#now i need to go to a wedding but the slacks i own fit weird the dresses look like they belong to someone different

[gideonisms]

Me: I'm not even in pain this month period week is going to be a good week for me!

Me 5 minutes later: [experiencing every emotional reaction from the past 5-7 years at once] damn why does all my clothing look bad on me now

[just-a-poor-boy-queen]

Alternate Universe requested by anon

The first thing Freddie noticed when he woke up was that he was wearing waders.

This was most peculiar. He never wore waders. The only person in Garden Lodge who wore waders was Jim for when he was cleaning out the koi pool. Freddie would sometimes throw them on as a joke, laughing at how they were too big for him; but today, to his surprise, they fitted perfectly. Even stranger was the pair of large wellington boots he was sporting on his feet, caked in mud and the most hideous shade of green. This was an outfit he wouldn’t be seen dead in, let alone asleep in.

What the hell is going on? He thought to himself as he stumbled out of bed, only realising once he was at the door that this wasn’t his bedroom at all. It was much smaller, with hideous peeling wallpaper and a tiny, single bed crammed in the corner. The place reeked of an odour that he couldn’t quite pinpoint. It almost smelled like… dog.

This was either an elaborate prank or some horrific dream, Freddie decided as he quickly descended the staircase, hoping that he might suddenly snap out of this nightmare if he ran into a familiar face. He heard Phoebe’s voice coming from the lounge downstairs and he quickly made a beeline for the room, desperately throwing open the door.

‘Phoebe, something weird is going on!’ He declared, only to stop in his tracks when he saw the other man.

Phoebe was… working out. Lifting weights, more specifically. In all the years that Freddie had known him, he had never seen Phoebe lift weights. Even more shocking was that the usually chubby man was now built like a tank. It was so surreal it was almost disturbing. Phoebe was a round, jolly guy who loved his food and never worried too much about his body image. This guy on the other hand...

‘What is it now?’ Phoebe sighed and set his weights down, flexing his huge bicep. ‘Shouldn’t you be out doing the garden? The boss is going to kill you if he catches you slacking.’

‘The garden?’ Freddie replied, appalled. ‘Why would I be doing the garden? That’s Jim’s job!’

Phoebe rolled his eyes. ‘Very funny, Freddie. Now, if you don’t mind, I was in the middle of something.’

Freddie opened his mouth to protest but Phoebe had already gone back to his weights and started lifting again. Annoyed, the singer turned and stormed out of the room, unable to believe how rude and dismissive his friend was being. And what was all this about “the boss”? Freddie was the boss!

Maybe Joe could shed some light on what was going on. Freddie quickly made his way to the kitchen, where he found the American in the midst of baking a cake, carefully sieving flour into a large bowl.

‘Joe-’ he began, only for the other man to shriek, flour flying everywhere until half the kitchen looked like a Christmas card.

‘Oh, it’s you, Fred.’ Joe clutched his chest dramatically, his glasses completely white. ‘What are you doing here? You should have finished the garden ages ago.’

‘Why does everyone keep banging on about the garden?’ Freddie grumbled, angrily wiping flour off his moustache. ‘And since when are you so easily startled? You nearly shat yourself!’

Joe looked slightly annoyed – at least, Freddie assumed he did, as he couldn’t really see his face under all the flour – ‘you know what a scaredy-cat I am, Freddie. The smallest drop of blood and I’m passed out on the floor. It’s a curse, really.’

Alright, whoever this was, it definitely wasn’t Joe. No way in hell was this the same Joe who, only last week, savagely beat a wasp to death with the kitchen mop, then left its severed head on the kitchen windowsill as a warning to the other wasps.

‘God, look at this mess.’ Joe rushed to the kitchen cupboard and took out a broom, sweeping up the mess on the floor. ‘When the boss sees this, he’ll break my neck!’

‘What are you on about?’ Freddie snarled, ready to tear his hair out. ‘I’m the boss! This is my house!’

‘I’m really not in the mood for jokes right now, Freddie.’ Joe replied, not even looking up at him. ‘Hurry up and get the garden finished, otherwise we’ll all be in the doghouse.’

Freddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Whatever parallel universe he was trapped in, he wanted out right now. But Joe had already turned his attention to cleaning up the mess, so Freddie had no choice but to leave him to it and trudge out into the garden.

He took a moment to survey the area; he didn’t know the first thing about gardening, despite sometimes watching Jim while he was working and occasionally helping him plant seedlings for his favourite flowers. He noticed a rake laying nearby and decided to start by raking the leaves off the lawn. How hard could it be?

--

‘Freddie? Freddie! Where have you got to?’

The sound of Jim’s voice echoing across the garden alerted Freddie, and he almost tumbled right off the ladder he had been balancing on to trim the hedges. He had never realised gardening was so much work; he was covered from head to foot in soil, his waders ruined and his hair dripping wet from when he had attempted to reposition the stone bowl in the koi pool, only to fall in face first. But none of that mattered now. Jim was here. His wonderful Irish husband was here, and he was going to sort this horrible mess out.

‘Jim!’ He cried as he entered the conservatory and found the Irishman standing there, looking unusually solemn. He immediately threw his arms around his neck. ‘Jim, I’m so glad to see you! You won’t believe the day I’ve had-’

He was cut off as Jim abruptly pushed him away; taken by surprise, Freddie didn’t have time to steady himself and ended up on the floor.

‘What the fuck do you think you’re doing?!’ Jim barked, wiping off the dirt that had smudged all over his expensive looking shirt. ‘You really think that’s an acceptable way to behave with your boss? You should know your place by now, Mercury!’

Freddie stared at him from where he sat on the floor, dumbfounded. What was going on? Why was Jim treating him like this? There had to be some mistake.

‘Jim,’ he said softly, his eyes large and confused, ‘it’s me.’

‘Yes, it is. Unfortunately.’ Jim huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. ‘For God’s sake, you’re filthy! And what the hell have you done to my garden?’

Freddie glanced out of the conservatory window, noting the misshapen hedges, the large holes in the lawn from where he had clumsily attempted to plant flowers, and the overturned stone bowl in the koi pool which miraculously hadn’t crushed any of the fish. Gardening clearly wasn’t his forte.

