever since your third year, when you helped him in potions class at Hogwarts.

Everyone knew it, everyone but you.

And you loved him too, ever since your fifth year when he skipped class with you to go to the black lake because you just couldn’t handle Snape’s class that day.

Everyone knew it, everyone but him.

“You’re-” you started, studying his face momentarily. “You’re not joking.”

“I’m not.” He scanned your lips, before falling back on your eyes.

Fred knew that now was his moment, right here, right now. Underneath the sparkling stars and moon shining down on your beautiful face. He smiled as he thought to himself, look at the stars, look how they shine for you. And all the things that you do.

The way Fred was looking at you made the feeling in the pit of your stomach intensify. The light breeze blew past you and a trail of goosebumps settled over your skin.

Fred’s chocolate brown eyes scanned your eyes for another moment before taking a deep breath.

“Y/n,” he started, before taking a long pause. “I think I’m in love with you.”

You watched as his chest lightly rose and then fell with his breaths. Your eyes trailed up his chest and then fell onto his eyes.

“Fred,” you whispered as your own chest rose and fell. Your heart beat underneath your shirt intensifying with happiness. “I love you.”

Fred’s face lit up as a smile took over his features. “You do?”

“I do.” You hummed.

Fred chuckled lightly in delight before he leaned forward. He looked into your eyes deeply before fluttering his eyes closed and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips.

You fluttered your eyes closed and saw stars shooting behind your eyelids. Your kiss intensified as you tangled your arms and legs in his as you lightly rolled over in the plush, green grass.

The feeling of Fred’s soft, supple lips on yours, his smooth, slender hands on your waist, and the smell of the sea drove you over the moon.

Fred’s tongue grazed your swollen lips and you opened your mouth in acceptance.

A sudden movement behind you caused you to pull away, your arms rapidly falling to your side as you both bolted to sit up.

You looked up to see George emerging from his tent. “About time, you two,” He smirked. “Oi, Ron!” He called out.

Ron emerged from his tent. “Finally!” He exclaimed.

“If I wasn’t so bloody happy right now, I would chase both of you down.” Fred chimed in, a smirk clear in his tone as he eyed his brothers.

You giggled as you leaned into Fred. He held you close as you looked upwards and you could’ve sworn you saw a shooting star.

#twrh9kwritingchallenge #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x you

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ickle-ronniekins · 4 years

Text

in every lifetime, fred x reader

request: from @fredweasleyismyking91: I just read your George soulmate au and I’m obsessed. I love soulmates so much and that one was amazing. I’d love to read a Fred soulmate if you were ever up for it!

prompt: soulmate au in which characters have specific phrases their soulmates will say to them written on their wrists like tattoos—they will now know they are soulmates until the first one speaks the phrase

A/N: literally losing my shit. thank you for this request and for your kind words. reader is american and i made this after the war bc i do not live in a universe where my poor freddie doesn’t survive—I JUST LOVE HIM, ALRIGHT? also, sorry this is insanely long but it’s worth the read, i hope?

You stared blankly at your wrist in the middle of a very crowded, very bustling Diagon Alley. London was not at all what you’d expected. You peered quickly at the words. Won’t cost you a dime.

You thought it was silly, at first, the words your soulmate will speak to you, tattooed on your body. It looked absolutely ridiculous. It looked like the absolute dumbest quote in the history of the world. You found it to be quite annoying, really. When your parents told you what it was, you nearly snorted. You were just a young child. It sounded like the silliest thing in the entire world to you.

But as you grew older and more curious, you searched Ilvermorny for a glimpse—maybe your soulmate was here? It’d make the most sense, of course, for him to be prancing around the American wizarding school somewhere, close by—you weren’t planning on leaving America after graduating, anyway. But there was no one—not a soul—who gave you that feeling of hope, that feeling of… that must be him.

Oh but your friends absolutely loved to play that game. Picking and choosing, glancing anxiously at the phrases on their wrists, peering admiringly at your schoolmates and deciding which ones they’d like to spend the rest of their lives with, how they’d finally find them, when it would happen—at least before the age of twenty four—well, that’s what your parents had said, anyway. Your friends’ phrases were, to your dismay, much more sophisticated and seemingly more exciting and well—a bit more special than yours. Won’t cost you a dime. Absolutely bogus.

This game they were playing was, of course, based mostly on looks and not at all on personalities, but rather just their dreams and what they so desperately wished their lifetime of love would look like. Plus, you were all still so young, all they wanted to do was have a little fun, didn’t they?

So they dated, even though these people hadn’t said the words they yearned for. No reality had seemed to set in yet. Not one of them had found their soulmate. You supposed, watching them, you could do the same thing. But what was the point in dating someone you knew wasn’t the person you’d spend your life with? You opted out. You just wanted to wait for him. He’d say the words when the time was right. It would all be worth it, wouldn’t it?

As the years went on, you did seem to mostly forget about the words on your body, fading lightly. In the bustle of your busy life, it wasn’t something you necessarily tried to focus on, like all of the others around you, searching faces in the crowd, desperately trying to find the ones. When it’s time, it’s time, you kept telling yourself. But the fear that you’d never actually find him did nestle itself in the back of your mind—you never, ever, ever let yourself touch that thought. Not even a little.

You were rapidly approaching the age of twenty two. You’d finished Ilvermorny, began your studying to eventually be able to teach there, and tried to not focus on what everyone else seemed to be so obsessed with.

And on your twenty second birthday, you were offered the position of a teacher—not at Ilvermorny, no, but at the wizarding school across the pond. Yes, you were moving to London.

It was terrifying and exciting and exhilarating at the same time.

And so you packed your things, said farewell to your parents, and ended up in a very tiny, one bedroom apartment in the middle of London, just a few streets down from Diagon Alley—the bustling street where all witches and wizards went for their school supplies—and you supposed, professors, too.

Well, you knew what you needed to do.

Which brings you to now.

Somebody bumped into you while running through the street. “Sorry, love,” they said, and were off in a flash, barely noticing the shift of your body on the middle of the cobblestone. And then, a flash of light, and a ton of rain.

Was London notorious for its rainy days? You didn’t know, this was your first time here, of course. And where on earth was your umbrella?

As you’d dreaded—back at your half unpacked apartment, probably collecting dust at the bottom of one of your many, many boxes that still needed to be unloaded. Brilliant.

You ran into the store nearest you, quickly running through the flash flood, soaked to the core—your long hair dripping along the carpet. You didn’t know what to expect when entering the shop, but it sure as hell wasn’t this.

It was probably the most colorful room you’d ever seen in all your life. Bright hues of orange and green and purple and red made the shop seem even much bigger than it was—loads of toys and supplies were making many sounds that seemed to reverberate off of the walls. Students and children and parents alike were chattering animatedly and peering admiringly at all of the inventions that were stocked very highly on the shelves. It was rather bustling, indeed.

“Looking for anything in particular?” a cool voice asked. When you turned around, a red haired man in a brown suit looked at you with wide eyes. “Bloody hell—get caught in that rain, did you?”

“Unfortunately, yes,” you told him. Was he the owner, perhaps? “Do you have a restroom or something I can wash up in?”

Another man who looked exactly like him sauntered over and asked his twin, “Georgie, I’ve just—lord, you alright, love?”

Love? Does every man in this country call women that? Not quite like America. Still, you couldn’t help but grin a little. “I’m fine—just wondering if you have a place I could dry off, maybe—”

George, the first one, said to you, “We’ve got dry towels—let me go and fetch them for you—”

“Believe there’s a sweatshirt in the pile of clean laundry too, mate, if you want to grab that,” the second one said.

You shook your head and said, “No, no, I’m fine, really—I live just up the way—just a towel will do.”

“Nonsense,” he told you, motioning for you to follow him. “C’mon, we’ll make you a bit of tea to warm you up,”

Okay, so, definitely the owners. They seemed so young to own such a successful shop in the middle of the busiest street in London. They couldn’t be older than twenty two, twenty three? How on earth were they handling all this chaos?

You’d learned a lot in your short time at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. It was a prank shop, basically, run by two boys who, although adults, did seem to love acting like children. Born and raised as two kids who wanted more than anything to continue making people laugh, even in the darkest of times, they’d hatched this plan at the mere age of five, and they’d not once teetered off track. Not very pleasing to their mother, you learned, who’d spent her lifetime watching over seven mischievous children, but she’d softened when she’d realized how well off they were, especially after the war you’d heard all about when you were back home.

As you pulled your still damp hair back into a high ponytail, you said to them both, “Well, thank you both very much—not exactly how I’d imagined my first day in London to be, but—I appreciate you taking me under your wing.”

With a swift goodbye as George was pulled away by customers, he told you, “Visit soon!” The other man stood in front of you with a concerned look in his eyes.

“You’re sure you’re alright?”

You laughed softly. “I promise, yes. Thank you…”

“Fred,” he said, taking your hand in his.

You bit your bottom lip. “Y/N...well, thanks, again—I’m sure I’ll see you around.”

“I hope so,” he said and winked. Was he seriously flirting right now? You glanced quickly at your wrist, taking a deep breath in. Was it him? Probably not. There were millions of others in Europe. You were strangely sad at the thought. You barely knew this guy. And who knew? Your soulmate could still be back home. Fred brought you back to reality when he asked, “Visit soon, yeah?”

You scratched the top of your head and grinned at him. “Yeah, soon...have a good night.”

And so your first night in London hadn’t gone exactly as planned. But what did you expect, really? Chaos. Always.

You were met the next morning with sunshine flooding through your apartment and boxes that needed unpacking. You groaned at the thought. Instead, you made your way into Diagon Alley again, this time determined to be able to shop more of the little stores in the sunlight, not having to escape the street due to flash flooding.

It was hot. You were surprised how hot it was. Your pale green sundress swung at your sides, and you pulled your long hair into a side braid to get it off of our neck. And as you’d assumed, the street was incredibly busy. But you didn’t seem to mind. You loved the bustle of the city.

You clumsily tripped over the cobblestone in your sandals, bumping hard into someone next to you. Looking down at their feet and regaining your composure, you said, “I’m so terribly sorry—”

“Back again, are we?”

It was Fred, the man from yesterday. He was smirking at you with his hands in his pockets.

“Well hey, Fred.”

His raised his eyebrows at you, seemingly impressed with the fact that after one brief meeting, you could tell him and his twin brother apart. “Impressive, honestly, nobody can really tell us apart except our mum,”

You smiled and glanced down at your shoes, biting your bottom lip.

“Listen, I’m about to grab a bite—and you certainly look like you could use a bit of a break,” he glanced down at the many bags you had in your hands, “care you join me?”

You went against your better judgement. Two days in a row you’d run into this man you barely know, and you’d already managed to have his sweatshirt, towel, and a pair of sweatpants in your apartment, and now he was inviting you for a bite to eat. An adventurous few days you were having, indeed. The field day your friends would be having with this information—

“Okay,” you told him, pushing the thought away and following him across the crowded street where he grabbed your hand and cut through very busy traffic.

“So,” he asked when he finally stopped walking. “Favorite flavor of ice cream?”

“Chocolate chip cookie dough,” you said immediately, not even thinking on it.. “And you?”

“I dunno,” he said truthfully, cocking his head to the side and looking up at the sky. “It changes daily. Ready?”

He pulled you closer towards the shop you were in front of, and when you looked up, you noticed a sign that read: Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour.

Confused, you asked, “This is the bite you meant?”

“Yeah,” he told you matter-of-factly, reading your face for any sign of amusement. “C’mon, America, don’t tell me you’ve never had ice cream for lunch before.”

You smiled at him. America. What the hell—it was adorable, and you were nearly melting into a puddle in front of him. What were you doing? It was the accent, it had to be—and that red hair. God, the things your friends would be saying—

You pushed his arm softly and told him, “I shall have you know that I have definitely had ice cream for lunch.”

“Good,” he smirked, taking your hand in his and pulling you inside. “Let’s go, then.”

And after this second day in Diagon Alley, your afternoon meet up with Fred for ice cream from Florean Fortescue’s became a daily thing. It was addicting, this ice cream—absolutely nothing like you’d had back home, and thank goodness Diagon Alley was so large, because you were able to walk off those calories in a heartbeat.

As the summer dragged on and the impending school year drew nearer, you’d kept returning to the street—of course, for your school supplies, yes, but also to see him. You’d find yourself, every so often, glancing down at your wrist, looking at the silly phrase, wanting to forget about your soulmate altogether. You found yourself covering it with bracelets and watches, hoping that Fred would never see it and never have to ask about it.

You’d spent many afternoons in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, as well.

It proved to be very difficult to leave every evening, actually.

What were you doing?

You needed to draw yourself back. You needed too. You didn’t want to end up heartbroken, in a foreign city, before starting a new job in a new place with new people. It was a disaster in the making. You needed, more than anything, to protect your heart.

And so just a couple of days before the start of term, you slowly made your way into the shop, ready to tell Fred that you wouldn’t be seeing him for a long time, as term was about to begin, when he met you at the front of the store.

“Y/N! Glad to see you this morning,” he said brightly, coming round the bend of the back end of the store. “Now, when you get to Hogwarts in four days time, remember to tell Minerva McGonagall how fond you are of me and George—I reckon she’ll be so pleased you know us,”

You cocked your head to the side and placed your hand on your hip, smiling sweetly at him. “Why do I have the feeling that she’d actually be less than impressed at that?”

Pretending to fall backwards, Fred told you, “I’m heartbroken you think that, Y/N,”

I’m just heartbroken, you thought dramatically, shaking the thoughts from your head at how absolutely overly emotional you were being. Ridiculous. “Freddie listen, I—”

“Ooh, we’ve got just the thing for your classroom—it’s bloody brilliant, c’mon, you have to take it—it’ll be a good luck present, on us, yeah? C’mon then, won’t cost you a sickle,”

Begrudgingly, you followed him to the back of the store, when your heart stopped.

He laughed then, shaking his head and laughing to himself. “You’re from the other end. Reckon I probably should’ve said, ‘won’t cost you a dime’, is that way they say in America?”

And just like that, your head shot up and muscles tensed. That moment of reality. It was like you‘d gotten the wind knocked out of you, just as your parents told you. “Oh my god, what did you say?”

You watched Fred stop in his tracks, glance down at his wrist, and turn slowly back towards you, in the middle of a crowded store. Your heart and mind were racing, and it took every single ounce of you to restrict yourself from nearly jumping on top of him—

“It’s you,” he said, as if the entire world around the two of you had stopped abruptly.

“Get the wind knocked right out of you?” you asked him, pointing to his wrist and to yours.

He looked down at your hand and then back at you. Did he have tears in his eyes? “Yeah,” he said breathlessly—and then, that silly sarcasm. “I knew it.”

You actually laughed in the surprise of the moment. “You did not!”

“Well, I hoped,” he admitted. “I reckon you did, too?” He smiled sweetly at you. Yes, you’d hoped, too. He knew that. He could see it in your eyes from the moment you met one another, when you were rain soaked and shivering from the cold in his very busy store. He was in love with you right then.

Teasingly, you said aloud, “A British prankster. All my life I never pictured my soulmate as a British prankster.”

“Can’t say I ever pictured my soulmate as an American girl who’d end up working at the school I grew up in,”

You asked him jokingly, “Are you disappointed?”

Beaming at you, he replied, “Definitely not disappointed, America.”

It was really difficult to not turn to complete putty in his hands when he was so goddamn charming. It was inevitable.

You stood there, both peering at one another, wondering—what happens next?

And what kind of soulmate would you be if you didn’t ask him, “So can I kiss you now? I’m dying, here,”

And what kind of soulmate would he be if he didn’t tease you, “Well, yeah, darling, what the bloody hell are you waiting for?”

His lips were soft and warm, and it felt like you’d kissed them a million times before. He was your soulmate—in this life, and in any and every other lifetime there was—it would always be him—this confident, flirtatious, silly red headed boy who loved, more than anything, to bring a smile to people’s faces.

“Well thank bloody Merlin the two of you finally figured it out.”

George came down the steps from upstairs and wrapped his arms around the two of you. Up on the top floor, you saw another red headed boy and girl, who you knew must’ve been Ron and Ginny. Or was it Bill? Or Percy? Or Charlie? Guess you’d have time to figure it out. They both smiled at you.

“You knew?” you and Fred both asked George at the same time.

George chucked, “Yeah—it was really obvious, actually.” To you, he kissed you on the cheek and said, “Well—welcome to the family, officially! So, when’s the wedding? Kids on the way yet? Mate, you know mum is absolutely going to flip her lid when she hears the news—”

You choked back a laugh. Intertwining your fingers in Fred’s, you said to them both, “That’s a lot of steps we’ve skipped, there,”

And as he jokingly pushed his twin away, Fred turned back towards you, wound his arms around your waist and pressed a kiss to your temple as you draped your arms across his shoulders. His lips were pressed to your ear and it sent a shiver down your spine when he said, “I can’t wait to share all of them with you, my love.”

tag list: drop me a message if you’d like to be added: @mintlibri @seppys-return-to-madness @how-do-life-does @fopdoodledane @fredd-weasley @fredweasleyismyking91

reblogs + feedback are always appreciated lovelies :)

#fred weasley #george weasley #fred and george weasley #weasley twins #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley reader insert #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fanfic #hp imagine #hp fanfiction #harry potter imagine #fred weasley soulmate au #soulmate au #soulmate aus #bye #pls dont let this flop omg it took me D A Y S

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owl-noire · 4 years

Text

Say Your Prayers: A Reservoir Dogs Fic (1/3)

Fandom: Reservoir Dogs Pairing: None? But like, some. Honestly, this fic isn’t about romance. Summary: It's a few days after their latest heist, and Freddy never showed at the rendezvous. Larry doesn't think much of it--delays happen--until somebody leaves a photograph at the hotel room door. The kid's in trouble. And in their line of work, "trouble" can lead to "dead" very, very fast.

Ao3

They made a narrow escape, but all escapes are narrow when bullets start flying, and considering none of them found their mark, Larry decides it might have been a good day after all. Whatever made Joe decide ripping off a drug lord was worthwhile, he'll never know. Must've been some bad blood between them. And if the blood is sour enough to piss off Joe Cabot, then it's sour enough to piss off the rest of the boys. But hey: job's done, nobody died, and now Larry, Mr. Brown, and Mr. Pink are safely at the rendezvous.