‘I-I did my best.’ Freddie insisted nervously.

‘A blind monkey could have done a better job.’ Jim snapped, crossing over to the drinks cabinet and pouring himself a glass of whiskey. ‘I sometimes wonder why I keep you on, Mercury. You’re absolutely useless.’

Freddie felt the colour drain out of his face. This wasn’t the Jim he loved. This man was cruel and demeaning, treating him like he was nothing more than mud beneath his shoe. His sweet and lovely Jim would never do this.

‘Jim, please!’ Freddie scrambled to his feet, grabbing Jim’s sleeve desperately before he could take a swig of his drink. ‘It’s me, Freddie. Your husband.’

Jim scoffed, shrugging the Persian off as if he were an annoying fly. ‘Husband? Sorry Mercury, but I don’t bat for your team. I don’t know what sort of weird obsession you have with me, but you’d better stop it. I won’t have any of that queer shit in my house.’

His house? What did he mean, his house? This was their house. Well, legally it was Freddie’s, but he had always considered it Jim’s home as much as his own. Tears rushed to Freddie’s eyes. This couldn’t be real. Any moment now, he would wake up and find out this was all just an awful dream.

‘Jim, I’m telling the truth! I’m your husband!’ Freddie rambled, heart breaking as Jim rolled his eyes in disgust and took another sip of whiskey. ‘Look, you bought that ring on your finger to show your commitment to me! And you bought one for me too, right here-’

He went to show Jim the ring on his right hand, only to find his finger bare. He immediately panicked. Where was it? Had he lost it? Had it fallen into the koi pool during the incident with the stone bowl? Had someone stolen it?

‘I’m not sure what planet you’re living on, Mercury.’ Jim finished his drink in a single gulp, completely ignoring Freddie’s distress. ‘But I bought this ring to show my commitment to my fiancée, not you.’

‘Your fiancée?’ Freddie could feel the walls closing in around him; in that moment, his entire world shattered and suddenly his lungs were fighting for air. ‘But who-?’

‘Oh, Jiiiim!’ The sound of the front door closing came from the hallway; moments later, the conservatory door swung open, and a familiar blond woman strode inside, laden down with dozens of shopping bags.

Freddie’s jaw almost dropped to the floor. ‘Mary?’

Mary pulled down her sunglasses a moment to acknowledge him, ‘oh, hi Freddie,’ before she immediately turned her attention to Jim and pressed a big wet kiss to the Irishman’s mouth. ‘Thank you so much for giving me another credit card, darling. I know I maxed out the last three, but I just had to buy that new dress I saw in the boutique window.’

‘Anything for the love of my life.’ Jim crooned, rubbing their noses together in a way that made Freddie want to vomit. ‘I’m glad you’ve had a better day than I have – just look at what that idiot’s done to the garden!’

‘Now, now, Jimmy.’ Mary replied, looking at the man as if he was a deity. ‘You know we have to be patient with the help. It’s not like anyone else will hire him.’

Freddie had never hit a woman in his life, but right now Mary was really tempting him.

‘Here,’ Mary held out her bags to Freddie, looking down her nose at him as if he were contagious, ‘take these up to my room, would you? Jimmy and I need to discuss the plans for our wedding.’

Freddie’s cheeks burned with both anger and despair. He went to take the bags when he noticed the gold band on her left hand; it was much smaller, clearly fitted for a woman, but he would recognise it anywhere.

‘My ring!’ he cried, hands clenching into fists as his entire body began to shake. ‘That’s the ring Jim gave me!’

‘Don’t mind him, love.’ Jim put an arm around Mary, a horrible sneer on his face. ‘I think he’s been snorting something; all sorts of crap is coming out of his mouth today. Make yourself useful, Mercury, and go take the dogs for a walk. Maybe that will sober you up a bit.’

‘Dogs?’ Was all Freddie managed to get out before the door flew open again and he was set upon by at least six or seven four-legged fiends.

Don’t misunderstand, Freddie liked dogs. But unlike cats, dogs lacked any sort of grace and dignity; they piled on top of him like they wanted him dead, tongues licking mercilessly at his face until he managed to wriggle free and take cover on one of the sofas.

‘Since when do we have dogs?!’ he practically screamed over all the barking, holding up a pillow to shield himself as a dog the size of a bear leaped onto the sofa to join him.

‘Your memory needs testing, Mercury. We’ve always had dogs. You sleep in their room, for God’s sake.’ Jim refilled his glass and called over to the Newfoundland, which was currently smothering the Persian man. ‘Bad dog, David. You know you’re not allowed on the sofa.’

‘David?’

‘Yes, David. Phoebe said we should have called him Goliath because of his size, but I thought David would be funnier. Completely catches people off guard.’

Freddie felt his spirit rise out from his body and drift up towards the ceiling.

‘Right, you’ll need to keep him on a tight leash if you’re going to take him through the park – you know how much David loves children and I don’t want any parents filing a lawsuit because he’s knocked their kid over.’ Jim said, as Mary took out a small pocket mirror and began applying lipstick. ‘Juliet gets really nervous, so make sure none of the others bully her. And Samson hates you, so just keep out of his way.’

Freddie glanced over at the white poodle with brown markings, who was growling at him menacingly. No, no, no, not Delilah. She was his baby, his princess. How could she ever hate him?

‘By the way, Jim!’ Mary chirped, seemingly oblivious to the chaos around her as the dogs swarmed the conservatory. ‘I took another test this morning and it came back positive – I am pregnant!’

Freddie covered his ears and screamed.

--

‘Freddie? Freddie, wake up!’

Freddie bolted upright, panicking when he felt his arms pinned to his sides, only to realise he had cocooned himself in the bedsheets. Jim was right beside him, carefully untangling him and smoothing back his sweaty hair while the singer trembled, mind still stirring from the nightmare he had just awoken from.

‘Sweetheart?’ Jim said softly once his husband had time to calm down. ‘You were crying out in your sleep. Did you have a bad dream?’