It's an old hotel. Mr. Brown was--and still is--ecstatic about the old-timey elevator with the cage and crank. There's an operator, too. Larry doesn't like thinking about the margin of human error, about how it would take one easy mistake for the cage to plummet, but he pushes it aside. He's calm. Has to be. Next to him, Mr. Pink is a nervous wreck.

"Fuck man," Pink says. "I fuckin' hate elevators. Couldn't we have just taken the stairs?"

Larry gives him a look. "We're on the tenth floor."

"Your point?"

"Hey," Mr. Brown points out. "Look down. You can't even see the floor anymore."

Pink groans and shuts his eyes. "I'm gonna die."

"No you're not," Larry tells him, a little exasperated. Still, the words remind him of a similar time, a while ago now, but with Mr. Orange--Freddy. Larry tries not to think about that day too often. Kid nearly bled to death in his arms, and that sort of thing messes with the head.

The elevator finally pulls up to the tenth floor. Mr. Pink is the first one out as soon as the gate opens, followed by Brown, then Larry. He tips the operator and lingers back a second.

"We're waiting on one more," he says. "He's a scrawny little shit and probably wearing a jacket that's way too big for him." Larry hands the operator another five. "Can't miss him. Make sure he knows where we are."

The operator, some guy in his thirties who looks like he hates his job, nods. "Sure thing."

Larry starts after Mr. Pink and Mr. Brown. He never bothered learning their real names, and they never bothered telling him. They know his, but that's mostly because Larry hates that anonymous crap. But he played along for Joe and they all walked away happy. Better than things usually go.

"I can't believe I have to share a room," Mr. Pink is muttering to himself. He sees Larry walking down the hall and gestures at him. "How come you get one to yourself and I'm stuck with this sack of shit?"

"Oh excuse me, are you the one paying the bill?" Larry shoves past Pink toward his door. "No? Alright then. Quit complaining."

He's already into the room when he hears Pink mumble something under his breath. Larry doesn't really care what he says. He shuts the door behind him and sits on the bed with a groan. He's absolutely exhausted, now that the adrenaline from the job's worn off. And, to make things worse, there's a small knot forming in his stomach. Call it instinct, but he only gets it when something isn't right. Joe would call him paranoid. Freddy, too. But considering neither one of them are here, Larry's left to his own thoughts.

Freddy hadn't shown at the rendezvous. Mr. Brown and Mr. Pink had, both within five minutes of each other. Larry hopes the kid is just late. After all, it was the first job he'd pulled since... well, since the diamonds.

Talk about shock. Larry could still remember how his goddamn heart nearly stopped when Freddy told him the truth, that he was a cop and was supposed to tip off others to the heist, but hadn't. And then he'd taken a bullet meant for Larry, shot by some good samaritan trying to play cowboy.

Larry would be lying if he said he hadn't considered leaving Freddy behind. He'd betrayed him--and that stung. But hell, the kid had saved his life and was bleeding out and goddammit, Larry couldn't. He just couldn't.

But that was months ago. Water under the bridge, though convincing Joe of that had taken every ounce of persuasion Larry could summon. But he had. Somehow, he had, and here they all are. Safe. Happy. Alive.

He sighs and leans back on the bed. He'll give Freddy another couple hours, then see if Joe heard anything. Any luck, the kid's already on his way.

Wherever he is, it's dark. Dark, wet, and cold. All the worst things anybody can imagine after they've just been hit.

Freddy groans and tries to shift into a more comfortable position. He can't see anything, but he can feel. Oh God, he can feel... and it's like somebody's dragged him through a meat grinder. He can hear something dripping. Dimly, he hopes it's water and not blood from... from... well, wherever it is he's bleeding. Because he's definitely bleeding; he just can't figure out why.

It takes him a moment, but he eventually realizes he's sitting. Okay, that's a bit of a nicer statement than reality. Reality is, he's tied to a chair. Ropes dig into his wrists and ankles, and he can already feel the beginnings of burns. He tries to flex his fingers, but the moment he moves them, pain flares and he cries out. The sound is muffled by the gag stuffed in his mouth, but it's there nonetheless. Something's broken. He doesn't know if it's his fingers, hands, or all of the above, but whatever it is, it hurts like a bitch.

"You're awake."

He hears the voice, deep and slow and way too close to his ear. Without much thought, he shies away from it--and only then does he realize he's been blindfolded. His chest constricts.

Blind. Can't move. Can't talk. This isn't good.

"I was wondering when that'd happen," the voice continues. "Thought maybe my boys roughed you up a little too much."

Freddy takes a deep breath, in and out. He needs to stay calm. Staying calm will help him. Staying calm will keep him alive. Staying calm is what Larry would do.

"Me and Joe Cabot go back a long time." The voice is circling him now, vulture-like. "Never thought he'd have the guts to make a move on me. After all..."

Something nudges Freddy's injured hands, and he can't help his scream as white hot agony flares beneath his skin.

"... I always move back."

Once the pain fades, Freddy tries to think. This must be the drug lord he and the guys had ripped off. This must be Big Frank Muller.

Panic threatens to overwhelm him for a moment. He'd heard about Big Frank from his time in the force--and the guy's nothing if not ruthless. Twisted. Tortures and kills for pleasure. Nobody's caught him because none of his victims survive long enough to get an ID. And Freddy's absolutely powerless, completely at his mercy... or lack thereof.

"Let's get down to business," Big Frank says casually, and Freddy's head snaps sideways as a big, meaty fist slams into his jaw. "Gotta make you look pretty for the camera."

Camera? Freddy thinks dizzily, then feels the skin on his cheek split with another punch. What the hell is this guy going on about?

When he can focus again, having lost count of how many hits he took, his face is throbbing and undoubtedly swollen. He hears the click, then winding of a disposable camera, and has maybe two seconds to breathe before Big Frank starts talking.

"Cabot's going to love this," he murmurs. There's a pause, during which Freddy can feel his heart racing, and then: "Dimmick, too."

Freddy's blood goes cold for a split second before he starts struggling. Now? Now he understands. He shouts against the gag, choice words and insults that would make his mother roll over in her grave. But they're useless. The next thing he knows, something hits the back of his head and he begins to lose consciousness again.

Larry, he thinks before he goes under. Stay safe. Please stay safe.

It's roughly around eight pm when Larry wakes up to a knock on his door. He groans and wipes the sleep from his eyes, then checks the phone. There aren't any messages. He frowns and sits up, the knot in his stomach coming back with a vengeance. The front desk is supposed to call him when Freddy shows--and they haven't yet. He doesn't know what that means, if it means anything at all, but he can't help but think something's wrong.

"Goddammit, White, open up!" Mr. Pink's voice sounds muffled through the door as he pounds on it again. There's also something lacing his tone that Larry doesn't like. It sounds too much like raw panic.

That's enough for Larry to fumble into motion. He stands and makes his way over to the door, undoing the deadbolt and wrenching it open in time for Pink to walk through uninvited. His shoulders are bunched with worry, and he's followed quickly by Mr. Brown.

"What the hell's going on?" Larry demands as he shuts the door and refastens the lock.

"Did you hear anybody out in the hall?" Pink asks, nervously wringing his hands together. "Because we didn't, but somebody was definitely there, man. Somebody was definitely fucking there and they left that fucking picture and shit shit shit!"

Larry holds his hands up and grabs Pink's arm to stop him from pacing. "Slow down. What in fuck's name are you talking about?"

Mr. Pink gives him a look that Larry doesn't like, but says nothing. Instead, it's Mr. Brown who speaks as he reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a photograph.

"He's talking about this," Brown says distantly.

He hands Larry the picture--slow, as if Larry will chop his hand off if he's not careful. At first, Larry isn't sure what he's seeing--it's dark and his mind doesn't want to believe anything anymore. But then the clouds clear, and his breath hitches painfully.

Freddy. Tied to a chair. Beaten and bloody. Blindfolded and gagged. And the look on his face... the pain on his face...

His hands move on their own accord, and Larry flips the photo over. Scrawled on the back, written in cheap ink and even cheaper handwriting, is today's date, followed by a crude drawing of a clock. It doesn't take him long to get the message, and he feels himself going cold all over.

"This is fucked up, man," Mr. Pink hisses as he starts pacing again. "This is so fucked up." He turns to Mr. Brown. "It's fucked up."

Brown nods in silent agreement. Then he turns toward Larry, who's flipped the picture over again. He can't stop looking at it. He feels Brown's eyes on him, followed by Pink's, and the scrutiny and quiet fear threaten to overwhelm him.

But he regains control. And when he speaks, he's suddenly not Larry Dimmick anymore. He's Mr. White--and his boy's just been stolen.

"Get Joe on the phone. Now."

Listen: I have no self-control.

#reservoir dogs #res dogs #freddy newandyke #mr white #larry dimmick #reservoir dogs fic #fic #my fic #my writing

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trashyswitch · 4 years

Text

Jeremy and the Mysterious Robots

Jeremy has to fix a camera in one of the rooms while he's working. When he finishes fixing the camera, Jeremy gets a surprise visit from a couple of the animatronics...

What's this? AnOtHeR FNAF TiCkLe fAnFiC?! HoW cAn ThIs Be?!

Just playing around. Hope you guys enjoy!

Jeremy has heard all the rumors. He's heard the urban legends about the child killer in the animatronic suit, and the children's deaths. He's heard about the children's corpses being shoved into the animatronic suits. He's heard about the ghosts of the children, that haunted each and every diner. He's heard rumors about the animatronics being alive because of these children. He's heard multiple ideas of whether the animatronics liked humans or not. Some have said they like children, but resent adults. Others have said that adults were not as innocent as children, therefore they should be killed. A few adults have went as far as to say that the animatronics killed adults because adults found the animatronics creepy. Are any of these urban legends true?

If so: why did Jeremy sign up for a job at the one place that gives people the creeps?!

Jeremy looked at the watch on his wrist:

[2:00]

It was the second night of working at this nightmarish party place. All Jeremy wanted was the paycheck at the end of the week. He did NOT sign up for this stupidity...

Should he have reconsidered taking the job? Maybe. Is he regretting taking the job? Somewhat. Is Jeremy gonna survive the week? God, he hoped so. He has his whole life to look forward to! He didn't want to let a single week at a scary restaurant ruin the rest of his life.

Jeremy turned on the iPad and flipped through the cameras. It looked like the party rooms were empty. Next, he checked CAM 05 and CAM 06: empty. Thank goodness. Jeremy looked at the other cameras and found out something strange: camera 11 wasn't working! It was just showing pure static.

So, Jeremy tried viewing the game room as best he could out of Cam 10. Unfortunately, this didn't work as well as he wished...

He realized that what he was gonna do was risky. But...what other choice did he have? So, Jeremy grabbed his flashlight, and walked out of the office through the small hall towards Pasillo Central. He walked past the party rooms, and walked out into the main hall. Once he reached there, Jeremy took a right and walked down the hall into the game area. Using his flashlight, Jeremy looked around for the 11th camera...In a matter of seconds, Jeremy's flashlight shined onto the grey video camera! Jeremy smiled and walked up to the camera. He grabbed a nearby stool from the prize area, and used it to reach Cam 11. Once he was up, Jeremy moved the flashlight around the camera, looking around for any wires loose. It took a little bit, but Jeremy managed to find the problem: a black wire was unplugged...

Jeremy's eyes narrowed in curiousity. Now when did that happen? It was working perfectly fine yesterday. Who unplugged it? Instead of focusing on that, Jeremy decided to trow that question out the window and feel for an empty plug in the back. Soon enough, Jeremy managed to find it. Using some expert navigating and a lot of patience, Jeremy finally got the wire plugged back in.

'the camera should be working now.' Jeremy thought. While he was there though, Jeremy decided to double check for any miswiring. Jeremy moved the flashlight up, down, left, right, and diagonal. In a matter of minutes, Jeremy could conclude that everything appeared to be in place.

Suddenly...a couple heavy footsteps could be heard behind the stool, in the gaming room. Jeremy froze in place. Oh god...Is that what he thinks it is? Jeremy stood there, frozen in place for another 5 minutes. During those 5 minutes, the footsteps began getting closer and closer to the stool he was standing on. Jeremy was too afraid to do anything except for shining his flashlight into the camera.

In one slow move, the footsteps stopped. Jeremy could feel the presence of a super tall figure behind him...Jeremy, growing extremely intimidated and anxious, slowly turned himself around to look the animatronic in the face. As he turned the flashlight around with him, the flashlight began to give Jeremy mental hints on which animatronic it was. The first thing he noticed, was that the animatronic was brown. A chocolate-shade of brown with an orange hue on its belly and inner face. The eyes were open wide, staring at Jeremy with its light blue iris's.

Jeremy gasped rather slowly as he processed the gigantic robotic bear that stood in front of him. For a couple seconds, the animatronic didn't move. It just stared at Jeremy. Stared deep into his soul...Jeremy just stared back at it, looking at the big bear as the visibly shaky flashlight shone onto it.

Suddenly, Freddy's jaw opened a little bit, revealing the pitch black inside of his mouth. Jeremy let out a terrified whimper in reaction to the sudden movement. Following suit, Freddy's head tilted to the side, like a curious puppy. Now, Freddy was staring intently at him with this tilted 'surprise' look. By now, Jeremy's teeth were chattering nervously. After a couple seconds of staring at the security guard, Jeremy lessened his chattering teeth and focused on his breathing instead. With his anxiety losing its power, Jeremy began to look at the Freddy Fazbear robot more closer. Jeremy couldn't even fathom how big it was! It was gigantic next to him! Jeremy felt like a toddler, looking up at such a tall animatronic like that.

Next: Jeremy looked at its eyes a little closer, to see what's inside...

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!" Freddy shouted.

Jeremy shouted and threw his flashlight up in terror. Jeremy jumped and quickly attempted to take a few steps back...only for his body to fall much more backwards than he wanted! Jeremy had forgotten he was standing on a stool, and was currently falling backwards as a result. Jeremy thought he was gonna fall onto the ground and get a concussion. Jeremy yelped and shut his eyes as he braced for impact.

Out of nowhere, in a quick motion, someone had grabbed his ankles and lifted him up to save him from hitting his head! Jeremy opened his eyes almost immediately, and looked in front of him. It was just the gaming room. Whoever had grabbed him, must've grabbed his ankles from behind.

Suddenly, Jeremy felt his body get lifted up!

"WELCOME EVERYBODY, TO FREDDY FAZBEAR'S PIZZA!" the animatronic shouted. "I'M FREDDY FAZBEAR, AND I'D LIKE TO WISH YOU, THE BIRTHDAY BOY, A VERY HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" the voice declared very loudly.

Jeremy began to panic. He could just sense the death that was awaiting him. In an attempt to prevent it, Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut and began shouting.

"NononoNONONONO! LET ME GO! PUT ME DOWN! I HAVE A LIFE TO LIVE, A PASSION TO FULFILL! PLEASE DON'T KILL ME!" Jeremy shouted desperately.

Everything went silent for a moment or two. "...Kill you?" the same voice said.

Jeremy opened one of his eyes. It was pretty dark. The only source of lighting available, was from the flashlight he had dropped from getting spooked. Other than that, he couldn't see very well.

"What do we have here?" Someone said beside him. Swiftly, a pair of large, yellow legs walked in front of Jeremy's view.

Jeremy looked down to see the rest of the animatronic. It was the new, girly-looking Chica. "Ch-Chica! Uh-...hi..." Jeremy reacted, still quite scared to talk or even move for that matter.

"Why are you upside down?" Chica asked.

Jeremy was about to answer, when Freddy quickly took over for him. "He fell off the stool, and I caught him." Freddy explained.

"Oh. And you happened to catch him upside down?" Chica asked.

"He fell backwards. It was the closest part I could reach!" Freddy added. Jeremy heard a mechanical turning sound. "Now that I mention it, he hasn't thanked me yet." Freddy mentioned. Jeremy's eyes widened. How stupid of him! Freddy literally saved him from a concussion! How could he have forgotten to say thank you?!

"Oh-um...Thank you...for catching me." Jeremy finally said.

"You're welcome!" Freddy replied.

Jeremy waited for something to happen. Anything. He waited for Freddy or Chica to grab his body, and shove him into a suit...That was how it worked, right?

"So...are you gonna do it?" Jeremy asked, fully expecting death at this point.

Chica looked at Freddy, confused. "Do what?" Chica asked.

"Are you gonna kill me? Shove me into a suit? Leave my dead body to rot inside the suit?!" Jeremy asked, still overwhelmed with anxiety.

Chica bent down to get a better look at the night guard. "It looks like Mr. Emily hired another 'daredevil' night guard. Do you really believe those rumors?" Chica asked. Jeremy looked to his left. He looked to his right. He looked all around the view in front of him, in an attempt to make sense of it all.

"So...you're not gonna kill me then?" Jeremy clarified.

"No! We're not gonna kill you!" Chica replied before walking away. Jeremy took the moment of quiet time to process what had just happened. He wasn't gonna die! That's great news!

"Found them!" Chica yelled. Without any warning whatsoever, the lights came on! Jeremy squeezed his eyes shut. The lights were so bright at first! As Jeremy's eyes slowly began to adjust, Chica and Freddy began to inspect the upside down man in their grasp.

"That's a big child." Chica commented.

"He's grown up. He's a male, grown up child." Freddy corrected.

Chica looked down at the floor, and eyed up a black and white object on the ground. Then, she bent down and picked it up. "What's this?" Chica asked. Jeremy's eyes widened. It looked like his hat! Jeremy felt his head and sure enough, all he could feel was his dirty blonde hair.

"Hey! That's mine!" Jeremy explained, reaching his arms out in an attempt to get it. Jeremy's arms only reached so far though. Chica's arms were around 3 feet in front of him.

Chica looked at the upside down human. "What is it?" Chica asked.

"It's my hat, and I want it back." Jeremy replied.

Chica looked at the small human that was being held by her best friend. "Flip him over." Chica suggested.

"Okay." Freddy replied. The robot bear let go of one of Jeremy's ankles, and allowed only one hand to hold him up by his ankle. Next, Freddy wrapped his hand around Jeremy's waist and grabbed on. Not fully expecting the waist squeeze, Jeremy let out a few surprise giggles. But, this didn't slow or stop Freddy's progress at all. Letting go of Jeremy's ankle, Freddy placed his other hand around Jeremy's other part of his waist. Lastly: Freddy lifted him up. Now, Jeremy was staring at Freddy, with his back towards Chica.

Almost immediately after transition, Jeremy began to feel overwhelmed by how small he was, compared to Freddy. So, he started pushing against Freddy's hands and wiggling to get free. He had a job to get to! He did NOT have the time for this silliness!

"Let me go!" Jeremy yelled at Freddy, still pushing against Freddy's fingers.

"He's wiggling a lot. Is he having a temper tantrum?" Freddy asked curiously. Chica looked at the squirming, frustrated man in Freddy's grasp.

"I think so." Chica replied. "Try throwing him up in the air and catching him. I've seen parents do it. Kids love it!" Chica suggested.

Jeremy's eyes widened in horror. Was he about to be thrown up like a toddler and caught by an animatronic?! Sadly he was right. Freddy actually followed her advice. Freddy threw Jeremy up in the air, a good 5 feet, and readied his hands for when gravity would do its job. Jeremy shouted all the way up, and continued his shouting all the way down into Freddy's arms again. This wasn't calming! This wasn't comforting at all! This was terrifying! This just made Jeremy's anxiety skyrocket in a matter of seconds! Jeremy couldn't do anything, except experience the light g-force as he flew up, and feel his stomach drop as gravity pulled him back down.

The sudden feeling of falling and being caught by gigantic hands was both relieving, and bloodcurdling all at once. It made him feel slightly better knowing he wasn't gonna fall onto the ground with a loud splat, but it also disturbed him that he was gonna end up in the arms of a huge robotic bear. Either way: this was not helping him whatsoever.

By the time the sixth throw and catch had happened, Jeremy was visibly shaking in the arms of the animatronic. Jeremy's face was visibly traumatized. Freddy didn't know it, but Jeremy's body was actually a lot more fragile than Freddy's body was. So Freddy's throwing and catching, could actually be seen as mishandling, or negligence in the eyes of the police. But how could a new animatronic know about that?

Finally after one last throw, Freddy had noticed Jeremy's state and stopped throwing him. "Chica, the throwing isn't helping him. He looks scared." Freddy reacted.

Chica looked at the man. Freddy was right. The adult was trembling in fear. As she tried to think of what to do, Freddy decided to try something.

"What's your name?" Freddy asked.

Jeremy looked up amidst his trembling. Soon, Jeremy looked down at the floor and allowed his hair to cover up his face. "Jeremy." He whispered.

"Jeremy?" Freddy clarified. The animatronic bear let one of his hands go free, and attempted to lift Jeremy's chin up with his finger. As soon as Jeremy's face was visible again, Jeremy turned his head away from Freddy, refusing to show his face or even look at him. Freddy placed two of his fingers on Jeremy's cheek, and lightly put pressure on the hand to turn his head towards the front. Jeremy, not wanting to show his face at all, pushed Freddy's hand away and turned his frowny face away. Lastly, Jeremy crossed his arms to add to the attitude.

He looked angry. But why? "He's...pouting." Freddy reacted.

"Really?" Chica clarified.

"Yeah." Freddy replied.

"Then come on! Let's cheer him up!" Chica replied.

"Okay! Hey Jeremy: Do you like jokes?" Freddy asked.

Jeremy groaned in annoyance. He didn't mind jokes normally, but he grew to hate the childish jokes. They were told way too many times, like a song on replay. He was sick and tired of them. They got really annoying, especially when he got older. So, he answered:

"No. I don't like jokes." Jeremy replied with an attitude. Freddy's mouth opened in surprise. This man was like a grumpy old man. He's seen one or two of those in the last couple days. But this? This was new. This man had a bad attitude.

"Funny...We have a stubborn one. He doesn't like jokes." Chica reacted, lifting her finger up to Jeremy's neck. Jeremy kept his head frozen to the side, but softened his expression and turned his eyes towards the yellow finger in curiousity.

Without any warning, Chica fluttered the finger up and down, on Jeremy's exposed neck. Jeremy's body jumped and curled inwards to cover up the spot. A squeal left Jeremy's mouth before he began flailing his hands towards the finger's direction to stop it.

Freddy's eyelids opened wider. "He's ticklish!" Freddy declared excitedly. Freddy placed his hand onto Jeremy's ribcage, and began squeezing it. Jeremy's mouth morphed into a wobbly smile. The security guard bursted into giggles almost immediately, and attempted to remove the hand from his ribcage. But, the hand just wasn't budging. Jeremy was forced to take the tickling.

"Lehehehehet mehehehehe gohohohohoho! Ihihi nehehehed to wohohohohork!" Jeremy begged.

"But you ARE working! you're entertaining us now!" Freddy reacted. "Here: I'll hold his arms, and you try out his armpits. I heard they can be very ticklish." Freddy explained briefly. Chica nodded in agreement, and watched as Freddy lifted up his upper arms with an index finger on each side.

Jeremy's eyes widened to the side of saucers! He began protesting as much as possible. "No, please! L-look! I'm feeling a lot better! See? I don't need tickles!" Jeremy pleaded, putting on a fake smile to prove it. But, Chica was persistent! Chica began to poke and scratch at Jeremy's armpits with her curled index fingers. "I DOHOHON'T NEHEHEHEHEHEED TIHIHIHIHIHIHIHICKLES!" Jeremy shouted before dissolving into long fits of laughter.

"I think you do!" Chica replied.

"Yeah! You were being a naughty little boy with a really bad attitude. I think you deserve some cheer-up tickles for that." Freddy added, unintentionally teasing him. Jeremy's laughter echoed throughout the entire room. And, it only got louder from there! Freddy decided to use his flexible thumbs to poke Jeremy's armpits as well.

Jeremy squealed and began to flail and kick his hanging feet as he cackled and laughed. "NOHOHOHOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHI'M TOOHOHOHOHO TIHIHIHICKLIHIHIHIHISH! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" He reacted.

"Fascinating! He's able to talk through his laughter!" Freddy reacted.

"OHOHOHOF COHOHOHOURSE IHIHIHI CAHAHAHAHAN!" Jeremy yelled through his laughter.

"I wonder where else he's ticklish?" Chica asked, retreating her hands.

Freddy thought for a moment, "Oh! I know!" Freddy exclaimed before lifting Jeremy up higher. Freddy moved one of his hands back onto Jeremy's waist, and grabbed one of Jeremy's shoes with his other hand.

"What- What are you doing?" Jeremy yelled. Freddy removed the slip on shoe off of Jeremy's foot, and let it fall to the floor with a loud clap. "Hey! Put my shoe back!" Jeremy yelled.

"Here: Your turn to hold him." Freddy said, before throwing Jeremy old-granny style over to Chica.

Jeremy was NOT ready for that. No human should ever be ready for being thrown like that! It's impossible usually. But if it IS possible, It's always frowned upon for being inhumane! But, why should animatronics know that? Heck, animatronics shouldn't be able to move around at night! Yet, here they are, throwing and tickling a security guard in the middle of the night.

Chica caught Jeremy as carefully as she could, and held onto Jeremy at the hips. Then, Freddy walked himself over to the two of them and lifted up Jeremy's socked foot. Just to check, Freddy fluttered a finger on Jeremy's arch for a couple seconds. Jeremy squealed and let out a few giggles. That confirmed everything! So, to get as much fun out of the moment as possible, Freddy removed Jeremy's black sock to reveal Jeremy's bare foot.

Freddy took a few moments to just stare at the bare foot. "That's what your feet look like?" Freddy asked as he poked and wiggled his finger on the bottom of his foot.

Jeremy began laughing almost immediately. "Yehehehehes! Nohohow stahahahahap ihihihihit!" Jeremy replied, shaking his head and messing up his hair.

"No way! I just started!" Freddy complained before adding a second wiggly finger to the foot.

"NOHOHOHOHAHAHAHAHAHA! IHIHIHIHIT'S COHOHOHOHOLD! IHIHI DOHOHOHON'T LIHIHIHIHIKE IHIHIHIT!" the security guard shouted.

Freddy tilted his head. "You don't like my cold fingers?" Freddy clarified.

"IHIHIHIT'S COHOHOHOHOLD! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" Jeremy reacted.

"Oh. Well I'm sorry, but I can't help that! You're gonna have to sit tight and get used to my cold, fat fingers." Freddy teased. Jeremy just groaned through his laughter, as he continued squirming and wiggling in Chica's grasp. How was this actually happening right now?! Was one of the animatronics seriously tickling his foot in the middle of the night?! How did his night even come to this?! Jeremy couldn't even remember! He was too distracted by the cold, ticklish plastic at the bottom of his feet.

All of a sudden, everything went quiet...Freddy's fingers stopped tickling so they could hear properly. In a moment of silence, a faint sound could be heard in the distance. Somewhere in the room, a quiet music box tune could be heard, twinkling in the background. It sounded similar to the century-old tune, Pop goes the Weasel...But suddenly...the music box stopped, and the clicking sound of a closing door could be heard, before pure silence...

Jeremy gasped in horror. THE MUSIC BOX! MARIONETTE! HE'S ESCAPED THE MUSIC BOX! Jeremy attempted to yell out loud, to get someone's attention. But, Chica had moved her index finger up to Jeremy's mouth and covered it quickly.

"He's coming." Freddy said. Jeremy whimpered in pure paranoia. Was he gonna die? Was the marionette gonna kill him? Was the camera going to record is very last moments? Were people gonna watch the camera to figure out how he died?...Would they blame his death on bad decisions? What would happen to his body?! WHAT WAS GOING TO HAPPEN?! JEREMY DEMANDED TO KNOW!

A sound managed to knock Jeremy out of his anxious rambling. That sound was no footstep...it was the sound of a garbage can falling in the very room they were in. Jeremy's eyes widened. Marionette was getting closer! No! NO! NOOO!

This is it...he's gonna die...He's gonna be found in a few hours, ripped apart on the floor...He could guarantee it.

There, standing in front of them, was a tall, thin animatronic with a white mask, lipstick and purple stripes down the eyes. The animatronic doll's sleeves and leggings were striped black and white, and the doll's chest had 3 little buttons sewn onto it.

"Hi Marionette! your narrow fingers would do quite nicely for what we're doing." Freddy explained.

Jeremy's eyes widened. Excuse me? Narrow fingers? Was...was Freddy inviting Marionette to tickle him? Jeremy didn't know how he felt about this...

The Puppet walked closer to the trio. He bent his lower arm up, and looked down at its 3, narrow fingers. He wiggled them up and down. Jeremy tensed up and looked away. He couldn't watch. The wiggly, narrow fingers were making him flustered and embarrassed. He couldn't dare imagine what those narrow fingers would feel like on his body...The fingers were thin like human fingers, but pointy on the end. Therefore: they were capable of strategy and precision...

Marionette walked closer and closer to Jeremy and stopped to look at him in the eyes. Jeremy just froze in place...afraid to move...Marionette looked at the guard, almost curiously. Marionette turned its head and just stared blankly into the guard. Then, the puppet looked down at the leg and the bare foot, and picked it up with its 3 fingers.

This animatronic isn't cold. It's covered in some kind of fur-like fabric. It's strange. But all the thoughts that had went through Jeremy's anxious mind, had been thrown away the moment its 3 fingers poked at his foot. Jeremy threw his head back and let out a loud squeal! Freddy and Chica's fingers were thick, allowing them to tickle more skin at one time! The thick fingers were also cold, which only increased the sensitivity!

But with Marionette's fingers...the tickling was SO MUCH WORSE! The thin-size of the fingers made it even more sensitive! The marionette didn't need any cold temperature to make it tickle worse! It had fur for THAT part...

"GAHAHAHAHAHAHA! EEEEEEEHEHEHEHEHEHEHAHAHAHAHAHA! NOOOOOHOHOHOHOHOHOHO!" Jeremy shouted manically. Marionette didn't say anything. At least, not at first. It just scratched and scratched all over the entire arch.

Next, Marionette moved its fingers down to the circular heel! "STAHAHAHAHAP IHIHIHIHI'M GOHOHOHONNA DIHIHIHIHIE! IHIHIHIT TIHIHIHICKLES TOHOHOHO MUHUHUHUHUCH!" Jeremy begged through his endless laughter.

Marionette paused his fingers and lifted them away from the heel. The puppet looked up at the guard...and spoke in his small, female voice... "Seeing you powerless is like music to me." The puppet told him.

Jeremy just stared at the puppet in fear and anxiety. Instantaneously though, Jeremy's anxiety left his mind as he threw his head back and just HOWLED with new-found laughter. Marionette had found his secret little death spot: his toes. Specifically, under his toes. Marionette was scratching all 3 of their fingers underneath Jeremy's toes, making sure to give each and every toe lots of attention.

"NAHAHAHAT THE TOHOHOHOHOES! NAHAHAHAT MY SEHEHENSIHIHITIHIVE TOHOHOHOES! THEHEHEHEY'RE TOHOHOHOHOO TIHIHIHICKLIHIHISH FOHOHOHOR THIHIHIHIHIHIS!" Jeremy yelled desperately.

Marionette began scratching all 3 fingers left and right underneath Jeremy's toes.

"AAAAAAAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! PLEHEHEHEHEHEHEHEASE! HAHAHAHAHEHEHEHEHEHE!" Jeremy laughed hysterically.

Then...Marionette did something only Satan himself would be capable of: Marionette pulled a couple of Jeremy's toes back, and began scratching the more exposed spaces underneath the deathly ticklish toes.

Jeremy was cackling like a mad man. The poor guy was losing energy rather quickly. His pushing and squirming had began to slow, and tears had started forming in his eyes. Not to be confused with tears of pain, of course. This wasn't painful for Jeremy. Though this kind of fighting presents itself with a few cons, It wasn't torturous either. It was...strangely playful. It sort of reminded Jeremy of the stories his friends would tell him, of the tickle fights they had with their siblings growing up. Some tickle fights were pure playfulness, other tickle fights were slightly torturous. But in the end, they still loved each other.

Was Jeremy beginning to like the animatronics? Not intimate of course, but...Was Jeremy beginning to appreciate the animatronics' tickling? Surely not! That's absurd!...unless...

Marionette finally lifted its fingers away from Jeremy's toes. Jeremy took full advantage of the break, sucking as much air into his lungs as he possibly can. It feels so good to be able to breath properly. His whole body was drenched in sweat, starting at his forehead and running down his lower back. He felt hot. He needed to cool down.

"I like you. You're fun." Freddy declared.

Chica turned Jeremy around, so she could see his face. "Are you okay?" Chica asked.

Jeremy giggled and kicked his feet in reaction. "I'm fine...I'm ohohokAHAhahahahay! HEHEHEhehehey!" Jeremy replied, suddenly bursting into even more joy-filled giggles. Chica tilted his head, puzzled. "Yohohohour hahahahands ahahare tihihihicklihihing mehehe!" Jeremy replied through his giggle fit.

Chica's beaked mouth opened. "I'm holding onto you. Why is this making you laugh?" Chica asked before tightening her grip on Jeremy's waist. Jeremy's eyes squeezed shut as more laughter just left his mouth through his toothy smile.

"Yohohohour squeeehehehehehezing myhyhy hihihihihihips! My hihihihips ahahahare tihihihicklihihish!" Jeremy explained.

"Wow! You're ticklish just about everywhere!" Freddy reacted. Marionette giggled alongside Jeremy as it watched the silliness take place.

"Oh Cohohohome ohohohon! IHIHIHI THOHOHOHOUGHT YOHOHOHOU WEHEHERE DOHOHONE!" Jeremy yelled as his laughter grew louder. Marionette had reached its fingers into Jeremy's armpit, and began scratching lightly.

"Your laugh is very fun to hear! I wanna hear more of it!" Freddy explained.

Jeremy gulped. He didn't really say yes right away, but he didn't want to say no either. He needed to think about it for a few seconds. The truth is, Jeremy didn't mind this. It eased his anxiety and made him grow less scared of the animatronics.

So, Jeremy gave them a nod to proceed. Then, Jeremy abrupted into brand new fits of laughter! How long was Jeremy gonna be like this? Who know? Jeremy didn't care. Not one bit...

#ticklefic #lee!jeremy #ler!freddyfazbear #ler!chica #ler!marionette

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henrylevesconte · 4 years

Note

not to be evil but 50 for creamsicle dude

50- In the Afterlife

(Spoilers for Reservoir Dogs, language, and descriptions of wounds/violence)

“I’m a cop, Larry.” Freddy chokes as his vision blurs, the second bullet burning a hole through his already injured stomach. He’s dying and no matter what words Larry says to calm him, he’s fucking dead when the cops finally get to him.

Freddy had been painting the warehouse floor red for hours as the heist members bickered over what to do with him and now they were all dead except for White and Orange. Even if the LAPD bust through the door now and arrested an injured Mister White and managed to get Freddy to a hospital in time, he couldn’t live with himself. He couldn’t live with Larry, his Larry, believing they would serve jail time together, that he was right in killing Joe Cabot and Nice Guy Eddie. His soul was too heavy for him to die a liar.

The howl the older thief emits is the most heartbroken sound Freddy has ever heard and he sinks more into the older man’s lap, deflated and defeated. He can’t see him but he feels hot tears fall on his face from above. He tries in vain to grab onto his Larry, but his arms felt like jello, like he was trying to fight in a dream, punch underwater. He would be frustrated if he could feel anything at all besides the creeping coldness.

“I’m so sorry, oh Larry I’m so sorry.” Freddy chanted, over and over as he felt something cool press against his cheek. There was something happening in the distance but he could only hear Larry as he mourned for the person he thought he had fallen so deeply in love with. Freddy couldn’t blame him, he liked Mister Orange a hell of a lot better than the sad kid turned Cop Freddy Newandyke.

The younger man tried again, this time to tell him, to tell Larry his name like Larry did for him when the took the car but there was a loud sound outside that startled both men. The last sound Freddy heard before the world went entirely black was the sounds of his colleagues finally storming the building. Too little too late for him as he was another corpse in the ill-fated warehouse. Freddy Newandyke died a free man but an unhappy one, in the arms of the only person he had ever truly loved and the only man he had ever completely betrayed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Freddy wakes up after awhile, not sure where he is or what happened, vague images of the last scenes in the warehouse playing over in his mind as he tried to adjust his wary olive eyes. His hands quickly flew to his belly burying them under his tank top and feeling for what he was sure was two bullet holes only to find the smooth freckled untouched skin, just as it had been the morning before everything went to absolute shit. His hands slowly retracted, feeling his torso before he rubbed his eyes with balled fists until he could finally see he was laying in his brightly lit, shitty little LA apartment. The walls were the aqua blue he remembered begging his landlord to let him paint the place and ultimately won. He let out of a nervous laugh that threatened to turn into a sob if he didn’t keep himself together.