As if snapping out of a trance, Freddie felt his right hand in the darkness, almost weeping when he realised it was bare. ‘My ring! Where’s my ring?’

‘Shh, shh, it’s okay, love.’ Jim soothed, reaching over to turn on one of the lamps and pointing to Freddie’s bedside table. ‘It’s right there, safe and sound.’

Freddie immediately grabbed it and slid it onto his finger, vowing never to remove it again, not even when he took a bath. He turned and snuggled into Jim’s arms, head tucked under the Irishman’s chin, relieved that he wasn’t pushed away.

‘That must have been one hell of a dream.’ Jim murmured, kissing Freddie’s temple. ‘Are you alright?’

Freddie wasn’t sure if he’d ever get those images out of his head. Having to wear waders. Phoebe with a six pack. Joe being skittish as a kitten. Destroying his own lawn with his terrible gardening. Jim treating him like garbage. Mary wearing his ring on her finger. His lovely cats transformed into a kennel of hyperactive, smelly dogs.

But it was just a dream. He was back in reality now, safe in Jim’s arms.

‘I am now.’ He mumbled sleepily into Jim’s neck, placing a kiss against his throat. So long as Jim was his, he would always be alright.

The prompt

OH MY GOD I AM DYING😂😂😂😂

Ahh fuck this is so good I am STILL DYING😂

Firstly, kudos to the anon who came up with such a brilliant prompt. I mean this is innovative af, and you did complete justice to it, writer anon! I had actually forgotten about the prompt, and was afraid that it wasn't a dream😂

Freddie reactions were the best part lmao. How he's utterly horrified at the aspect of Jim and Mary (behold the return of jimary!) being partners, his baby delilah (rather her counterpart) hating him, Phoebe being a gym-aholic and ahhhh Joe, sweet baby Joe actually being sweet like a baby kitten😂😂 I loved it all! Imma reread this so many times ahahahahahah oh god.

(More drabbles by writer anon)

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello! I haven't really been in Johnlock scene, but I suddenly had a MIGHTY NEED for mutual pining between the two, and your fic recs delivered in the best possible way. I thank you from the bottom of my heart for sharing so much about these two! (and now it seems I'm lost to Johnlock, send help, but not really, this is awesome)

Hi Nonny!!

AHhhhh thank you for your kind words about my lists!!! I’m so happy you enjoy!!

You’re in luck, my friend!! I have a Part 2 list of my Mutual pining fics with enough to start a new list, so here we are!! Also, if you’re interested in exclusive pining, I’ve a part 2 to my Pining Sherlock list in its final stages of cleanup, so keep an eye out for that one!! <3 Enjoy!!

MUTUAL PINING Pt. 2

See also:

Mutual Pining Pt 1 

Pining Sherlock || [MOBILE FRIENDLY VERSION]

Pining John

One Sided Pining

Santa Knows by Itsallfine (T, 1,719 w., 1 Ch. || Christmas Party, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Fluff, Matchmaking, POV Sherlock, Pining Sherlock) – Sherlock and John both get exactly what they want from the Yard's secret Santa exchange. Pure holiday fluff.

Like Euphoria and Scotch by FinAmour (M, 1,856 w., 1 Ch. || TSo3 Fix It, Five and Ones, Drinking, Pining, Second Person POV Sherlock, Armchair Sex, Cracky and Fluff, Sherlock’s Imagination, Happy Ending) – 5 different ways it all could have gone + the one way it actually works itself out.

Hell or High water by bluefire301175 (E, 2,250 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Frottage, Alley Sex, First Person POV John, Case-ish Fic, Mutual Pining, Bed Sharing) – John wants. Sherlock wants. Plain and simple.

To the Nines by suitesamba (M, 2,724 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Magical Realism, Pining, Angst, John Whump, Time Travel, Fortunes, Time Jumps) – John skips forward in time, and Sherlock reads the signs that point to nine. John knows he’ll eventually be with Sherlock, but the waiting is nearly impossible, and his body is a lot more than transport. A foray into magical realism where all the canon events occur, and a hell of a lot more.

Better Late Than Never by sussexbound (NR (T), 3,021 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4 / TFP Doesn’t Exist, Sherlock POV, Love Confessions, Drunk Sherlock / Sober John, John Takes Care of Sherlock, First Kiss, Jealous Sherlock, Emotional Turmoil) – He suddenly wants John Watson out of his bedroom, out of his flat, out of his life, because he has been lying to himself these last few months, he realises. He doesn’t want John here, not with the way things are. He doesn’t want 221b Baker Street to be nothing more than rest stop John returns to on his journeys between women. He doesn’t want to play co-parent if Rosie is going to be snatched away from him and placed in the arms of whatever nameless woman du jour John lands on next. He doesn’t want to keep being so careful, so generous, so, so…

The General Idea by agirlsname (T, 3,022 w., 1 Ch. || Retirement, Promise of Forever / Proposal, POV John, First Kiss, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Soft Sherlock, Idiots in Love, Crying / Emotional Sherlock, Love Confessions) – After twenty years of friendship, John is used to Sherlock acting weirdly. But the news Sherlock finally brings himself to deliver change the carefully built dynamics between them, and John realises it's time to act.

Bathroom Accessories by Evenlodes_Friend (E, 3,324 w., 1 Ch. || Sex Toys, Butt Plug, First Kiss / Time, Romance, Horny Sherlock, John’s Patience Wears Thin, Humour, Bottomlock) – John discovers that Sherlock has been playing with some very adult toys in the bath.