“How the hell am I here?” Freddy contemplated as he reached across his bedside table, retrieving a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. The young man pushed back his light brown hair back, noting the absence of sweat and pomade before fiddling with the lighter. “Mother fucker.” He seethed, pink lips wrapped around the cigarette as he tried desperately to get the thing to actually light.

Maybe he was in hell and this was a very minor inconvenience but part of a larger punishment? After all he deserved what was coming for him. He was a liar, a murderer, a thief. And all of it was for vanity and respect from men who saw his profession as subhuman anyways. Who was he really trying to impress; the LAPD who thought he was better off being a desk jockey and undercover fodder or the mob boss that said every slur under the sun with his brat and team of psychopaths? Freddy ended up like the psychopaths more than he was willing to admit. He ended up liking Mister White even more but he didn’t want to think about him.

The young man managed to get the lighter to do its job, enjoying the relief nicotine brought to his high strung nerves as he settled back down against his headboard. He ran a thumb over the broken lighter, looking at it a bit more now that he had calmed himself out of an existential panic. It looked so familiar but surely it wasn’t his, Freddy had a habit of misplacing every lighter he owned, always having to rely on someone else for a light.

That’s how he first really met Larry Dimmick, behind the club Joe and Eddie had invited him out to where he told the most riveting fucking story of 1992. He was sweating through his leather jacket, worried sick that he got any part of the commode story wrong and trying to take a break from being the cool dope peddler. White met him outside, cool as cool can be, in his Hawaiian shirt, half unbuttoned and inviting. Dark hair slicked back and styled like he was some sort of old Hollywood gangster.

“Hey, kid. Need a light?” Freddy swallowed down his nerves before leaning into the older man, cigarette between his lips as it takes a few tries and one curse to get Larry to light him one. The whole time, Freddy looks up at him from under his eye lashes, studying the firm and handsome face of the thief, justifying it as he would need to pick him out of a line up later. Tracing over every line and mark, and occasionally meeting whiskey brown eyes when they weren’t focused on the lighter.

“Thanks, man..” He said muffled between the cigarette and trying to keep himself cool. Larry lit himself one next before leaning up against the alleyway, one foot pressed to the bricks to keep his balance. This mystery man (at the time) was the coolest mother fucker in LA and Freddy was already screwed.

“Hell of a story you told back there. I know we can’t exchange names, but I’d like to buy you a drink....”

“Larry????” The memory faded just as it has begun as reality hit him like a ton of bricks. Freddy squirmed, falling out of bed just as quickly as he had gotten up. The cigarette nearly abandoned and burning a hole in his beige carpet. He quickly recovered it, snuffing it out in an ash tray and rolling back onto his feet. He reached the door, throwing it open only to find the Mister White standing in his kitchen, coffee mug cradled in his hands as he greeted him.

“About time you got up, kid. I thought you were gonna sleep all day.” There was no malice in his voice, which hurt the younger man even more than if Larry had lashed out at him. Instead, he was pulling out a chair for him at his wobbly little breakfast table and pouring Freddy fresh brewed coffee in his favorite mug (the one with Wolverine on it). It was domestic, just like it had been before the heist when they broke the rules time and time again to meet up in Orange’s apartment. They became fast friends and even faster lovers. White was in his bed three days after meeting in the bar and every night since. And Freddy had gotten so used to waking up to fresh coffee made by the thief who always woke up much earlier than him. This scene was pulled straight from the good times, before the failed diamond heist, the chase, the bullets...

Freddy stood in the door way like a frightened animal, unwilling to get any closer and clenching the lighter in his fist. The older man sighed deeply, annoyed already but trying a different approach to coax him forward.

“I’m not mad at you, Orange. Not now. But I need to talk to you, you at least owe me a conversation.” He did. He really owed him so much more and he hated hearing his alias. So Freddy settled into the kitchen, perching on his chair but pulling his legs up to his chest as he exchanged the lighter for the mug.

“Freddy. Freddy Newandyke.” He said, he had been so careful with his name, unlike Larry who came to him with his heart on his sleeve from the start. “Please call me that.” Larry frowned, digesting the information before shooting him a classic smile. That was the thing that killed him (well he was already dead..) the most, how accepting his Larry was.. If he still was his Larry.

“I never pictured you a Freddy but now that I know, it suits you. Kind of cute.” Larry pulled out his own chair and sat next to him, the younger man just now noticed that he was wearing his own pajamas, they were both as they were before everything went to shit. “Well Freddy, what the fuck was that all about huh?”

Freddy sighed, burning his tongue on his still too hot coffee before he began his full confession.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They talked and established three things over four pots of coffee and a few packs of cigarettes:

They were dead, Larry had shot Freddy and the LAPD had shot Larry for it. And they were in some form of purgatory, Larry was more into the idea of it being a different plane of existence while Freddy was sure they were in the biblical definition of purgatory.

Freddy was a cop, the one feeding the police information about the heist the whole time but he was remorseful about it.

They loved each other still despite what happened.

Larry held his hand, rubbing his knuckles with a calloused thumb while Freddy choked out the last of it. He was a mess, worked up and teary eyed with his free arm flailing for emphasis with every “I’m sorry, I fucked up, I don’t deserve you.”

The older man shook his head and pulled Freddy into his lap, cradling him like he was on the warehouse floor again but with less urgency. Mister White wrapped an arm around his waist and used the other to cup his cheek.

“You broke my fucking heart, kid.” Larry whispered into his temple before placing soft kisses along his hairline. Freddy shuttered at the tenderness he truly did not deserve, he clung instead to Larry for dear life as he continued to whisper to him, “But I killed you so I’d call that even.”

“I’m sorry, Larry. I’ll never not be sorry about this. I love you so much..” He whimpered before being silenced by Larry’s lips on his own. He had missed them so much after getting caught up in a whirlwind of events, it felt like he was finally home. Here in Larry Dimmick’s arms and with his lips on his. Freddy could have sworn he felt his heart beat again. It was Larry who broke it off to brush the hair from his lovers face.

“We’ve got time, and I love you so much, Freddy, I’m willing to give it another try.” Larry smiled at him like he was telling the fake commode story and Freddy’s soul felt more free than he had in ages. Maybe this was heaven after all.

#ask meme #fuck this is long #reservoir dogs #larry dimmick #freddy newandyke #mister white #mister orange #creamsicle #i write sins and tragedies #hungry-hobbits #angst #with fluff at the end #spoilers for a movie that came out in the 90s

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typicallylatetothefandom · 4 years

Text

Five Nights At Freddy's: Fazbear Frights [Hocus Pocus]

(SCOTT CAWTHON DID NOT MAKE THIS STORY: THIS IS MY STORY)

Anna Vincent. That was the name of a high school girl. She was pale and thin, her dirty blonde hair was usually in a ponytail, and she had vivid blue eyes- not to mention that her outfits usually are comprised of a hoodie, sweatpants, and simple sneakers. Nothing special, but she was never the type of person to really want to stand out- mainly due to her hobby. Specifically her hobby of drawing and designing animatronics for possible pizzeria places and other children's establishments since she wants to be an Imagineer when she gets older, and the reason for this is all due to her father. Her father was a kind soul- albeit a little neglectful, although she can't blame him since he has to run one of the many Freddy Fazbear's in that the United States, and his also being one of the most popular by being the only pizzeria to have, as he puts it, 'special guest characters', where an animatronic that has never been seen before gets put into their own stage in a separate room of the pizzeria- however Anna doesn't remember any of the special guests. Even though when she was little she went to Freddy's a lot, once she got older, her father didn't allow her to. She thinks that it was shortly after she had made her first animatronic ever. She doesn't remember what the animatronic looked like, but she remember the name of it. Her name was Catherine, and that's sadly all she could remember, which made her a bit upset. She remembered how she showed her dad, he grabbed it and said he loved it, and never gave the picture back to her. That day, when she was walking back from school- she decided to go and ask her father

Soon enough, she walked into her house with a light slam of the squeaky door, and she sees her father, dark brown hair and vivid blue eyes like her own, dressed up for something as he had just finished a phone call

"Hey dad" Anna said "I have a small question for you"

Her father turned to her and gave her a smile

"Of course princess, what is it?"

Anna cringed a little. She didn't like when her dad would call her that

"I was just wondering if you remembered my first animatronic I ever designed"

Her dad put a finger and thumb under his chin as he thought for a moment before he sighed

"Sadly no, I'm sorry. But I'm also in a hurry! Someone wants to sell me some new animatronics, but I need to see them all, but he's in another state. I'll be gone for a couple of days at most, and I did try asking him to bring them here, but he's not that reasonable. You know the rules. No staying out after dark, there's some money in case you wanna go to the store to get yourself anything and-"

"Yeah dad, I know" Anna interrupted, still a bit upset that she yet again had to be home alone- but was basically used to it by now

"Good. Thank you for understanding" Her father said, patting her on the head a bit as he walked to the door "I love you" he said

"Love you too, dad" Anna mumbled, crossing her arms a bit as her father left. She was now by herself in the house- no one to supervise her, but instead of doing something any normal kid would do at her age- sneak some alcohol drinking in, stay up all night, and just overall break the normal house rules, Anna wanted to know where the picture was. She looked around for what seemed like days, even if it was just a simple hour or two, for the picture of Catherine. She didn't know why, but she needed to see the picture. It was special to her. But after searching in every room in the house, even her father's workspace that usually had things lost in it, it wasn't there. Not anywhere in the house. Then she thinks about that one certain day, and she realizes that she wasn't at home when she showed the drawing: She was at Freddy's. She gave the drawing to him at Freddy's. How she didn't remember that fact was unknown, but she realizes that she needed to go to her dad's pizzeria in order to find the picture. This itch to find this picture became a never ending rash- but she didn't know why. All she knew is that she NEEDED to find it, and since her dad said it would be a couple of days until he got back, it would be find. She subconsciously misses that place, so it wouldn't be wrong to take her time a bit. She quickly found the keys to Freddy's since her dad left the keys at the house before getting on her bike, putting the keys in her hoodie pocket, and biking towards her location. She knew the route by heart, so it didn't take long for her to get to Freddy's.

Once she got there, she looked at the pizzeria. She took a second to take in the design of the place. The colorful sign that read 'Freddy Fazbear's Pizzeria', the yellow and red checkboard line going around the whole building. It looked like just how she remembered it as a little kid, but it was almost.... sinister looking due to the moonlight shining on it. Anna took a deep breath as she stepped inside with a use of the keys. The welcoming sight wasn't interesting from what she could see. Just a cardboard welcome sign of a cartoon Freddy and the cashier for people getting it- the entrance was nothing more then a colorful curtain- but then Anna had realized something. She forgot to bring a flashlight with her. Kind of panicking, she looks around the welcoming area, and strangely enough finds a flashlight underneath the cashier's table. She turned it on, and it thankfully worked. She did question why a flashlight would be here- but then sums it up to in case a blackout were to happen. Here then came the moment of truth.... She turned the light towards the colorful curtain and starts to get nervous. She doesn't know what lies beyond the curtain, but at the same time- she does. It's just been so long, she can't seem to remember the details of the place, as if someone locked away the memories and threw away the key and she was trying to find it. She sighs as she quickly closes her eyes as she runs threw the curtains, tightly holding the flashlight. She nervous opens her eyes and moves around, shining the flashlight at different parts of the area. All of the memories seemingly start to rush back into her head. She remembers wearing the party hats that were on the empty tables, she moves the light to see many arcade machines she played, and then.... She moves her vision towards them. The animatronics on stage. Freddy, Bonnie, and Chica. Although their designs are rather bland in her eyes, she can't deny she used to love them. They did look kind of creepy now since they were off and not singing or talking, but she still remembered how she would sing along to the songs. Anna was unknowingly humming one of the many songs they used to sing to everyone in the restaurant as she continued to walk and look around. She found Foxy in his Pirate's Cove, and although she did enjoy him, he was also kind of creepy in the dark like this. But she knew they wouldn't do anything. They can't get off stage and they're robots, but she did have to be quick. It may have been night time, but she didn't have any sort of clock with her, meaning she didn't know the time, and if another employee found her, she would be in a lot of trouble. She continues to look around and then finds an 'Employees Only', but it didn't look like a backstage door. Instead, it looked almost welcoming, which is her dad's entire thing- to be welcoming. She found it.

She started to go over to the door, but she passed a sign in front of a doorway, and she stopped. She walked back a bit and shined the light over the sign. It was a rather normal looking sign that looked a bit generic except for the cartoony esc font that read

Special Guest Room! The Special Guest Of The Week: Catherine The Cat

Anna felt like she had the read the name a thousand times. Catherine. That was the same name as HER animatronic. The very first one. She couldn't stop herself from investigating, and went into the party room. She looked around, and although the room wasn't as big as the main room, it wasn't the smallest room here. She looked at the very back of the room, and saw a medium stage with an red curtain closed in front of it, making whatever was in the other side impossible to see. She carefully went close to the curtain. She was practically shaking with anticipation. Was this really the one? The animatronic she drew all those years ago? With one very shaky breath, she quickly opened the curtains of the stage and she couldn't believe her eyes

There, standing on stage, was a feminine cat looking animatronic. It's almost clean fur was a dark indigo, which contrasted the pale orange it's snout and stomach were, as well as some highlights on it's ears. It's half closed eyelids were a dark magenta whist it's eyes were a neon green. It wore a candy shaped bowtie- lavender in color as well as a purple vest with lavender heart shaped buttons on it, the vest even having a bit of the upside down v attachment. The tips of its five fingers on each hands were the same color as it's eyelids and even fake plastic lipstick it had on it's fake lips. Finally, to top off the entire design, it wore a purple top hat with a lavender strip on it- complete with holding a long purple wand with both of the end tip being white. The design..... Was Anna's. The memory of the crudely crayon drawn animatronic was in her head, and now it was real and right in front of her. She couldn't believe it. Did her father make this? Did someone else make this? She was happy, but also very much confused about the whole thing. She didn't get why her father didn't show her that he had made Catherine real. Maybe he just forgot?

Suddenly, she heard a cranking noise, causing her to yelp and fall backwards, dropping the flashlight as it continued to shine on Catherine- who was moving. Moving. Why was it moving!? Anna got up as she heard the robot speak

"Hi there! My name is Catherine! I'm a magical cat! What's your name?" The robot asked as she bowed a bit a stared endlessly at Anna

"A-Anna...." She responded, scared

The cat animatronic giggled a bit with a faint metalic noise in her voice "Anna's a nice name"

"Huh? Wait, y-you can, uh, talk to me?" Anna questioned

"Of course I can! It's how I was designed!" Catherine responded, continuing to move with a bit of rust in her movement

Anna didn't know how this was happening, IF it was happening at all. The other animatronics weren't moving, so why was she?

"U-Um, can you tell me you created you....?" Anna decided to ask

"Hmm.... Sorry deary, I don't think I can!" Catherine answered

"Why not?" Anna grabbed her flashlight as she asked the following question

"Because he told me not to" Catherine said as she put one of her fingers over her mouth in a shushing motion

"Well, I designed you technically. I-I made you when I was, like, six" Anna didn't understand why she was talking to Catherine. She was shaking in fear- why wasn't she running? She could've ran. She should've ran. And yet she didn't- instead talking to her like she was an old friend. Did she really think that? WAS Catherine a friend to her? Imaginary? Was she sleeping? She didn't know- but she continued to talk to her. Maybe she could understand why she was talking like she had human thought

"Oh really? Well, isn't that just cute!" Catherine said, waving her wand around. Anna noticed that Catherine's legs never moved when she did move, meaning she probably couldn't get off of the stage- which did sooth Anna's worried feelings a bit

"Y-Yeah, I guess..... How come you can speak to me like this?" Anna asked, wanting more answers

"That's something I can't answer" Catherine answered

"Dammit..." Anna muttered "Look, I'll, uh, be right back Just give me five minutes, I just need to check something" She remembered that her mission was to find the drawing .She did lie about being back in five minutes- she was honestly terrified. She didn't want to speak with her any longer

"Alright!" Catherine said as she turned off, going back into her original pose

Anna quickly left as she went over to the welcoming door and opened it with her keys. She walked in and closed the door behind her as she looked around for a light switch, luckily finding one and switching the dim light on as she turned her flashlight off. The room- like her dad's house work room, was cluttered with papers and machinery such as printers and fax machines, but the main thing that caught her attention were blueprints tacked onto a board. Upon close inspection, the blueprints were for the animatronics in the building- specifically upgrades for them. She looked through the blueprints, and was a bit shocked. The upgrades would make it so the animatronic costumes could be worn as suits to walk around and take pictures with and say hi to the customers.... And it seems some of the special guest animatronics- including Catherine- were the same way. It didn't explain how Catherine could have a full conversation with her, but the fact that with a simple turn of a crank, you could wear the suit? That's just amazing- even she had never thought of something that genius. She didn't even care about the drawing due to this amazing technology she had discovered! Anna spent a while looking at the blue prints and taking mental notes, and after about half an hour passed, she was done observing and trying to keep this information in her head since she didn't have anything to write it on that didn't look important in the room. After she was done, she turned on the flashlight and turned off the dim light in the room before carefully opening the door and sliding out. It was time for her to leave- completely forgetting about Catherine. She started to make her way towards the colorful curtains towards the entrance, when she suddenly heard footsteps. Heavy footsteps. Anna quickly turned around as she looked at what was moving, and what she saw made her blood run cold

There, at the entrance of the Special Guest Room, was Catherine. Standing there- staring her down with practically dead eyes

"You said five minutes, Anna....." Catherine said in an upset tone as the metalic tone almost out shined the usual feminine voice she had "Are you trying to leave?" She turned her head down a bit

Anna, without saying a word, started to run towards the entrance, but Catherine was faster, grabbing at her hoodie. Anna quickly unzipped her hoodie, showing that she wore a tank top underneath, as she dropped the flashlight and slipped out of the hoodie, continuing to run. Catherine ran at her, the heavy footsteps echoing through the empty dining area as Anna tried to grab something- ANYTHING- that could stop Catherine, but she couldn't think fast enough, Catherine grabbing her ankle as she desperately grabbed the curtains near the entrance, ripping them off of the doorway as she screamed for help, trying to grab something to hit the demented robot with. As Anna was screaming, Catherine used her free hand to slowly open her chest, showing that her chest cavity was the right size for Anna

"And with my special magic words..... I will make Anna disappear!" Catherine said in a sinister tone as she grabbed Anna with both hands and pushed her into the chest cavity before her chest closed on it's own. "Hocus Pocus!" Catherine said as she stood there, Anna's screams of pain could be heard- but after a couple of minutes- there was silence, followed by a little bit of blood coming out of Catherine's chest. Catherine grabbed a napkin off of the table and simply wiped the blood off of her chest as she took the curtains and the flashlight, hid them under the table, and went back onto the stage, waiting for the day to come again- so that people would enjoy the special guest of the week at Freddy's

(Hope you liked this story- I know it's not as long as normal Fazbear Frights, but I still enjoyed writing this)

#fnaf #fazbear frights #fanmade fnaf #fanmade #this took forever

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ohmeohmayohmy · 5 years

Text

With the Slightest Smile, Chapter 10

Taglist: @reedusteinrambles @juxt4p0siti0n @kurtnehhhh @chlobo6 @reavenedges-lies @livcaper @singularpurplepansy

Notes: Thank you for your patience, folks, in waiting on the latest installment in this oh so thrilling saga. I’m just gonna give a little disclaimer, I’m not super happy with the execution of this chapter. It was supposed to be longer, but so much was happening, I worried it might be too much. I took out a lot of things, maybe they’ll be included in the future. Hopefully no blaring editing issues. Anyway, she’s short and a little all over the place. But there is one moment that felt like a sucker punch to the throat... Anyway, enjoy this cute picture of the babes chilling in Australia :)

Warnings: Language, some drinking.

Words: 8.7k+

___________________________________

January 17, 1974

“Oh, I’m fucking exhausted,” you announced to the empty living room as you flopped onto the sofa, face first.

Most nights had been quiet since New Year’s. You worked most of them, but even when you got to be home, Brian was seldom there.

Neither of you brought up what had happened, neither of you knew what the other was aware of. You didn’t tell Brian about your intentions for the evening, or the passionate night that was borne from your despair, and he certainly didn’t tell you about what he overheard.

The strangest thing about the situation for you, however, was the relief you felt whenever you discovered that Brian wasn’t in the flat. The interactions you shared were awkward, filled with silences and missed connections. Feeling that way around him broke your heart every time.

You stayed in the same position for a while, careful not to drift off into slumber just yet, until you decided you wanted to get something to drink. Slowly peeling yourself from the fabric of the seats, you felt your spine crack with precision. The sound wasn’t pleasant, but you appreciated the sensation that followed.

Walking into the kitchen, you noticed a pile of unwashed dishes in the sink. You groaned, not wanting to clean up after someone else’s mess. Upon further inspection, you saw that there were four plates, each with a thin dusting of bread crumbs. It probably meant Brian had the boys over, and they were all out together now. You drummed your fingers over the faucet head before turning on the cold water, allowing it to fill your glass once the temperature was acceptable.

The countertops were all a little dirtier than you would have liked. Some wet spots from god knows what, small bits of food that no one took the care to swipe off the surfaces. It irritated you, but you couldn’t find the energy in yourself to fix it. With a deep breath, you exited the space without doing anything. It’s not my problem.

You walked across the living room to get to the hallway, and came upon your bedroom door. It was closed shut, as you had left it before you went to work. Taking a sip from your glass, you jiggled the handle to get inside. For the first time in years, you heard the familiar grating creak of the hinges, causing a shiver to slither down your spine. It wasn’t like that this morning, was it? Pushing past it, you got into your room, and sat on the bed without closing the door behind you. The blue color scheme filled you with a newfound calm. The lazy light of the sunset peeked around the curtain covering the window. You basked in the soft hues of pink and orange, closing your eyes in relaxation.

Shaking you out of it, you heard the flat’s door click open and shut. Through the doorway to your bedroom, you peered, and were met with the sight of a somber Brian. He felt your gaze upon him but didn’t reciprocate. Instead, he tossed his jacket onto the coat rack and marched to his own bedroom. You expected to hear a slam, but it didn’t come. Concerned, you tiptoed down the hallway to check on your best friend.

Brian sat at the piano pushed against the wall, one of his hands held over his eyes, the other gently rest atop the uncovered keys. You felt as though you were intruding on his privacy, and decided to leave him be. As you vanished, Brian turned to look at you, only seeing an empty hallway. He lowered his eyes to the piano in front of him, and softly trilled in the silence.

From your room, you could hear the quietly mournful music drifting in.

And so, you both sat in your loneliness, waiting for the other to rescue you.

_______________

January 22

“Oi, give me the hat!” Roger hollered as Freddie swiped his beret from the table.

“You’ll thank me for this,” Freddie snided.

“Thank you for stealing?”

“Theft can be good for the victim.”

“In what circumstances, Fred?”

“Collecting the insurance.”

“You think I have my hats insured?”

“Well, I do.”

You and John sat at a safe distance from the bickering, entertained by the others’ antics of the day. He hid the laughter forming at his lips with his fist, but you weren’t as careful about covering your cheer. Your giggling made it harder for Deaky to contain his own, and eventually he broke, his sweet chimes joining in with yours. Freddie and Roger didn’t appreciate the seeming ridicule, turning their snipping comments to the pair of you.

“Shut up, Deaky,” Roger huffed. “Wouldn’t want to insure your stuff, no one would steal it.”

Freddie smirked. “No one would want it.” You smiled at the silly expression of offense John was giving them. Freddie then looked at you. “Don’t think you’re safe in this, Y/N.” Brian came out to join the rest of you, finally emerging from the shower, watching the rest of you teasing and playing around. He leaned against the doorframe. You were the only one who noticed him standing there. Freddie continued poking fun, “I’ve seen that horrible brown jumper of yours.”

You frowned, eyes drifting down to your hands. “It was a gift.”

“From who? Deaky?” Roger teased.

“No.”

Roger continued pressing, “What kind of boyfriend doesn’t give you gifts?”

John’s eyes widened, looking from Roger to Freddie, and landing on you. You both shifted uneasily in your seats, uncomfortable with the direction of the conversation. “He’s not my boyfriend.”

Brian glared at Roger, not wanting to bring up the conversation of New Year’s. The two of them had many discussions about what they had perceived. Or rather, Brian ranted about everything while Roger made snide comments just to rile him up. You didn’t see the angered stares shared between them, and got up from your place next to John. Deaky watched you with apologies brimming in his eyes.

Not looking at him, you moved on to go into the kitchen, ignoring the comments being murmured in deep tones. Turning on one of the burners under the tea kettle, you reached for a mug in the cupboard above you. John came up behind you and helped you grab one, setting it down on the counter near you. You stared at him. He was sheepish.

“Sorry about them, Y/N.”

“Not your fault. They’re mostly harmless anyway.”

“Mostly,” he reemphasized. “Wouldn’t trust them around open flame.”

You grinned. “Maybe then they’d actually be able to collect some insurance money.” John ceded, holding his hands up in defeat. “And I’m sorry I was so quick to dismiss the thought, I just didn’t want them to get the wrong idea.”

“No, I understand. I wasn’t offended.”

You sighed, grateful. “Lunch yesterday was great.” He beamed down at you.

“I thought so too. We should do it again sometime.”

The creak of a floorboard caught your attention. You sharply snapped you head to the side, seeing Brian standing alone, coming in from the living room. You felt like you were caught red handed, even though you hadn’t done anything. His face had no expression, not wanting to betray the upset brewing inside. John cleared his throat.

“I should probably take Fred and Rog home.”

“You drove them here?” You asked, tearing away from Brian’s face.

Deaky nodded. “Roger’s car had to be fixed. He was quite upset about it.”

“What happened? Did he get in an accident?”

“No, he thinks someone dented the side of it, but I tried to tell him it was already there.”

Brian, who hadn’t said anything since you saw him, grumbled, “It’s no Beatrix.” You smiled fondly, glad that he had humor about him.

“Beatrix is a sturdy lady,” you joked. Brian’s harshness became less intense. John wasn’t sure how to respond to the words being spoken, awkwardly swaying and puffing out his cheeks. You faced him. “Y’know, you don’t have to leave. We could all go out for food or something.” He left a pause, hesitant.

“It’s not really dinner time.”

“Does it have to be?” Brian arched an eyebrow, almost challenging his bandmate.

Deaky was unfazed. “I have plans anyway.”

You perked up, “Sounds nice. Maybe some other time, then.” Your eyes darted between the two tall men standing beside you. Brian shifted away from John and smiled down upon you.

“You know where to find me,” John said, slowly shuffling away from the situation, making his way to where the others sat. You followed him, and Brian followed you out into the living room.

Roger stood triumphant, beret placed sloppily on his head. Freddie has his arms crossed, rolling his eyes as they conversed. John rested an arm on Freddie’s shoulder, telling them that he was ready to leave. They collected their things, giving you various remarks of “Thank you” and “See you later” and other things of the sort. You watched them clumsily make their way out the door, Roger stumbling over Freddie’s foot. John gave you a kind smile as he closed the door behind him, shepherding the rowdy pair away.

“We could still get something to eat, if you’d like,” Brian suggested. You took your attention away from the group who had just left and brought it to him.

“Sure. Haven’t been wined and dined by you lately,” you smiled. He scoffed, but an amused grin wrenched itself across his face. “Not every girl gets to say she’s had dinner with Brian May.”

But not every girl was you.

He held his tongue, keeping the words on his mind out of his mouth.

“I guess I should put some clothes on,” you muttered to yourself, unconsciously twiddling with the hem of the shirt you had been lounging in all afternoon. Brian nodded, combing a hand through his still damp hair. You left him alone for a few minutes, searching through your things to find something to slip on. This seems to be a common occurrence, you mocked yourself.

In ransacking the dresser drawers, your hands dug out an old brown jumper. Wistfully, you pulled it up to your face and took in a deep breath, allowing the scent of sage to crash in over you. After the brief moment of personal intimacy, you carefully stashed it away again before moving on to find something to wear for the evening.

* * *

“So, when is your flight to Australia?” You asked in between bites of your salad.

Brian quickly wiped a napkin over his mouth. “We leave on Thursday.”

“It’s going to be a long one.”

“I know, and I’m already stressing out over it ‘cause Freddie is worried about the inoculations we have to get. Hates needles.”

You dipped your water. “His nerves are making you anxious?”

“More like irritating me to the point of insanity,” Brian answered.

“Any of the others scared of needles?”

“No, just Fred.”

“Where are you going to get them done?”

“We’re going to a clinic tomorrow.”

You creased your forehead. “That’s cutting it awfully close.”

“It’s taken us this long to get Freddie to come to terms with it.”

“Hmm. I would’ve thought Roger was the one who had a hard time with shots.”

Brian shook his head, eyes cast down. “I think he worked with needles enough at uni to get over that.” You nodded in agreement.

“That’s fair, I got over my fear.”

Brian gave a sly smile, looking up at you through his dark eyelashes. “I will never forget the screaming.”

“I never screamed.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he teased.

You glared at him. “At least I never cried because the teacher wrote ‘Good job’ instead of ‘Excellent’ on my maths homework.”

“That was one time!”

“Yeah, because he never did it again after he saw your snotty little nose running.”

Brian leaned back in his chair, away from you, to get a better look at his surroundings. “It’s rather nice in here,” he mused. “Don’t y’think?”

“Don’t change the subject.”

His eyelids fluttered, probably without him meaning to. You were struck with his loveliness. Does he always do that? I’ve never noticed.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come to Melbourne with us?”

You pushed the thought out of your mind. “Yes, I’m sure, Bri. I already had this discussion with John.” That was the wrong thing to say, and you knew it as it came from your lips. Brian’s soft glow dwindled, his gentle demeanor crushed.

“When you went to lunch yesterday?” He spoke quietly. You felt a pang of guilt rising in your chest.

“Well, not yesterday. It was sometime last week.” You writhed at the seemingly incriminating words spilling from you.

Brian brought his eyes back down to his fiddling fingers, not wanting to make eye contact. “Do you go often?”

His questions were starting to aggravate you. They sounded like accusations, as if there was something wrong about going to lunch with a friend who wasn’t him. “Does it matter?”

Brian gave a small chuckle, but it sounded a little unhinged. “Well, your boyfriend should take you out whenever he can. I mean, you’re a busy lady.” He felt himself ruining the evening more with every word, but he had to speak his mind. It was killing him to think about you and Deaky, and he wanted you to know that, even if this wasn’t the way to do it.

You detested the mocking, condescending quality of his words. “I am busy, but I always make time for my friends. Maybe if you bothered to ask if I had plans, we could’ve gone for lunch, too. But you didn’t. So what’s it to you if John wanted—”

“I don’t need to know what John wanted.”

That’s it. You stood up from the booth where you were sitting and stared down at Brian. “What the hell is your problem?” He didn’t say anything. “Whomever I go out for a meal with is none of your concern. Especially when you haven’t even tried to talk to me in weeks. I hate it! I hate it when you get jealous just because I’m not waiting around the flat for you to come home to me. I can have other companions in life, Brian.” You grabbed your purse and moved away from the table. “And John is not my fucking boyfriend. Not that it’s any of your business.” You rummaged through the purse’s contents, and threw some money to him. “Have a nice time in Melbourne.”

Brian watched you storm off. Once you were gone, he rested his head on the flat surface of the table. He blew it again, and he didn’t even get his burning questions answered.

_______________

January 24

The sound of Brian’s blaring alarm woke you far earlier than you intended to be up. You didn’t even plan on seeing him off, and though you knew it was petty, you debated it as you were in bed, hearing him shuffling through his stuff in preparation.

In contrast, Brian hadn’t slept a wink. It was now three o’clock in the morning, and he had been laying still for the past five hours. He felt nauseated ever since he got the inoculations, his head was spinning from the magnitude of it all, and he couldn’t help but play the disastrous supper between the pair of you over and over again in his head. It seemed as though someone was telling him to stay home. And Brian considered it. But then his alarm went off, and he was brought back to reality.

You finally came to the conclusion that you should get up and go to the airport with Brian and the others. You rationalized that someone would have to drive Brian’s car back home, even though you really just wanted to move on from the argument that had broken out in the restaurant. The tenseness that had taken over the apartment since the beginning of the year was driving you crazy, choking all joy from your lives together. Going to the airport might be an olive branch. At least, you hoped so.

But the thing that confused you the most was why Brian had been so cross with you and Deaky. You were unable to get around it, always coming back to a big question mark. Brian never explained his animosity over your friendship with John. You thought it might have to do with him drunkenly asking you out on his birthday, but you couldn’t connect it to any reasons that Brian might have. It never occurred to you that Brian was upset about much more recent events that he thought had transpired.

You pulled the warm covers off of your body, and walked over to your closet to find something warm and comfortable to slip on.

Brian dragged his bag down the hallway, his arm hurt too much to pick it up. You stepped out of your room just as he was approaching it. The circles that were customarily under his eyes seemed impossibly dark. It worried you.

“Good morning,” you whispered.

“Good morning, Y/N.”

“How did you sleep?”

He snorted. “I didn’t.”

“Are you okay?”

“I’m great,” he lied. You weren’t convinced, but decided not to say anything. He continued walking, dragging the bag beside him. You came up behind him and scooped the bag into your arms. He seemed surprised. “Are you coming to the airport?”

“What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t?”

Brian smiled with appreciation and didn’t respond to your question.

“You want me to drive? I’m a little more well rested.”

“If you insist.”

“I do,” you affirmed.

Brian shrugged, too tired to put up a fight. “Then who am I to say no?”

“Is this everything you’re bringing?” You motioned with the bag.

“Mmhmm.” His drowsy voice caught in his throat. “Red is too.”

“I could’ve guessed as much,” you playfully scolded. “Should I go grab—”

“I can carry my own guitar,” he piped. “I’m not completely incompetant.”

“No, you’re not.” You voice softened, feeling intense affection for your best friend, standing with sleep in his eyes. Brian overlooked your adoring eyes and stumbled off to grab his guitar case. You set the bag down to pull your boots up and loop a coat around your arms, bundling up in preparation for the nippy winter morning air. Brian came back with the case in hand, and a silly grin. The shift from his drowsy droopiness to a more cheerful disposition eased some of the concerns you held for him. “Are you ready?”

“I suppose I am.”

--May 19, 1969--

“Happiest of birthdays, Pip!” Your father loudly spoke over the phone, using the nickname he’d given you when you were small.

“Thank you, dad. Tell mum I say thank you for the biscuits she sent.”

“You can tell her yourself,” he said, oblivious to your desire to hang up. “Dear, Y/N wants to talk to you!” He called to your mother, who must have been in another room.

“Oh, dad, I don’t have much ti—”

“Y/N, sweetie?” A feminine voice came through the speaker.

You sighed silently to yourself.

“Hi, mum.”

“Happy birthday!”

“Thank you.”

“I can’t believe you’re already twenty two. I miss my little baby. You were just so cute.”

“Ha, yeah. Thank you, mum, for the biscuits.”

“They travelled alright?”

“Yes, delicious as ever.” You took a bite of one, making sure she could hear you eating it. “Mmm.”

“Have any plans for the day?”

“No, I got the day off to do nothing.”

Your mother laughed. “Just as you like it.”

You let a pause drift into the conversation, trying to let it move naturally. “Is Bri there?” You asked, as if you had just thought of it, even though it was the first thing on your mind when you had picked up the phone. You hadn’t spoken to Brian in several days, and were really hoping he’d call you on your birthday. Thus far, however, he hadn’t, and with each passing hour you grew more disappointed.

“No, he’s not, sweetie. Has he called you yet?”

“No.”

“He’s probably busy,” she defended Brian.

“Probably.”

The disappointment must have slipped into your tone, because your mother said, “Don’t worry. I’m sure he’s working on some huge surprise, like he does every year.”

“Well, ’ve been home every year for my birthday, mum. It’s a bit easier to do something when you’re in the same country.”

She hesitated. “Don’t be so sure, dear. Brian always comes through.”

You smiled meekly. He does. The mere thought of him made your eyes dewy. Being away from home, from him, for so much of your time was even more difficult than you had predicted. It had been the better part of a year since you moved to Helsinki for work, but the homesickness never seemed to subside like everyone said it would.

“You miss him, don’t you?”

“You could say that,” you laughed, only partially being jocose.