Apodyopsis by QuinnAnderson (E, 3,347 w., 1 Ch. || PWP, Rough Sex, Table Sex, Anal, Sexual Tension) – Apodyopsis: (æpəʊdaɪˈɒpsɪs) noun. the act of mentally undressing someone. Part 2 of Undressed

Sherlock and John Go Clubbing by wendymarlowe (E, 4,716 w., 3 Ch. || Clubbing, Dirty Talk, Dancing, Coming Untouched, Coming in Pants, Bi John, For a Case, Friends to Lovers, Flirting, Sherlock is Lost for Words, Sexy John, Mutual Pining, Possessive John, Floor Sex) – John pinched the bridge of his nose - even for Sherlock, this was a new level of no bloody boundaries. “You want me to go with you to a gay club, wait around twiddling my thumbs while I let you get pawed by a criminal, then out-flirt him and talk you into coming home with me instead?” Part 32 of John and Sherlock's Kinky First Times

Sleeping next to you by Salambo06 (E, 5,018 w., 2 Ch. || ASiB Fic, Bed Sharing, Frottage, Mutual Masturbation, Rimming, Anal, First Kiss/Time) – Based on an Anonymous Prompt: "So, that scene from ASiB when Mrs H has been attacked by the American CIA guy & John, Sherlock & she are in Mrs H's kitchen when John says "She’ll have to sleep upstairs in our flat tonight. We need to look after her." to which Sherlock replies with "no". John of course suggested that because he cares about her safety, but maybe he also did it cause he /wanted/ that to happen. What if they finally agreed on letting her have John's or Sherlock's bed & J&S sleep in the same one?" Part 12 of Tumblr Collection

Stranded by BeautifulFiction (T, 5,798 w., 1 Ch. || First Kiss, Communication / Relationship Discussion, Pining Sherlock, Sherlock POV, BAMF John, Doctor John, Case Fic, Drinking, Huddling For Warmth, Friends to More) –  When stranded on a derelict barge at high tide, John and Sherlock reconsider their friendship.

An Interpretation of Viewing Habits by akitsuko (E, 6,653 w., 1 Ch. || Porn Watching, Masturbation, Anal, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Declarations of Love, Jealous Sherlock, Fantasizing, John in Denial / Internalized Homophobia, Bottomlock, Pining Idiots, Sherlock Has No Boundaries, Cockblocking Sherlock) – John watches porn. It's a perfectly normal thing to do.If every video he watches happens to feature actors with remarkable physical similarities to his flatmate, well, that's no one's business but his own. Or: John is in denial, until his infatuation with Sherlock is impossible to deny anymore.

Time on my hands by Mildredandbobbin (M, 7,179 w., 1 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Post-S3, One Night Stands, Mutual Pining, Virgin Sherlock, First Time, Sexual Exploration / Discovery, Desperation, Body Worship) – Virginity’s a construct, a concept—what does losing one’s virginity entail for a gay man anyway? Sherlock wants to fill that particular gap in his knowledge but John won’t, can’t, never will assist and there’s only so much desperately unspoken pining even Sherlock can take.

Unwasted by patternofdefiance (E, 8,966 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S3 / S3 Fix-It, Developing Relationship, Friends to Lovers, Angelo’s, Fluff, First Time, Anal, Cum Play, Flashbacks to ASiB, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, Bottomlock, Cuddles, Multiple Orgasms, BJ’s, Bed Sharing) – John finds it three months after he's moved back. He's on the hunt for something to make for dinner, is scrounging through the cupboards, when he happens upon the graveyard of pasta boxes Sherlock still seems to create when left to his own devices. Behind seven boxes of pasta, all almost completely empty, is a dark-glassed bottle, with a paler coat of dust.It's unopened. John's face falls slack when he sees it, instantly recognises it, and for a long moment he just stands and looks at it.

You fit me, Sherlock Holmes by orphan_account (G, 10,077 w., 1 Ch. || It’s An Experiment, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Questionable Science) – An unfortunate series of events leads to John accepting being a part of Sherlock's study in physical intimacy. As the days pass by, John realizes he might be in for more than he bargained for. He doesn't entirely mind.

There's So Much Labour Just in Breathing Lately by Susan (E, 12,708 w., 1 Ch. || Post-TRF / Mentions of S3 Events, Romance, Angst, Grief/Mourning, Grieving John, Mutual Pining, Meddling Mycroft, Therapy, Ambiguous Hopeful Ending, Infidelity) – The dreams he hated most – the ones that left him a sweating, shaking mess when he woke – were the ones in which Sherlock was just Sherlock. Laughing or drinking tea. Sitting across the table from him at Angelo’s eating pasta. Trailing his open hand behind him on the way to the bedroom. “C’mon, John. I’m about to have my way with you.”

Fucking Cake by Random_Nexus (E, 12,965 w., 1 Ch. || Pre-Slash, Humour/Crack, Inanimate Object Smut, Frottage, “For a Case” / “Experiment”, PWP / Kinky, Mutual Pining, Fluff) – Sherlock brings home a chocolate cake, John finds him about to have sex with said cake, then exceedingly weird hijinx ensue. Part 1 of "Fucking Baked Goods" - Sherlock BBC

Kintsugi by distantstarlight (E, 14,772 w., 1 Ch. || Post S4, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Regret / Remorse, Loneliness, Separation, Drug Use, Healing, Protective John, Sad Sherlock, Dev. Rel., Complicated Relationships, Love, Angst With Happy Ending, Sherlock is Called Freak, John’s Penance, Voyeurism, Doctor/Caretaker John, Guilty John, Detox, Fingering, Love Confessions, Cuddling, Slight Non-Con Turns Enthusiastic Consent, Virgin Sherlock) – Sherlock Holmes becomes estranged from the man he had once considered his best friend after John lets him down horribly in public. It seems that the world's only consulting detective will be on his own once again...or will he?

The Palmyra Atoll by elwinglyre (E, 16,609 w., 3 Ch. || TSo3 Divergence / Episode Fix-It, Stockholm Syndrome, Kidnapped John Watson, John Whump, Evil Mary, Angst, Cuddling & Snuggling, Toplock, Limited 3rd John POV) – As John's preparing for the wedding, Sherlock is preparing to have his heart broken, and Mary is prepared to do the unthinkable. Intervention required. Enter Sherlock. Set before Sign of Three with a far different outcome. John is drugged, kidnapped, and left on an island, but not just any old island.

Traitor's Gate by roane (E, 17,714 w., 6 Ch. || Post-TRF, Case Fic, Mystery, Bets and Wagers, Undercover for a Case, BAMF John, Scientist Sherlock, Teasing, Established Relationship, Military Base, Sexting/Texting, Military/Uniform Kink, Frottage, Dirty Sex, Anal, Bottomlock) – John and Sherlock go undercover at a top secret government lab to find out who is selling research. John is back in uniform and Sherlock is back in a laboratory, but they have to pose as strangers. Sherlock thinks he'll have an easy time of it, but John has his doubts. It's up to them to find out who is responsible for putting a dangerous weapon in the wrong hands, and try to keep their hands off each other at the same time.