“Hmm, more than your father and me?”

The brief delay in your response gave her a good chuckle.

“What–no!”

“You’ve never been good at lying, sunshine.”

You knew she had a point.

“It’s not that I miss him more, it’s just a different kind of missing.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself. Love has a funny way of making many things of a ‘different kind,’ Pip.” Your mum started rambling on about something that you couldn’t really pay attention to, caught up on the last comment she made.

“Huh?”

She stopped. “What?”

“I never said anything about love.”

“You didn’t have to, dear.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

You could hear your parents whisper to each other, followed by a shared laugh. “Like I said, Y/N, you never were good at lying.”

Before you could ask her to elaborate on the implications behind her sarcasm, a gentle knock came at the door of your small apartment.

“Mum?”

“Yes?”

“Can I call you back? It sounds like someone’s at the door.” You held your hand over the lower portion of the telephone to call out to the person behind the door. “Just a minute!”

A delighted noise came from the other side of the call. “Of course, baby. I love you.”

“I love you too, mum. And dad.”

“He says he knows. Talk to you at some point, then.”

“Alright.”

She hung up before you had the chance to. With slight indignance, you set the phone back on its hook and moved to answer the continuous knocking.

You swung the door open, in the midst of saying “Sorry,” revealing the most beautiful face you had ever laid eyes on.

“Happy birthday, love.”

Before you squeak any words out, your body took over and enveloped his lanky figure in your arms. “I missed you,” you choked, a sob lodging itself in your throat. His reassuring embrace surrounded you, pulling you further into his warmth.

“Not as much as I missed you,” Brian replied lovingly, stroking your hair gingerly.

“Somehow I doubt that,” you said, your voice muffled by his shirt, which you had your face nestled in.

Without being able to hear you very well, Brian knew exactly what you had said and smiled secretly to himself. “I promise you.”

You pulled your face away from him, to get a better look at his beauty. “It’s so cute when you say silly things.”

“Hmm, well, I must not be very cute right now, since I didn’t say anything silly.”

“Oh, god!” You giggled, leaving his touch completely. “Is that the best you can do?”

No, you’re the best I can do, he thought privately. “Must be out of practice.”

You moved out of the doorway, allowing Brian to come into the small space. He walked through, and caught you staring intently at him.

“What?”

“Just can’t believe you’re here.”

“Yet, here I am!” He extended his slender arms out to his sides to punctuate the statement.

“Here you are,” you echoed, calmer than your visitor, words honeyed with enamoration.

Brian was completely oblivious.

“I hope this isn’t an intrusion. Your mum said it would be alright if I came as a surprise.”

“I can honestly say, this is the best birthday you’ve ever orchestrated.”

His eyes lit up. “Really?”

“Mmhmm,” you nodded slowly, taking in his features. Memorizing them. The light rosiness of his cheeks endearing him to you even more.

He shied away from your gaze a little bit. “The plane ticket was all I could really afford, ’m sorry, Y/N.”

“Huh?” You had zoned out while admiring him.

Brian’s blush deepened. “I didn’t bring a gift. Only myself.”

You adjusted your stance to meet his eyes directly.

“It’s just what I wanted.”

* * *

“This place is nice,” Brian looked around, observing the cafe you were sitting in.

“It’s no Beat-Nick’s, but I make do.”

“Do they know you by name yet?”

You shook your head. “No, but they know my order, so it’s only a matter of time.”

“Baby steps,” he quipped.

“Exactly.” You sipped from the tea in front of you. “How’s the band doing?”

Brian shrugged. “Tim’s got a cold, and Roger’s going through a crisis.”

“Isn’t he always?”

“I think his life is a crisis.”

“That would explain a lot.”

He blew through his lips, exaggerating his expression. “Yes. Yes, it would.”

You marveled at the ethereal qualities of his face, how striking yet delicate he was. The contrast between his pale skin and dark hair. You had forgotten the hazel coloration that painted his eyes, as if the vastness of the universe was trapped inside them.

“What is it this time?” You asked, referring to Roger’s present problem.

Brian rolled his eyes to the back of his head. “Lady problems, what else?”

You scrunched your mouth to the side. “Having troubles with Janet?”

“They split months ago.”

“Already?” You whistled. “That didn’t take long.”

“Never does.”

“But he’s really not as much of a player as he seems.”

“I’d say he’s a bit of a player, just not a womanizer.”

“He’s mostly respectful,” you sniped, talking into your teacup. Brian laughed at your comment.

“We can’t all be bad boys.” He leaned back, his tone cocky.

You narrowed your eyes into slits, staring at Brian with suspicion. “This again? We’ve established that you’re the furthest thing from a bad boy, on many occasions.”

“Hey, you’ve been gone for a while. I could be a completely changed man.”

“You haven’t changed since the day I met you.” You dropped the teasing manner and switched into a more sincere one. “And I’m glad.”

“I’d hope I’ve changed a little bit.”

You grinned, basking in his presence. “Nope. You’re Brian May, everlasting.”

“Hmm. Not sure I like that.”

You shrugged. “I don’t make the rules.”

“No, you just enforce them.”

“Someone has to.”

Brian took a large drink from his cup, hissing as the hot tea touched his tongue. “Thought it would’ve cooled by now.”

“You have to sip.”

“Tough guys don’t take sips.”

“And tough guys don’t hiss at lukewarm tea.”

“That’s blatant stereotyping, Y/N. I thought you were better than that.”

“Nobody’s perfect.” Except you, you said internally. You instinctively reached for Brian’s hand that was lain atop the table. He wanted to stay there, but reluctantly pulled away from your soft fingers. You were taken aback, he never rejected you so explicitly. You felt your face heating, but willed yourself not to get upset. “Everything okay?”

“Uh, yes.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“I have a girlfriend,” he suddenly blurted.

“Oh.” You weren’t expecting that.

“Yeah,” Brian lowered his eyes. “It’s new.” God, he wished he didn’t say anything. The shock on your face broke his heart, guilt-ridden.

You cleared your throat, trying to rid yourself of the burning sensation. “That’s exciting.”

“It can be.”

“Is it serious?” You tried to play it cool.

From Brian’s perspective, you were just asking out of friendliness.

“No, I think it’s too early. More fun than anything.”

“What’s her name?”

“May.”

You scoffed, not the slightest bit amused. “If you got married, she’d be May May.”

Brian shifted in his seat, horrified that he ruined the happy day he’d been trying to give you. “I doubt we’ll get married.”

“Don’t sound so certain.”

He was certain. He didn’t love her.

Brian made sounds of dismissal.

“Then why date her?”

She was more like a distraction from the hole you left in his life, and he knew he couldn’t move on if he didn’t have a distraction. But he couldn’t bring himself to say that. For all he knew, you were uninterested in him.

For all you knew, Brian was uninterested in you.

And suddenly you understood what your mother was saying. You couldn’t even lie to yourself.

You were in love with your best friend.

--1974--

Freddie perked up as he saw you walking up with Brian. “Y/N! I’m glad you came!” He turned to Brian. “Did you convince her to come?”

Brian set down his guitar by his feet, and you mirrored his action by placing his bag on the ground. “Nah, she’s a stubborn one,” Brian lightly teased, holding the arm that hurt in his free hand. You noticed the small wince he gave as his hand came in contact with the pained area. You shot him a quizzical glance, hoping he might tell you if something was feeling off. But he didn’t notice.

“I just came to see you off,” you turned your focus to Freddie.

“One of these days, you’re gonna have to come with us.”

Brian looked smug. “She promised she would if we ever headline in America.”

“Is that so?” Freddie’s tone was vaguely taunting. You nodded slightly. His smile broadened. “Then I supposed it’s good we’re so popular.”

“I wouldn’t say popular,” Brian’s modesty balanced Freddie’s confident optimism.

“Just with the ladies, then.” Freddie winked at you. You laughed out of politeness.

“Speaking of,” you looked around, “where’s Roger? And how’d you get here before anyone?”

“I’ve got my ways, dear,” Freddie smirked. “And Roger had to be picked up by Deaky. His car’s still at the garage.”

“I thought it was just a small dent?” Brian’s confusion reflected your own.

“Apparently not.” Freddie tilted his head. “They should be here soon, though, if you wanted to wait to say goodbye to them.”

“I really should probably go back to bed,” you added quickly. “I have work this afternoon. Probably should have more than four hours of sleep under my belt.” You hugged Freddie firmly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Do tell them they have my love, and I’m rooting for you all.” You stood on your tiptoes, bringing Brian’s face down closer to you, and planted a small peck on his cheek. “Call me as soon as you can. If I’m not home, call the hospital.”

“Yes, mum,” Brian sighed.

“And I’ll be here waiting when you get back.” You blew Freddie a kiss as you began to walk away. “Have a safe flight.”

“I’ll do my best, dear!”

You turned your back to them just in time to conceal a teardrop rolling down your cheek.

Brian longingly watched you leave. He took a deep breath, thinking about how leaving home was never easy. Even if it was only for a few days.

_______________

January 31

You paced back and forth, keeping a close eye on the nearby clock. They were supposed to get in fifteen minutes ago. The airport was fairly empty, with some families randomly reuniting as passengers got off of their respective planes. You saw some people kissing their loved ones goodbye, some departures were sorrowful, others were more casual. A young woman, probably around eighteen, was giving her mother a long, tender hug. They were both smiling, but you were sure they were smiles of hope and pride, since there were still some tears flowing from the pair. Maybe the girl was going off to school somewhere far away, or just leaving for an extended trip. You couldn’t tell, but the interaction left you feeling nostalgic, remembering how hard it was to leave for Finland all those years ago. You had been accompanied by a larger entourage comprised of your parents, Stella, and of course, Brian, there to see you off. They all promised to visit, but Stella never lived up to it. You couldn’t blame her, though, seeing how busy she was in her endeavors. And your parents only came a few times. Brian made a habit to come as often as he could, but it became harder as Queen formed and grew more successful.

The mental tangent had taken up a few minutes of your time, and an announcement from the speakers broke you out of it. It had informed you of the arrival of the boys’ flight. You smoothed out your dress, trying to make yourself more presentable. You weren’t sure why you were trying to fix yourself up, it was just the boys. But something about that afternoon made you more anxious to appear put together. You just wanted to hold Brian in your arms. A week wasn’t much time, but it was more than enough to make you move on from the little tiff you’d had a couple days before they left.

A door opened, and a stream of weary travellers spilled out, all looking exhausted from the lengthy flight. You rose up onto the tips of your toes to get a better look at the passersby. You didn’t recognize any of them and willed them to pick up the pace. You just wanted to see some lovely, friendly faces.

And at long last, you did.

* * *

“I don’t think they liked us very much, at first,” Roger recounted at the dinner table.

Freddie had insisted that the group of you go out to get a “welcome home” meal, and everyone else was too tired to argue.

“Oh? And what do you suspect made them change their minds?” You asked, looking at the blond man sitting directly across from you.

“My stunning good looks?”

Deaky scoffed quietly, but since he was sitting next to you, you could hear him well. It made you smile. Brian, who sat on the other side of you, observed the secret moment that transpired between you and John. He frowned and turned away, looking at Roger instead.

“I think Fred’s voice might’ve done the trick,” Brian countered, his tone sounding irritated.

Roger sat silent for a few seconds, before coming back with, “I suppose the lethal combination of Fred’s voice and my good looks might’ve done ’em in.”

You humored him. “That sounds likely.”

Deaky leaned in, more invested in the conversation. The closeness between the two of you was not lost on Brian. “I think talent is more important than looks.”

“Of course you would think that,” Roger sneered.

You turned to John. “I think you’ve all got both.” Then you eyed Roger. “Most of you, anyway.”

“Hey!”

“Got a problem with that, pretty boy?” Freddie joined in on teaming up against Roger.

“I think you mean ruggedly handsome.”

You and Freddie shared knowing looks. “I don’t think I do, Rog.” Everyone at the table let out a charmed laugh, but Roger’s focus was elsewhere. His gaze was drawn to somewhere behind you, John, and Brian.

“Hey, Bri?” Roger’s voice grew hushed.

“Yes, Roger?” Brian’s response was much more worn.

“Isn’t that the girl from university?” Roger subtly pointed a finger in the direction of his focus. Brian whipped his head around, failing to continue in the same vein of subtlety. You didn’t look behind you, hoping that Roger was mistaken.

Brian came back to look at Freddie and Roger, eyes widened. It confirmed what you wished wasn’t true.

“Almost-Perfect?” You asked. He nodded.

“I think she saw me looking. Is she coming over?”

Freddie’s eyes quickly darted up to check. “No, but she is looking this way.”

Brian tensed up. “Should I go say something?”

“Do you want to?” Roger asked.

“I don’t know...I should, shouldn’t I? Since she saw me?”

You turned away, forcing yourself to pay attention to anything, or anyone, except Brian. So, you settled on Deaky, who was already looking at you. He noticed the desperate expression on your face and whispered, “Are you okay?” You didn’t say anything, and just nodded. You didn’t even know how to express what you were feeling. You weren’t really sure of what you were feeling.

Brian noticed this second private moment between you and John. It made up his mind for him.

“I’ll be back.” Brian’s voice was sharp and curt. He stood quickly, paused to look at you while you were still facing Deaky, and took slow strides away from the table.

You wished he hadn’t.

Roger and Freddie looked at each other, hoping that this might be the turning point for Brian. Maybe rekindling something with someone who was almost perfect might bring him out of his misery, even though they were rooting for the pair of you to end up together.

Though it might have only been a few minutes, the time between Brian leaving and coming back seemed like an eternity. What is he saying? Is she happy to see him?

Deaky rubbed the small of your back, seeing the sorrow breaking across your face. He didn’t bother asking what was troubling you, he didn’t want to make the moment about him.

The familiar sound of Brian’s gait came up behind you, slowing as he neared his designated seat.

Roger and Freddie stared at him expectantly, sitting with bated breath.

“Well? How’d it go?”

“Clearly, it was fine. She didn’t throw a drink in his face.”

“That doesn’t mean it’s fine, Roger.”

Brian’s face gave away nothing, but he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

“She, uh, she asked me to dinner.” He hated the words that were about to escape his lips, but he felt the need to say them anyway. You pulled away from Deaky’s gentle touch, anxiously waiting for Brian to continue. “We’re going on Saturday.”

_______________

February 7

You sat on a couch at the studio, outside of the meeting, waiting for it to adjourn. Roger had driven you there from the hospital. Being the one who lived closest, he offered to bring you to the meeting with him, picking you up before going on a night out with the others. It didn’t give you time to wash up, but you had a spare change of clothes in your work locker. It finally came in handy.

It shocked you when you and Roger were the first ones there, other than the intimidating company representatives who informed you that, unfortunately, you weren’t allowed to sit in on the official business meeting, so you had to find entertainment on your own accord. At some point, staring at album cover art grew tiresome, and reading random three-word plaques proved to be as boring as it sounds. After that, you ran out of ideas.

Freddie’s distinctive voice rang through the corridor, accompanied by Brian’s softer tones. Then came a girlish giggle.

In that moment, you both wished you weren’t there, and to be the one who had been picked up by Brian. To distract yourself, you revisited the album covers that you had already studied to death. The challenge came when you tried to appear focused.

Brian stopped walking when he noticed you, but continued talking to his companions, leading them to stop in their tracks as he did.

Curiosity got the best of you, and you quickly peered over to the small group. Almost-Perfect had her fingers coyly wrapped around Brian’s forearm, hanging onto his every word, both figuratively and literally.

Her strawberry-blonde hair was significantly longer than it used to be, in your memory of seeing her from a distance almost a decade prior. She had a slender nose with a slight point, crystal blue eyes, and perfectly bowed lips. It angered you that Brian could be so shallow as to pick the most conventionally attractive woman you’d ever seen. But you had to admit, Almost-Perfect was an apt nickname.

Brian’s eyes slid easily down her face, her laughter coaxing a smile to form on his lips.

You turned back to the images in front of you, suddenly very appealing. It’s been one date, you fumed silently. Why is she here? Why would he bring her? We were supposed to go out for a fun evening.

Freddie and Brian began walking again, passing you to get into the room set up for the meeting. Neither of them made eye contact with you, but you could sense some faltering, like Freddie wanted to stop to talk to you. But Brian walked on, and brought Freddie with him.

The pretty woman standing nearby approached you with caution, seemingly intimidated. You met her eyes, trying not to glare. She gave you a weak smile and pointed to the space next to you. You moved over just enough to come across inviting. She sat down, maintaining a gap between you.

“You’re Y/N, right?”

“Yes.”

The blonde’s smile grew less timid. “I’m May.” She stuck out her hand, extending it for you to shake. You complied begrudgingly.

“Nice to meet you—”

“Officially,” May interrupted, clearly nervous about meeting you.

“Right.” You acknowledged slowly, retracting your hand from the too-lengthy handshake you’d been locked in.

“Can’t believe we haven’t really met before,” she considered. “I feel like I know you already.” You must have looked sceptical, because May quickly added, “But of course, I don’t.” Pause. “Know anything.” Pause. “About you.”

What the hell?

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t know anything about you either.” You straightened up in your seat, pretending to have a new thought. “Though, you’re seeing Brian, so I guess I do know something about you.” The pettiness seeping from your brain melted your tongue like acid. You didn’t like acting in such a way, but you couldn’t control yourself.

“You’re Brian’s roommate, so I guess I know something about you too, then.”

Roommate.

Roommate?

“Fair enough,” you ceded through gritted teeth.

If May already had you so on edge, you could tell it was going to be a long relationship.

* * *

Deaky never ended up making it to the meeting, which was highly unusual. The others grew worried, Freddie fearing the worst. But when the time came to hit the town, all concerns were exchanged for ridiculous theories over John’s whereabouts.

Freddie rode with you and Roger to the bar, leaving Brian and May to drive alone. Your blood boiled, resentful about how quickly she’d assumed your customary spot right next to him. How quickly he’d replaced you. The entire drive over, you were unable to think about anything else, even with Roger and Freddie’s prodding. Occasionally you would see them slip each other sly gazes, but you didn’t care enough to decipher their implications. You just couldn’t get to the bar soon enough.

Much to your chagrin, Brian and May had arrived before the rest of you, and parked at the far end of the lot. Away from any other vehicles, as Roger proudly pointed out. You didn’t like what he was implying.