Between Friends by SilentAuror (E, 18,036 w., 1 Ch. || Post S3, Alternating POV, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Abduction, Awkward Situations / Miscommunications, Porn With Feels, Blowjobs, Pining, Unrequited, Angst With Happy Ending) – Sherlock gets abducted. As John discovers him tied up naked in an empty storage facility and comes to rescue him, Sherlock's body has an unfortunate reaction which triggers a series of events. John is convinced that everything will be fine as long as they never discuss it. Sherlock isn't as sure...

I Think I've Come A Long Long Way To Sit Before You Here Today by ArwenKenobi (T, 18,251 w., 3 Ch. || Grief/Mourning, Passage of Time, Major Character Death, Alternating POV, Sherlock Whump, Pining Sherlock, Hospitalization, Coma, Revenge Murders, Hallucinations, Love Confessions, Brutal Accident, Mystrade, Ghost John) – One year after John is killed Sherlock starts to wonder whether John has actually gone anywhere.

Permanent Fixture by vitruvianwatson (E, 18,836 w., 9 Ch || Post-S4, Parentlock, Slow Build, Friends to Lovers, They’re Good Parents, Blushing Sherlock, First Kiss/Time, Explicit Consent, Sexual Content, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Big Feelings, Crying, First Kiss, Fluff, Anxious Sherlock, Inexperienced Sherlock, Emotional Communication, Love Confessions) – Now, as Rosie sat curled up against Sherlock’s side, John watched and wondered exactly how he had ended up here. Domesticity had never suited him before, not at any point in his life. His disastrous marriage had been proof of that. But somehow, here in the warmth and safety of 221B Baker Street, here with Sherlock Holmes reading medical jargon to his daughter, Sherlock’s bony feet nudging against his leg, John couldn’t imagine anyplace that would make him happier.

You're On the Air by prettysailorsoldier (M, 20,616 w., 1 Ch. || Unilock, Matchmaking, Radio, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Sherlock POV, Pining Sherlock, Flirting, Bisexual John) – The Consulting Detective and The Woman dominate the airwaves of their university radio station, doling out advice on everything from meeting the parents to sexual positions. When their ratings start to dip before the holidays, however, manager Mike thinks it's time for some fresh blood, and who better to fill in the gaps than rugby captain--and notorious flirt--John Watson? Part 1 of 25 Days of Johnlock

Silhouettes by allonsys_girl (E, 28,585 w., 7 Ch. || Canon Compliant, POV John, Heavy Drinking, Sad/Depressed John, Grief/Mourning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Reunion, Foot Jobs, Blow Jobs, Infidelity, Cheating, Drug Use/Abuse, Anal, Switchlock, Rimming, Parentlock) – Sherlock and John find comfort in each other's arms, but as ever with these two, it's not your typical relationship. It's fluffy at the beginning, gets deeply angsty in the middle, gets porny at the end.

we have never seen a greater day than this by Lediona (T, 36,420 w., 7 Ch. || A Royal Night Out AU || WWII / VE Day, Prince Sherlock, Soldier John, Alternating POV, First Kiss, Bittersweet Ending, Homophobia, Dancing) – Peace. At long last. It’s VE Day and Prince William desires to join the celebrations. It is a night of excitement, danger and the first flutters of romance.

Nothing to Make a Song About by emmagrant01 (E, 36,833 w., 10 Ch. || Post-TRF, First Time, Reunion, Jealous John, Pining Sherlock, Romance, Angst with Happy Ending) – When Sherlock returned from his faked death, John could not forgive him for the deception and broke off their friendship. Ten years later, John returns to London in search of yet another new beginning. Sherlock, not surprisingly, is waiting.

Sentenced by SarahKnight (T, 44,777 w., 30 Ch. || Dev. Rel., Alternate S4 Canon, Drama, Angst, Pining, Feelings are Hard) – Virtual series 4 opener. Sherlock's in prison being targeted by a murderer, John's married to a pregnant assassin and Moriarty's back.

Impossible to Feign by achray (M, 49,204 w., 12 Ch. || TRF Rewrite / Reverse Reichenbach, Suicidal Ideations / Discussions, Drug Use/Abuse, Mutual Pining, Friends With Benefits, John Accepts his Sexuality, Anxious Sherlock, Meddling Mycroft, Depression, Hallucinations, Secret Agent John, BAMF John, Reunion, Make-Up Sex, Ambiguous Ending) – Sherlock leant forward, his long fingers curving round to grip John’s.“I won’t let him win,” he said, eyes hard. “I will do whatever it takes to get you out.”

The Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse by SilentAuror (E, 50,635 w., 1 Ch. || Post-S4/S4 Divergence, Case Fic, For a Case / Reverse Fake-Relationship, Conferences, Marriage Equality, Travelling / New York, Pride, Homophobia, Bottomlock, Marriage Proposal, John POV, Sexuality, Love Confessions, Emotional Love Making, Public Hand Jobs, Blow Jobs, Passionate Kissing, Needy/Clingy Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Touching / Hand Holding, Bed Sharing, Little Spoon Sherlock, Intense Orgasms) – John and Sherlock go to New York to attend a conference run by the National Defence of Traditional Marriage Coalition in order to investigate the potential bombing of the annual Manhattan Pride parade. As the conference unfolds, John finds himself repulsed by the toxic ideology being presented, which becomes relevent to his own unacknowledged issues and his friendship with Sherlock...

Never Change a Running System by Lorelei_Lee (E, 54,246 w., 18 Ch. || Pre-TRF, Romance, Humour, Drama, Sex Toys, Anal, Rimming, Masturbation, Frottage, Blow Jobs, Public Sex, First Kiss / Time, Virgin Sherlock / Loss of Virginity, Accidental Voyeurism, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Experiments, Naive Sherlock, Pining Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Possessive Sherlock, Straight With an Exception John, Hand Jobs) – Sherlock discovers his sexuality – with far-reaching consequences for John.