The interior of the establishment didn’t match the cozy exterior. Neon lights covered the main room from wall to wall, casting vibrant hues upon the patrons. You wove through the dancing bodies, following the unmistakable silhouette of Brian’s hair.

As your trio got closer to the destination, you saw that Brian and May were accompanied by another pair. Your eyes skipped over to the other couple, beaming as you realized who they were. You rushed to embrace John and Veronica in your arms, pleased to see people with whom you had less complicated relationships.

“I didn’t think you were coming,” you shouted over the loud music.

“Here we are!” Deaky grinned, his arm wrapped around Veronica’s waist. She looked more reluctant to be there, but she relaxed into his loving hold.

Veronica stroked your shoulder, happy to see you too. “John was just introducing me to, uh, May, was it?”

“Yes,” May answered. You didn’t move your eyes from Veronica as she spoke.

“I guess that makes you Roger’s date of the evening?” John asked, teasing you and the blond.

You laughed at the thought, Roger agreeing with your sentiment. “Sure,” you chortled. “I’ll be his girl for the night.” Brian was alerted by the specific word choice you made.

Roger put his arm around your shoulders. “Yep, that’s my girl alright.”

“Wait,” Brian interrupted, “you’ve already met Veronica, Y/N?”

You looked at Brian’s face for the first time since you’d gotten there. “Mmhmm. They’ve been together for...four months now?”

“Almost,” Deaky nodded.

“So, I guess we met two months ago?”

“Something like that,” Veronica confirmed.

Brian’s head spun, trying to wrap his head around the order of events. Nothing added up. He watched your casual grazes with John’s arms, or the look John gave you. It led to only one logical conclusion.

“Deaky?” Brian’s voice rose an octave. “Can I talk to you for a second?”

Deaky rolled his eyes, making you and Veronica giggle, before following the direction Brian was heading. You didn’t watch them leave, only focusing on the friends surrounding you.

* * *

Brian abruptly stopped walking, turning on his heel to look Deaky in the eye. “What the fuck, John?”

“What?” Deaky was clueless.

“You’ve been dating Veronica for four months—”

“Almost four months,” he corrected.

Brian closed his eyes, losing what little patience he had left. “Almost four months, and New Year’s was only a month ago?”

“I don’t understand, that’s a question you have to ask me?”

“No,” Brian snapped. He leaned in, looking into his bandmate’s eyes earnestly. “John, I need you to clarify something for me.”

John pursed his lips, arching an eyebrow. “And what would that be?”

Brian towered over the bassist, eyes now dark and harsh. “Did you sleep with Y/N when you took her home after the party?” His voice was more vulnerable in contrast to his appearance.

Deaky’s face went blank, not fully registering what Brian was asking him. “I don’t think I understand what you—”

“Did you fucking use Y/N to cheat on your girlfriend?”

_______________

February 14

“You’re going to lunch?”

Brian held the keys in his hand, jingling them with anticipation. “I told May I had to be back for dinner. ’M all yours.”

“You better be,” you crossed your arms. “It’s the first time in years that we’ve actually gotten to hold our little tradition.”

He took a step closer to you, running his thumb over the exposed skin of your shoulder. “I know. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Brian quickly removed the contact of his hand, his face conveying regret to you. For him, it was more a look of longing. He just wanted to stay in the moment, where the drowse in your eyes made you gaze up at him through your eyelashes, streaks from a pillowcase imprinted in your skin, and your hair messy from sleeping in.

“Topping?”

He didn’t follow, too absorbed in your most hidden self. “Hmm?”

“What topping would you like?”

“Oh.” Brian paused to think about it, but nothing sprang to mind. “Whatever you’d like.” He leaned down to kiss your cheek goodbye, as he had done for years, but stopped himself, settling for a quick hug. “Surprise me.”

“If you say so…” You gave a taunting response.

He gave you a serious glance. “Nothing too surprising.”

“Fine, no watermelon pizza.”

He smiled at your goofy comment, gently squeezed your hand goodbye, and went to the door.

“Oh!” You cried out in remembrance. Brian turned to check on you. “Can you get some kind of grease? Damned door is creaking again.” You pointed in the direction of your bedroom.

“Hmm. Forgot it did that,” Brian shrugged. “Will do.”

And with that, he was gone.

* * *

Without meaning to, you wore Brian’s favorite dress. It didn’t occur to you as you were putting it on, or even as you studied yourself in the mirror. The black fabric still complemented the curves and dips of your body, hugging in just the right spots. You had to go braless once more, again, without meaning to. You played with the hem of the skirt, rolling the material carefully between your fingers. The quietness of the flat was broken as you began to hum to yourself. Nothing specific, it was just a little habit of yours whenever you found yourself being giddy. It was inexplicable.

Almost as if you had something to be singing about.

Or someone.

In the reflection of the mirror, something small and gleaming caught your eye. You examined its placement and went to find it. After clanging about on the surface of your dresser, you located the culprit.

A small bottle of Heavenly Blue perfume.

Or at least, it used to be. Now, it was just another trinket among the rest of your little shiny things.

You touched the delicate label peeling from the bottle, tracing the tiny etching of lavender that decorated it. You pulled the top off, and took a whiff of the contents, expecting a hint of what used to be there. And you were welcomed with it.

Your humming got louder, morphing into something familiar. But you couldn’t quite place the melody.

A loud knocking was heard from the living room.

With a literal hop in your step, you hurried to answer the door. A short man stood on the other side, holding a large, flat box.

“Are you Y/N Y/L/N?”

“I am indeed.”

He handed you the hot box and stepped away. “Enjoy your pizza, Miss.”

“Oh, but I haven’t paid for it yet.”

The delivery man briefly shook his head, smiling kindly. “It’s already been taken care of. Have a lovely evening, Miss.” Before you could ask for an explanation, he was already down the hall, near the stairwell. You brought the box in, deciding not to question the free food.

* * *

Hours passed.

You sat alone on the couch, three quarters of the way through a bottle of moscato. Some record was playing in the background that you couldn’t even recall putting on.

You had already had a tearful, tipsy conversation with Stella over the phone, crying out of worry that something had happened to Brian. She assured you that he was just thoughtless, not dead. It took lots of convincing. At one point she offered to have you spend time with her and Odette, but you turned her down, expecting that Brian would be home at any time.

Any minute now, you suspected, he’ll come running along with a big bouquet of flowers, unencumbered by anyone. It would just be you and him, like it was meant to be on your night.

But at this point, it was nearing midnight.

And Brian never showed.

Draining the last drops from the wine bottle, you picked up the phone on the end table. Frantically dialing, you whispered “Pleasepleaseplease” in desperation, hoping your call would be picked up.

As you were giving up home, a bewildered “Hello?” came ringing through from the other line.

You wiped a boozy tear from your cheek and sniffed, trying to soothe yourself.

“Um, hi. It’s me,” you twirled the cord around your finger. “I was wondering, would you want to come over tonight?”

A muffled “Why?” came through the receiver again.

You finished the last of your glass, staring at the door. Waiting, in hopes that Brian would come through just at the last moment.

But he didn’t.

You gulped.

“I’m alone.”

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dramaticskeleton · 4 years

Text

Chapter 3: Oliver

He’s handsome. That’s the only thought that passes through my head as I stare at the boy in front of me. He’s got a dark shirt on that clings to his body, showing off the muscles of his stomach. His black hair hangs in loose curls on his forehead and he stares at me intently with hazel eyes that have an expression I can’t place. I was going to be sharing a house with this person. The thought gives me a thrill of excitement.

“My name’s Freddy,” I say, sticking my hand out in greeting.

“Thank God for you, Freddy.” I can feel a spark flare up where he touches me, shaking my hand in a firm grip. “If not for you, I’d be stuck choosing between one thirsty girl or another.”

“You had a host of girls throw themselves at you, and you chose me for a roommate instead,” I laugh, “You don’t have very good taste.”

“Is that so? What are you like, then?”

“Well, I like art and getting drunk on the weekends, for starters.”

“We’re going to get along splendidly.”

~~~~~

A few weeks later, I sit at the table, editing the photos I took of Fancy. This one is particularly enticing. Her naked back is toward the camera, her spine sticking out faintly as she hunches her shoulders forward. She holds a green silk sheet against the front of her body with one hand, exposing just enough of the side of her breast to be tasteful. She looks at me over her shoulder, her other arm raised to run her hands through her hair. The photos capture the brilliant red strands slipping out from her fingers. Her makeup is sultry, making her eyes stand out.

My phone buzzes next to me. I ignore it, continuing to the next photo.

Fancy is on the ground, the camera angled to fly over her body. Her face is off to the side, so the focus is her fingers twirling a string of pearls around her neck. The light reflects in the blue nail polish. In the background, her breasts swell under the thin pink fabric of her bra. Her legs are bent, knees knocked in toward each other. I feel an appreciative growl escape my throat, remembering how I took her on the floor after I snapped the photo.

I flip to the next one - she’s on her stomach, her ass in the air - when a series of texts come in, one after another. After the fourth one I finally pick up my phone. They’re all from Fancy.

Come to Oxford ;) I want to see you ;) Please Freddy I know you’ve got your phone on you

Why?

I want to see you more often And I don’t want to drive an hour to do it.

I think about her implication. What had started as a night here and there had turned into a biweekly event and she had started staying with me during her visits instead of running off in the mornings. Our rough sex had turned into almost passionate love making. There is a different feel to whatever is going on between us now. Our fling had somehow become something more.

I type out, Maybe.

You can stay at my place. My cousin won’t mind

You live with your cousin? Is she going to join us? ;)

HE wouldn’t mind it, but I definitely would :P

Ah. I hadn’t been with a man in five years and I wasn’t about to start. When?

Come tonight. I’ve got a new set I want to show you ;)

I chew on my bottom lip, seriously contemplating it. I don’t have any solid roots in London, and there’s nothing left for me here anyway, seeing as I don’t go out anymore. My life has dwindled down to working at the table and fucking Fancy in the bed, or the other way around. Moving to a different city would be good for me. I could start over, maybe turn this thing with Fancy into something serious.

Give me a couple hours.

By the time I pull up to the quiet neighborhood, it’s nearly one o’clock. The dark stone house peeks out under strands of ivy climbing up the walls. It’s quaint, with stairs leading to the door and little flower boxes under the windows. I pull out my phone, messaging Fancy. Within minutes, I see a light turn on in an upstairs window. She comes out smiling radiantly. She grabs my hand.

“Oliver’s still asleep, so you’ve got to be quiet.”

I check at the name for an instant but she pulls me through the house, not noticing. The sitting room that looks like it’s straight out of a magazine. The blue couch is illuminated by the moon coming through the large bay window. A fireplace with low burning embers is on the adjacent wall. We go under an ornate archway into the kitchen and then through another one to a set of stairs. I let her lead me down the hall.

When we tumble into her bed, Fancy starts giggling.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come.”

“You asked, didn’t you?” I kiss her, slipping a hand under her shirt. “Haven’t you got something to show me?”

~~~~~~

I wake up to the feel of Fancy trailing kisses down my chest. She’s got her ass waving in the air and she lets out little hums as she moves. When she lifts her head, her caramel brown eyes sparkle. God, she’s hot. Fancy crawls to the top of the bed and kisses me, her fingers roaming my chest.

“Morning,” she mumbles into my mouth.

“Morning.”

Fancy pulls away and sits up. “Did you sleep well?”

“Like an angel.” My eyes slip to the art on her walls, drawn specifically to a vivid red cardinal, perched on a snow-covered branch. Its beady eye stares back at me. “Are these yours?”

She blushes prettily. “Yeah. I’m not very good.”

“They look good to me.”

With a happy smile, she leans in to kiss me again and then jumps off the bed sliding into the shirt and shorts I tore off her last night. “I’ll make lunch, yeah?”

I glance at the clock on the bedside table. It’s 12:45. “Alright.”

I stretch on the bed for a second more before getting up, admiring the drawings as I pull on my own discarded clothes. Next to the cardinal is a grove of trees, brilliant green foliage dappled with sunlight. Next to that, a gazebo covered in snow. She’d paid such attention to detail, it’s astounding. I give the cardinal another curious glance before lighting a cig and leaving the room.

By the time I get down the stairs, Fancy is already working at the stove She’s got the radio on and is swaying her hips to the music.

“Put that out,” she says without turning around. “There’s no smoking in the house.”

I douse the cigarette in a pot of water in the sink and sneak up behind her, wrapping my arms around her waist and nipping her ear. I leave kisses on her neck, giving her a particularly possessive bruise on the area between her neck and shoulder. I start to slip a hand under her shirt. She whacks me with the spatula.

“Go sit down, you insatiable cad.”

I laugh, giving her ass a pinch before sliding a chair out. It affords me a view of the backyard. Purple and yellow flowers spill out of pots along the edge of the patio. The grass beyond is littered with brown leaves, though most of the trees are still bright red, orange, and yellow. There’s a little greenhouse off to the side, still green plants flourishing. It’s got a domestic feel to it.

Fancy brings my attention back inside by plopping a plate of eggs in front of me.

“I’m not the greatest cook,” she admits, “But I thought after all the breakfasts you’ve made me, the least I could do is try.”

I take one bite and grimace. “This is terrible,” I say as I spit it out into a napkin.

She giggles. “That bad?”

“I’ve had escargot that tastes better than this.”

She rests a hand on my knee. “Well, you can’t say I didn’t attempt.”

“Please don’t ever do this again,” I say, unable to keep the grin off my face.

She takes the plate with a playful scowl, dumping the food in the trash as I get up to take over the cooking. Fancy dances around the kitchen as I throw together eggs and spices. She comes up behind me and slips her hands up my chest, placing kisses on my back.

“Who’s the cad now?” I ask. I hear the front door open in the other room.

“Fancy, are you really making breakfast?”

I freeze. I’d know that voice anywhere. I had left it pleading and on the verge of tears in Greece and never expected to hear it again, least of all here. I can still see his face, sorrowful and distraught, begging me to stay. Telling me we’d get through everything, that we could do this. I shut my eyes, taking a shuddering breath in.

Fancy misinterprets my reaction and gives me a reassuring squeeze. “It’s just Oliver,” she whispers.

I know. I don’t say the words out loud, as if by not admitting it, he’ll disappear. I’m afraid to turn around, even as a part of me begs to see his face.

“Well I was trying,” Fancy is saying. “But Freddy didn’t approve, so now he’s doing it.”

“God, did you bring your flavor of the night home with you?”

I wince at the derision. Fancy moves away from me. “Don’t be rude. My flavor of the night, as you say, has actually been my flavor of the last few months.”

“Oh, is this why you’ve been running up to London every other week?”

“This is Freddy. Freddy, come meet my cousin.”

There’s no avoiding it now. I dump the food from the pan onto a plate and turn around. He’s sitting at the table, flipping through his phone. His hair is an array of curly tufts, just like I remember. The sun lights up his face and highlights the light stubble on his chin. The corner of his mouth is twisted into a frown as he says,

“What makes this one special?”

“Well, he can cook for one thing.” From the side of my eye, I can tell Fancy is looking at me, a grin on her face, but I only have eyes for the man in front of me. I set the plate in front of him.

“Thanks mate,” he says, finally looking up. His eyes, his beautiful, brilliant hazel eyes, flare wide within seconds and his mouth drops. All we can do is stare at each other. I drink in his features greedily, memorizing the shape of his face, the arch of his eyebrows, the sharp edges of his jaw. For a moment, it’s as if the years have fallen away and we’re eighteen again, meeting each other for the first time. He had looked at me the same way, making me feel like I was the only person in the world.

I bite my lip and hear him mutter under his breath, “Shit.”

Fancy steps up to my side, interlacing our fingers. She kisses me on the cheek, saying, “He’s different, Oliver.”

When he looks at me again, he doesn’t look angry like I expect, like he should be, but there’s a touch of coldness that makes me flinch. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“Don’t be jealous because I found him first.”

He scoffs. “You can keep him. He’s not my type.”

I deserve the chilly statement, but it doesn’t make it hurt any less. Fancy leans against me in what I suppose is a supportive gesture.

“Listen, I’ve invited Freddy to stay with us for a bit.”

“You did what?” He turns his fierce eyes to his cousin, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah, he’s in Oxford and needs a place to live,” she lies. She crinkles her nose. “I’ve just remembered that I promised Mica I’d help her find a dress for tonight, so I’ll leave you two to become friends. Be nice.”

When she leaves the kitchen, a heavy silence falls. I’m not sure what to do so I just stand there as he picks up a fork and shovels the food around the plate. Fancy comes back down, waves bye, and leaves. Still, he doesn’t say anything. I feel nauseous and my head hurts. I wish I had finished that cigarette.

After another minute, he points the fork at the chair opposite him. “You can sit down, you know,” he rasps out.

I hesitate, unsure of if I want to run away or not. I decide to take the seat slowly. I watch his hands as he plays with the eggs, noticing with a jolt that he’s still wearing the silver and emerald ring I gave him years ago. I had gotten it for him as a graduation present, but it had meant something more too. It had been a promise. And I broke it.

I fiddle with my fingers, figuring out how to speak to this person. I settle for, “Hello, Ollie.”

He lifts his head, looking at me. Really looking. I think I see the frozen gaze crack and concern shine out for a brief second. I know what he must see - a pale, scrawny creature with gloomy eyes and a hollow face. I’m nothing like the vibrant, bright person he used to know.

“You look fucking terrible,” he finally says when an uncomfortable number of minutes pass. “You look worse than when you thought you could live off popcorn and biscuits.”

“I’ve been busy,” I say by way of explanation.

“Too busy to eat?”

“I’ve been eating.”

“Not enough,” he snaps.

A laugh slips out as we fall back into the old argument. “Alright yeah, my diet mostly consists of Bacardi and nicotine.”

His eyebrows immediately furrow, the worry too obvious to miss. He puts the fork down and folds his hands. He seems to fight himself before he asks, “Are you okay?”

I feel a pang at the question. Somehow, his ability to care for me hasn’t changed. “I’m fine,” I say quietly.

“That’s what you said in March, and then you disappeared again.” His voice sounds accusing, but when I catch his eye, he just looks sad. I think about that call, the kindness in his voice back then, the love that I could still feel radiating down the line. I hadn’t felt like I deserved it, so I had ignored the second chance he had given me. I had fucked my way around London to forget about the fact that he had invited me to visit him, and that he had said he missed me. The shame of it slams into me. I don’t have any words for him so I just look stare helplessly at the table.