A Hundred Crimson Sols by elldotsee (E, 55,536 w., 16 Ch. || Astronauts AU || Mars Exploration / Space Travel, Slow Burn, Shy Sherlock, Scientist Sherlock / Biomed Engineer John, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, UST, Angst with Happy Ending, Domestic Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injuries, Suicidal Ideation, Zero-G Sex) – Will Holmes is a chemical researcher recognized widely for his contributions to the new Mars exploration program. Thanks to his ground-breaking developments, the IMMC (International Mars Mission Corporation) is one step closer to Martian colonization. Will and his team of scientists are headed out on the first of three manned missions before the first group of settlers arrive. Three days before launch, one of the crew has to be replaced. Will panics because...new people. The replacement is of course one John Watson, biomedical engineer and space hottie who was pretty sure he had retired from actual space exploration and was now content to work in the nice, quiet research lab. Can the crew survive this TOTALLY ROUTINE trip? Will they be able to endure each other for the looooooong trip in close quarters? Gonna be a wild ride... prepare for blast off. Part 1 of the SpaceBois go to Space series

The Thing Is by TSylvestris (E, 56,743 w., 21 Ch. || Case Fic, Dev. Rel., Anal/Oral, Blow Jobs, Meddling Mycroft, Drama, Romance, Humour, Casual Encounters, Pining Idiots, Possessive Sherlock, Orgasm Delay, Rough / Alley Sex, Public Sex, John Whump, Drugged John, Emotional Love Making, Awkward Relationship, Marriage of Convenience, Switchlock) – The problem with living with Sherlock, John thought, was that you never, never, ever knew the significance of anything. Like your flatmate's nose buried in your hair. Whilst you're in bed. Part 1 of Nitroglycerine

Lunar Landscapes by J_Baillier (M, 57,046 w., 21 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || S3/TAB Fix-It, Slow Burn Angst, Drama, Hurt/Comfort, Confessions, Drugs, Pain, Medical, Injury, Sherlock Whump, Mental Health Issues, Panic Attacks, Romance, Secrets, Tragedy, Trauma, BAMF John, Doctor!John, Drug Addict Sherlock, Injured Sherlock, Grieving John, Idiots In Love, Protective John, POV John Watson, PTSD Sherlock, Sherlock is a Mess, Medical Realism) – An accident forces John to face the fact that Sherlock's downward spiral had started long before his flight to exile even left the tarmac.

One Little Change by jadztone (E, 58,312 w., 12 Ch. || ASiB Divergence, Fake Relationship, Bed Sharing, Mutual Pining, Friends to Lovers, First Kiss / Time, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Bi John / Gay Demisexual Sherlock, Switchlock, Alternating POV, Jealousy, Misunderstandings, Case Fic, Angst with Happy Ending, Emotional Love Making, Butt Plugs, Cuddles) – Our story begins right after John and Sherlock's first meeting with Irene Adler in September. It splits off into an AU that imagines them taking a case where they act as bait to hook a killer targeting closeted gays in secret relationships. In the weeks leading up to Christmas, many things happen that have our boys wondering if maybe they have a chance with each other. Then Irene fakes her death on Christmas Eve, and things get a lot more complicated - especially since they still have a killer to catch.

The Burning by SrebrnaFH (M, 60,658 w., 24 Ch. || Reverse Reichenbach, Suicide, Depression, Hurt Sherlock / John, Separation, BAMF John, Good Big Brother Mycroft, Angst, Implied/Referenced Torture, Fake Character Death, Rescue Mission, Reconciliation / Reunion, Hospitalization, Marriage Proposal, Illnesses, Physical Therapy, Happily Ever After) – Something went very, very wrong. John had seemed, if not happy, then reasonably content with his life. Sherlock had never predicted something like THIS might have happened. Not in his worst nightmares. He was the lousiest friend ever, apparently. At least Mycroft found him something to occupy his mind with, so that he didn't have to go back to 221B and stare at the walls and the chair, where John Watson would never sit again.

Hell Sent, Heaven Bound by ConsultingHound (M, 64,381 w, 16 Ch. || Angels / Demons AU ||  Fallen Angel Sherlock / Angel Cop John, Alternate First Meeting, Slow Burn, Case Fic, John & Lestrade are Friends Before Sherlock, BAMF John, Mind Palace John, Friends to Lovers, John in Denial, Sherlock Picks Out John’s Clothing, Clubbing / Dancing, Mildly Jealous John, Awkwardness, Kidnapping, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Sacrifice, Worried / Anxious Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Immortal to Mortal) – Ex-War healer and current angelic guard John Watson is not having the best day. He overslept, he’s underpaid, and now there’s someone tagging the Council’s building walls. However things may be about to get interesting: there’s an unusual stranger hanging around (the definition of tall, dark, and handsome), a literal underground cult is brewing, and rumblings are coming from hell. Can he keep his neighbourhood safe, how and why is he being connected to all this, and who the hell is Sherlock Holmes?

The Vapor Variant by 88thParallel (CanadaHolm) (M, 72,684 w., 18 Ch. || Post-THoB, John Whump, Protective Sherlock, Guilty Sherlock, Anxious/Worried Sherlock, Virgin Sherlock, Angst with Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD John, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Suspense, Virus, Sickfic, Big Brother Mycroft) – They stood face to face in the middle of a clearing. The dim light of the moon barely allowed Sherlock to see the glassy terror in John’s eyes and the sweat that glistened off his forehead. His nose was bleeding again, blood dripping in a slow stream from his right nostril. They were both gasping for air, John’s eyes locked on Sherlock’s. There was no recognition there, just wild animal fear. Time stood still for an eternal few seconds, and Sherlock took a shaky breath. “John—”Spell broken, John spun and bolted back into the woods. Still heaving for air, Sherlock took off after him.