Ollie runs his fingers through his hair and sighs, leaning back. “I don’t know whether to punch you, or kiss you.”

My lips twitch. I deserved the one and I desperately wanted the other. I give a weak shrug. “Both?”

He rubs his face, frowning. “I waited for you to come back, you know.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I stayed in Greece for two extra weeks, thinking you’d walk through that door again, like you’d just gone out to walk it off. And then I waited at every damn stop on the tour we planned, expecting you to show up. I hoped for for weeks that it was all just an nightmare and I’d wake up with you in my arms again, and I’d kiss you, and love you, and everything would be alright.”

I can feel my heart breaking. “I’m sorry,” I choke out again.

“And then I woke up one morning and it hit me. You were gone. For good. You weren’t coming back, you weren’t going to call. So when I checked out of that last hotel, I shut the door on us.”

His face starts getting blurry. I try to blink away the tears but just succeed in spilling them. Through them, I see Ollie’s nose twitch, the way it always does when he’s lying. A flutter of hope rises in my chest. “I wanted to.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Why hadn’t I? Because I had been so afraid of my past coming between us, that I had let it do just that. I had been scared of what he would say to me if I walked through those doors again after a week, two weeks, two months. I hadn’t wanted to see his anger, or sadness. I had betrayed him, and I hadn’t been ready to face that. So I had let the months slip by until they became years. And the more time I kept silent, the more scared I was to talk to him.

“I couldn’t.”

Ollie scoffs. “That’s a bullshit answer. God, we had three years together. We were building something; we were happy.”

“Happiest three years of my life.” Not a lie.

“Then why’d you leave?”

I fidget with my hands, unable to look him in the eye. “I didn’t want you to be bothered by her anymore. I thought if I walked away, she would leave you alone.”

“I never would have let Leah come between us, if you had just trusted me.”

I flinch at the name of the girl who had ruined everything. The messages that had followed us across Europe still haunt me to this day. Leah had tried to drive a wedge between me and Ollie, and while she never succeeded in making him hate me, she still managed to destroyed our relationship. At least, she’d played a hand in helping me destroy it.

“You were so angry about it,” I whisper, wiping my face. “I hated seeing you like that.”

“Of course I was angry! She was ruining our trip.” He looks down at his hands. “I was going to ask you to marry me, you know. At the end of it all.”

It’s like a punch to the face. I watch him play with his ring, twirling it around his finger. “You should have done it at the beginning,” I say.

“Would it have changed anything?”

“It might have.”

“Yeah, well, hindsight is always twenty-twenty, isn’t it?” He sighs deeply. “Well, it doesn’t matter now. I’ve moved on and you’ve got Cici.” His nose twitches again.

I blink. I had almost forgotten about her. That’s right, I was only here because of her. I had entertained the idea that I was starting to feel something for her, maybe enough to start a real relationship with her. Those thoughts had gone right out the window at the sight of Ollie.

“How long have you been sleeping with her?”

In the rare moments when I had allowed myself to imagine meeting Ollie again, this was definitely not the topic of conversation. I shift awkwardly. He lets out a mirthless laugh. “Oh come on, it’s not a secret. I heard you fucking all night.”

“Sorry.”

“You still make that noise right before you get off.” I blush furiously and shoot him a rapid glare. He smirks mischievously for a second, and then it falls from his face. “You’re the first guy she’s brought to the house, you know. Says a lot about you.”

I don’t know what to say. I think of all the girls I’ve had between here and Russia and think it just means Fancy’s got poor taste in men. “I got the impression she had a lot of mates to sleep with.”

“Yeah, but she never brings them here.”

“I guess she thought it was time to meet you.”

“How long have you been seeing each other then?”

“Since June.”

He looks surprised. “That’s incredible.”

I scratch the back of my head, embarrassed. “It’s just three months.”

“That’s a record for her. Listen,” Ollie leans forward, placing his forearms on the table. “You can’t tell her about us, alright? She finally looks happy for once. It would devastate her.”

I furrow my eyebrows. “She wasn’t happy before?”

He hesitates for a second, as if debating what to say to me. Then he says simply, “She’s better.”

“I won’t,” I say. “Tell her, that is. I don’t even know how I’d have that conversation.”

“You would start by telling her you’re gay.”

I smile a bit, dropping my gaze. “More like bi-curious.”

“I’d hate to think you were just experimenting with my cousin.” His sharp tone makes me look up. He’s giving me a mild glare, his brow lifted. “She’s like a sister to me and I’ll kick your ass if you hurt her.”

I laugh, raising my hands defensively. “I’m not. I think I’m starting to feel something for her.” I’m a little startled as the words leave my mouth. I think of her smile from this morning and it sends a little thrill through me. I feel a bit guilty as I glance at Ollie. Nothing I feel for her could ever top the emotions that well up at the sight of him, but if he was trying to convince himself that he’d moved on, then maybe it was time for me to do the same.

“Good,” Ollie says, getting up. “I’m happy for you.”

I realize he means it. He might be sad to see me with someone else, but he’s not bitter about it. If I was happy with his cousin, then he would bury his own feelings for my sake. Like always, putting me before him.

“This you?”

I turn to see him standing by the sink, holding up my soaked cigarette. “Sorry, yeah. I didn’t have anywhere else to put it. I was gonna get it out.”

“You’re smoking again?” He sounds upset, and I catch his eye. He’s looking at me with such overwhelming concern that I feel my throat start to choke up.

“I picked it up in France,” I manage to sputter out.

Ollie drops the cig in the trash and then crosses his arms. “Come on, you know it’s not good for you.”

I remember the first time he caught me smoking, a couple days into our second month of living together. He had held my hand and cupped my face, and said exactly the same thing. I smile a bit at the memory.

“It’s a stress habit.”

He takes a step forward and rests a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve got to stop.”

“I can’t,” I say, looking down at his hand

He lifts my chin. “Try. For me.”

“Alright.” I find I mean it. I’d try, if he wanted me to.

“You want a cup of tea?” he asks, moving back to his seat at the table. I nod dumbly, still feeling his warmth on my shoulder. He points to the counter. “The kettle’s just there. I like Earl Grey, one sugar.”

He shoots me a smirk and it makes me laugh. I set about making a pot for the two of us

“Well, tell me about the last five years then. I expect there’s a lot to catch up on.”

#short story #writing #writer #novel #aprilnanowrimo #nanowrimo #campnano #april2020 #freddy #ollie #gay love #love

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queen-writing-sideblog · 5 years

Text

Coffee and Cigarettes

Yes, finally! Here’s the second chapter, sorry it took so long!

As the days passed, the further Roger seemed to fall further down the rabbit hole.

It had been manageable at first. He could shove things to the back corners of his mind, lock them up only to be revisited when he was alone and could express his emotions however loud or quiet or sappy as he liked.

It had gotten to a point, though, where it was becoming slightly obvious. Well, maybe more than slightly, but he was still in a little bit of denial over that part. As a matter of fact, he was still in a bit of denial over the entirety of this whole… thing that had wrapped itself around his heart. It had been a hot minute since he’d felt anything like that, something so fragile and terrifying and wonderful and confusing all at once.

He still wasn’t too sure if he liked it or not.

Freddie had started to pick up on the whole thing, which wasn’t really surprising. It was almost like he had a sixth sense for those sorts of things. Freddie could tell you if you had feelings for someone before you even knew about them yourself, he could tell you who you’d end up liking months before you met. He was just odd like that.

The thing that told him how obvious he was really being about the whole ordeal, was the fact that Brian was picking up on it. Brian who was more interested in the stars in the sky than finding a star of his own to love. Brian who didn’t seem to understand the purpose of human emotions the fell on the sappier end of the spectrum, who was so dense he couldn’t tell someone was flirting with him until they came right out and said it. He was more of a brick wall than he was a human when it came to these sorts of things, really.

If Brian had started to notice, then things were going in a downward spiral, and they were doing it fast. It wouldn’t be long before he hit rock bottom now.

Granted his “rock bottom” was more or less something that some people would wait their entire lives to find if they had the time, but.. He was in distress, he was having a crisis, alright? He was allowed to be all negative and grumpy about the matter.

Well, not really, but he would insist he was instead.

Every moment spent with John was as agonizing as they were wonderful and it was quite possibly one of the most annoying things he’d experienced in his adult life. (When he’d told that to Freddie, he’d simply snorted and told him that he’d lived a good life if falling in love was one of the annoying things. He’d just insisted that he wasn’t falling in love, even if he knew he was lying.)

He wished that he could feel the same torture he was inflicting upon Roger, the same confusing whirlwind of emotions that seemed to move in a direction every single time he thought he was getting the hang of them.

At the same time, though, he’d never wish that upon John, because he would never want him to hurt like that. It was truly infuriating, this stupid “catching feelings” thing he’d managed to do to himself. It made everything horribly complicated, which was quite annoying.

He almost wished Mr. Bernes hadn’t quit his job and fucked off to France with a younger woman.

Only almost, though.

As annoying as his feelings were, he did rather like John, and he didn’t smell like chalk dust and B.O. He smelled more like… coffee and cigarettes. A dab of some sort of cologne too. Which sounded like it would be disgusting, but it wasn’t. It was nice. It was very distinctly John, so, of course he liked it.

He hated that he liked it at the same time, though, and it was all… ugh. Yeah, that was a good way to put it, a better way to put it. The entirety of the thing was just.. Ugh. But it also made his heart explode into a million little pieces, but in a very, very good way. Which was weird and something he’d thought to be impossible, but it wasn’t.

And he thought that was a good way to sum up having feelings for someone. Hell, even the definitions he’d managed to at least attempt and outline were confusing as hell.

All of these together had made him grow to hate and love his lunch period. He and John just so happened to have it at the same time, so they would normally gather in one of their rooms and throw peanuts or wads of paper at each other while they ate. They also enjoyed smack talking a student or two, even if that was technically against the rules. He couldn’t name a single teacher that didn’t do that.

“What’ve you got today, Mr. Taylor?” John plopped down in a chair next to his desk and dropped his brown bag lunch down on it.

“Well, let’s see. Leftover lasagna from when mum was visiting over the weekend. An apple. And the ever so exciting water.”

“Wow, how fancy. Much more interesting than a bologna sandwich and crisps.”

“Ah, well, that’s what happens when parents visit, they make you too much food so you have leftovers to make sure you’re actually eating, even if you are a grown adult.”

“Very true. My mum always complains about how thin I am. Thinks I’m out here starving or something like that, I think.” He shook his head. “What’s her name?”

“Who’s?”

“Your mum’s.”

“Oh. It’s not a very common one.”

“Makes it unique.”

“Winnifred.”

“That’s lovely. That was my great aunt’s name.”

“Really? Was it? Huh. Winnifred Deacon.”

“Baker, actually.”

“What?”

“Her last name. It was Baker. She was my grandpa’s sister.”

“Ah. I see.”

They lapsed into a sort of quiet silence after that, simply enjoying each other’s company. It was nice.

John suddenly speaking drew Roger out of his thoughts.

“Sorry, what? I was spaced out. What did you say?”

“I asked you if you were busy this weekend.”

“Oh.” Was he busy? No. Probably not. “No, I don’t think so.”

“No? Neither am I.”

“Cool.” He tapped his fingers against his thigh for a moment. “Did you-”

“I was wondering if maybe you’d want to come over, then.”

“Oh.”

“It’s fine if you don’t want to, I just though it might be nice to be together in an environment outside of school.”

“No. No, yeah, I’d like that, I’d like that.”

“Thought maybe we could watch a movie or something. Or just hang out, if you’d like that better.”

“Whatever is fine with me.”

He chose not to say anything about the pleased little smile on John’s face as he ducked his head under the guise of putting his tupperware away. “Great.”

Roger was more nervous to just ‘hang out with a mate’ than he would have liked to admit. Then again, he’d never had these sort of feeling towards someone who was just his mate before. John was most certainly the exception here, there were… some sort of special rules that applied to it or something like that.

He supposed that was fair enough. There were a certain number of rules you had to follow for different situations. It was one thing when you thought someone was attractive and you wanted them to know it. It was another thing entirely when you had feelings for someone that you knew you weren’t supposed to. It was like the forbidden fruit or whatever from the bible with Adam and Eve. And his feelings were the snake.

Something like that, at least. He’d never been a religious man, never paid attention at Sunday school when his parents had made him go.

Anyways, the point was that John was something he couldn’t have, he was just out of his reach. And if he tried to grab it, then he knew, he knew that it was going to disappear and he wouldn’t even be able to admire it from afar.

He realized he had been standing outside of John’s door longer than was strictly necessary. Probably long enough to look suspicious. Maybe his paranoid elderly neighbor would call the police on him or something.

That thought was enough to get him moving, though, his hand coking up to give three knocks in quick succession.

When John opened the door and saw him, a rather pleasant looking smile spread across his face and Roger could faintly hear the barking of a dog from behind him. “Oh, hey, Rog. You’re early.” His hair was still a bit tussles, looking a bit like bed head, as if he hadn’t had the time to brush it. It wasn’t bad, though. Roger quite liked the way it looked, actually.

“Yeah. It would appear that I am. Thought traffic was gonna be worse than it was and all, you know? Didn’t want to be too late.”

“Right. Right, right, I see.” He stood there for a moment before seeming to realize leaving your guests out on your door stoop wasn’t the most polite thing to do and he stepped aside to let him in. “You can come in, if you’d like. Or if you want, you can just stand out there all day. But it’s your call. But Mrs. O’leary might call the cops on you if you do that,” He called over his shoulder at him as he walked away.

He knew it.

He stepped inside after him and looked around for a moment. He had a nice place. Not too big, but not small. Very homey and lived in and quaint. He liked it. “You’ve got a nice place.”

“Oh? Thanks. I’ve been looking for a new one, actually.” He commented from where he was in the kitchen and appeared to be putting his kettle on. “D’you want a cuppa?”

“That’d be nice, thank you.”

The flat filled with a comfortable silence for a few minutes, other than John’s quiet humming, the happy bark of a dog when John would stoop down to pet her, and the eventual whistle of the kettle. John sat down a mug in front of him, his own clutched in his hand. “I put some milk and sugar in it. Nobody drinks straight tea unless they’re an alien.” The mug which he had given to Roger was black and covered in little lightning bolts, and the one that he had clutched in his own hands had the words ‘World’s okayest bass player’ spread across it. They were both very… John and that alone was enough to have a little smile curling onto his lips.

God, he was falling, for Christ’s sake, they were mugs.

“Did you hear me, Rog?”

His head snapped up. “What?”

He gave a little roll of his eyes. “I was asking if there were any good movies that you might want to watch.”

“Oh.” He smiled sheepishly. “Oops. My bad. Well… y’ever seen A Clockwork Orange?”

He grinned. “I have, as a matter of fact. My favorite movie, really.”

“That so? It’s a favorite of mine.”

“Might see if there’s anywhere we can see it.”

They settled back into the comfortable silence as John flicked through the TV, seeming to have finally found it after a seven minute search. “Ah, here we are. Been a minute since I watched it, though. Never really have time to sit down and watch a film, you know? Life’s all busy and fast paced and then when you have free time, then there’s a million other things you’ve been meaning to get to that get done instead.”

“I get what you mean. Remember when we thought things would be so much more fun as an adult?”

John snorted. “I remember when I was a kid, I thought I was going to be able to do all these things when I got to be older, and now… here I am, stuck with work and bills and lessons and fixing things up and calling my mum and all that, and I’ve hardly got any time to do anything for myself if I want to actually sleep. Just aren’t enough hours in the day, you know?” He looked down into his mug.

“Do you ever wish for more?” Roger asked after a few minutes.

“Do I ever wish for more?” He seemed to have to think about that one for a minute, fingers tapping out a rhythm to a song only he could hear on the side of his mug. “No.” He finally decided. “No, I don’t. I like where I am. I like the things that I do. I like being a teacher, and I like making music and showing other people how to. I like having a dog named after a journalist that nobody understands, and I like putting Robert in the sweaters that my mum knits for him and I like living in a cozy flat that’s not too big or too small. I could have gone a lot of different directions in life, there’s a reason I chose to walk the way that I did.”

He pursed his lips and nodded his head. John was a lot more sure of himself and the path he had paved for himself than Roger was. He had wanted to be a dentist, but that was disgusting. Then he had wanted to be a biologist, but he hadn’t been able to find a job that stuck there, and he knew a local high school was looking for a new biology teacher and that he had the qualifications, so he’d ended up there. And he loved teaching, he loved the kids, but at the same time he couldn’t help but wonder what could have been from time to time. “That’s… it’s good to know why you do the things you do.” He said after a moment of careful consideration. “Not everyone can think like that,” He added after a moment.

“Do you like where you’re at?”

He sucked in a quiet breath and mulled over his words for a few minutes. “I like being a teacher.” He finally said. “And I think I’m in a pretty good place right now, actually.”

“That’s good, that’s good.”

Their attention turned back to the TV, focus returning to the show.

As the night went on, their mugs of tea were replaced by bottles of beer that John retrieved from the fridge, and he let the dog go with him that time. She settled herself on the couch between them and seemed to rather like Roger, letting her head rest on his thigh as he ran his hand up and down her back absentmindedly.

One beer turned into two and they were both pleasantly tipsy, floating the line between drunk when they hit halfway through their third beer. Roger’s mind wasn’t really clear anymore, but at the same time it wasn’t entirely clouded. Not quite.

It had gotten to the point, though, that he was starting to stare a little bit. At his smile, the little gap in his teeth and the way his eyes scrunched up at the corner. How he was always moving, fingers tapping, legs bouncing, feet knocking together.

And the alcohol probably hadn’t been helping what he did next.

John made some sort of dumb joke, and when he turned his head, he was laughing, and Roger couldn’t help himself.

He leaned forward and he kissed him.

When John didn’t immediately pull away, he thought it was okay, that he had made the right move.

Then he felt a hand on his chest pushing him back, and his heart sunk down into his stomach. There was a conflicted expression on his face, like he didn’t know what to say, what to do. “Rog. I think… I think that maybe you should go.” He finally said, eyes looking anywhere but at Roger.

“I… Yeah. Yeah, okay, I… Yeah.” He swallowed thickly and stood up from the couch.

Neither of them said anything as he put on his shoes and walked to the door, giving John a parting glance before stepping outside.

Well, fuck.

#coffee and cigarettes #queen #joger #dealor #john deacon #roger taylor

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