Northwest Passage by Kryptaria (E, 95,157 w., 27 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Canadian AU ||  BAMF!John, Canadian John, PTSD, Anal / Oral Sex, Rimming, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Drug Rehab, Falling in Love, Pining Sherlock, Love Confessions, Sherlock’s Violin, Panic Attacks, Switching, Anxious / Protective Sherlock, Hugs for Comfort, Suicide Mentions, Healing Each Other) – Seven years ago, Captain John Watson of the Canadian Forces Medical Service withdrew from society, seeking a simple, isolated life in the distant northern wilderness of Canada. Though he survives from one day to the next, he doesn't truly live until someone from his dark past calls in a favor and turns his world upside-down with the introduction of Sherlock Holmes." Part 1 of Tales from the Northwest

31_Days_of_Porn_Challenge_2017 Series by distantstarlight (E, 96,540 w. across 31 stories || Prompt Ficlets, Assorted Kinks, PWP) – A collection in response to the 31 Days of Porn Challenge issued by AtlinMerrik! Thanks for doing that because this has been buttload of fun (that joke never gets old). All stories will be brief stand-alone one-shots.

A Study in Winning by Jupiter_Ash (E, 106,658 w., 11 Ch. || Tennis AU || John POV, Dirty Talk, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Happy Ending, Sherlock Speaks French, Switchlock, Wimbledon) – John and Sherlock are professional tennis players and it’s Wimbledon. One is a broken almost was at the end of his career, the other an arrogant rising star tipped for greatness. It should have been a straightforward tournament. It really should have been. How were they to know that a chance encounter would change everything? Part 1 of Tennis

Two Two One Bravo Baker by abundantlyqueer (E, 114,574 w., 27 Ch. || Military AU || Afghanistan, War Story, Thriller) – Captain John Watson of 40 Commando, the Royal Marines, is assigned to protect and assist Sherlock Holmes as he investigates what appears to be a simple war atrocity in Afghanistan. An intense attraction ignites between the two men as they uncover a conspiracy that threatens everything they’ve ever known, but Sherlock is as much hunted as hunter, and everyone close to him is in deadly danger. Can he solve the case in time to save himself and John? Part 1 of Two Two One Bravo Baker Universe

A Further Sea by i_ship_an_armada & ShinySherlock (E, 125,492 w., 23 Ch. || Historical Pirates AU || Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Doctor John / Pirate Captain Sherlock, Sailing, UST / RST, Masturbation, Action / Adventure, Mild Angst & Peril, Romance, Shaving, Molly/Janine, Bottomlock, Hand / Blow Jobs, Past Drug Use, Slow Burn, Mild Violence, Happy Ending) – Here be a tale of adventure for both body and soul, but beware if ye be not of stout heart, for this be piratelock, ya savvy? Luckless ship's surgeon John Watson takes a chance, and finds himself eye to eye with The Ghost, the scourge of the seven seas and a definite thorn in the side of the blaggard, James Moriarty. But when John finds there's more to this most cunning pirate than be meetin' the eye, he has to choose... is it a pirate's life for him?

The Bang and the Clatter by earlgreytea68 (M, 137,049 w., 37 Ch. || PODFIC AVAILABLE || Baseball AU || Slow Burn / Dev. Rel., Possessive/Obsessive Sherlock, Jealous Sherlock, Mutual Pining, Body Appreciation, Depression, Closeted Sexuality, Family, Sherlock’s Mind Palace, Ogling Each Other, Anxious Sherlock, Panic Attack, Drunkenness, Talk of Forever, Big Feelings™) – Sherlock Holmes is a pitcher and John Watson is a catcher. No, no, no, it's a baseball AU. Part 1 of Baseball

Mise en Place by azriona (M, 161,004 w., 28 Ch. || Restaurant (Kitchen Nightmares) AU || Sherlock is Gordon Ramsay / Celebrity Sherlock, Restauranteur John, Harry Plays Prominent Role, Alternating POV, Mutual Pining, Cranky Sherlock, Bed Sharing, Slow Burn) – John Watson had no intentions of taking over the family business, but when he returns from Afghanistan, battered and bruised, and discovers that his sister Harry has run their restaurant into the ground, he doesn't have much choice. There's only one thing that can save the Empire from closing for good – the celebrity star of the BBC series Restaurant Reconstructed, Chef Sherlock Holmes. Part 1 of Mise en Place

[littlespoonevan]

okay this took me forever bc i could not for the life of me think of a tattoo to cover up ian’s  that was actually like. nice but also relevant to monica (bc despite my feelings about her i don’t want to take that sentiment away). i’m happy with the one i chose though so hopefully you like it too <33

(quick reminder: i’m not accepting anymore prompts at the moment while i work on the ones in my inbox <3)

*

Ian is standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom brushing his hair back out of his face with a comb when he hears the water cut off in the shower. A moment later he’s on the receiving end of a damp side hug as Mickey winds the hand not holding up his towel around Ian’s waist to balance himself while he leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

“Mm hey,” Mickey greets warmly and Ian pauses in his ministrations to smile at him in the mirror.

Dropping his comb, he turns and settles his hands on Mickey’s shoulders, absently massaging the divot of space beneath Mickey’s collarbones with his thumbs. “Hey. You doin’ anything today?”

He knows Mickey has the day off and days off for Mickey – especially rare weekday ones – usually result in him not surfacing from bed until at least 11:00 before he has a late breakfast and parks himself on the couch for the rest of the day. But today he’s already up and showered and it’s not even 10am. The way Mickey ducks his head when he asks the question also suggests he does have something on.

Which is a little weird – if only because Ian also has the day off since he’s changing rotation from days to nights this week.

“I, uh, I’ve got an appointment in a couple hours,” Mickey says evasively and Ian frowns.

Mickey only ever talks like this when his dad’s involved and Ian will shoot Terry himself if he’s after getting Mickey caught up in his shit again. “What kind of appointment?” he asks, not sure if he really wants to hear the answer.

Mickey must be able to tell where Ian’s mind goes though because he looks up and rolls his eyes. “A real appointment, dumbass,” he says. “At a tattoo parlour.”

Ian instantly feels himself relax and lets go of Mickey to put his comb back in the medicine cabinet next to his morning meds. “You getting a new tattoo?”

Mickey doesn’t answer right away and when he does the words are mumbled at a barely audible volume. “Fixing one actually.”

Ian pauses, turning around to face Mickey again. Mickey’s busying himself with tightening the towel around his waist, pointedly not looking in Ian’s direction. Ian takes the time to let his eyes drop to the tattoo sitting on Mickey’s chest before he steps forward again, brushing his fingers over Mickey’s forearm and coaxing his arms away from his torso. “Mick.”

Mickey looks up at him, letting Ian pull his arms around his waist and releasing a sigh that comes out more resigned than bashful. “Guess I figured since you’re stickin’ around I should probably make it look the way it’s supposed to.”

Ian smiles even though his heart squeezes a little painfully in his chest. He hates that he ever made Mickey doubt the fact he would stay. He reaches up, running the fingers of his left hand over his name. He does it on purpose so Mickey will see the wedding ring and remember. This is forever now. “Can I come with you?” he asks, looking up from Mickey’s chest to meet his gaze.

“Why?” Mickey says, shrugging like he doesn’t care but Ian can tell he probably does. “The guy said it shouldn’t take that long.”

“Well, if we’re in a fixing tattoos kinda mood maybe I should do something about the one on my back.”

Mickey’s face twists into a familiar grimace at the mention of the obnoxious boobs on Ian’s shoulder before going slack with surprise. “You’re gonna cover it up?”

It’s Ian’s turn to shrug. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while. I mean, I know Monica’d probably find it hilarious but it’s ugly as shit.”

Mickey snorts at that, a sort of no arguments from me, pal!

“And I’ve finally got enough money put away to afford to get something big enough to cover it. I could call and see if they can fit me in too?”

Mickey considers him for a moment before his mouth ticks up at the corners and his hands squeeze Ian’s hips. “Guess we got a date, Gallagher.”

*

They’re led into separate rooms when they get there. Mickey had already had a consultation but Ian hadn’t, not to mention the fact Ian’s is a significantly longer job than Mickey’s. He likes the idea he came up with though.

He’d started thinking about cover ups almost from the minute he’d gotten the tattoo but not only had it been too expensive, he’d also had no fucking idea what to get. He still wants it to be something for her because no matter how fucked up things got and no matter what she’s done, he still misses her. But as time passed the more he’d started to think maybe he wanted it to mean a little more than that too.

In the end he’d settled on something that he thought fit for both of them.

He’s had a general picture of what he’s wanted for a while now and when he shows it to the tattoo artist – Benny, his nametag says – he sketches a couple of his own mock-ups for Ian to choose from. It’s gonna take a couple of hours so he texts Mickey while Benny is prepping his shoulder and tells him he doesn’t need to hang around for him if he doesn’t want to.

Mickey texts him back a succinct, “Whatever, Gallagher,” and that’s the end of that until Mickey texts him again approximately forty-five minutes later, saying, “I’m gonna go get lunch, want me to bring you back something?”

Ian buries his smile against his arm where he’s got it braced in front of him in the chair and tries to remain completely still as he texts back.

Ian: My usual. Thank you <3

Mickey: Whatever

Mickey: <3

*

Mickey takes his time, obviously choosing to eat his own lunch at the mall and kill some time so Ian’ll be almost done by the time he comes back to the tattoo parlour. Ian hears the bell jangle above the door in the main room about five minutes before Benny finally sits back and says, “Okay, you’re all set.”

Ian relaxes in the chair before he remembers he hasn’t seen it yet. He extricates himself from the awkward position he’d been in for the past few hours and makes his way to mirror in the corner of the room, turning around and craning his neck. He catches sight of the corner of it before Benny appears next to him with a handheld mirror so he can get a better look.

It’s perfect.

Sure enough, Mickey’s waiting for him when he comes onto the main shop floor, lunch in hand, and Ian flashes him an affectionate smile before he goes up to the counter to pay.

Other than Mickey asking him again what he got and Ian telling him he’ll show him when they get home they don’t talk about their tattoos on the way home. Not that Ian can really think of much else – he’d been so anxious about covering up his own tattoo, he’d forgotten why they’d even come here in the first place. What Mickey did.

It’s a lot to process – the level of devotion that tattoo shows.

It’d felt like someone had taken a knife to Ian’s own chest when he’d first seen it. Like a giant declaration of all the ways Ian had fucked Mickey up. Now though, now Ian feels it for what it is. Unconditional love.

By some unspoken agreement they both head straight up the stairs when they get back to the house, following each other into the bedroom and closing the door behind them. When they’re stood face to face beside the bed Ian finally opens his mouth to speak.

“You first,” he requests quietly, the moment feeling oddly intimate as Mickey glances down, shrugging off his jacket before reaching for his t-shirt.

Ian watches with rapt attention as he pulls his shirt over his head, eyes zeroing in on Mickey’s chest as soon as he lets his arms fall back to his sides again. There’s tape over it but Ian can still see it clear as day. He lets out a breath and steps closer, fingers hovering above the letters. The extra “l” fits in seamlessly and other than the “h” being a little on the small side in order to make it fit, you’d never know it wasn’t there in the first place.

Ian looks up to find Mickey staring off to the side, a faint splotch of colour on his cheeks, and Ian bites down on a smile, carefully turning Mickey’s chin back towards him. “I love you,” he says softly, darting in to steal a kiss. It’s enough to make Mickey relax and lean into him, which is all Ian had wanted really.

“Alright, your turn,” Mickey says when he pulls back. “Enough with the secrecy bullshit.”

Ian huffs a laugh but obligingly steps back and pulls on the hem of his t-shirt. Once he gets it over his head he tosses it on the bed and turns around, feeling oddly nervous for Mickey’s reaction.

Mickey doesn’t say anything right away but after a beat Ian feels the gentle pressure of Mickey’s fingertips right around the outline of the tape and he knows what Mickey sees. A compass with a rope intricately woven around it.

“I wanted something for Monica but I wanted it to be for me too,” Ian explains, unprompted. He turns to face Mickey again and finds him watching him carefully, like he’s trying to work something out.

“I felt really fucking lost for a long time after everything that happened,” he continues quietly. It’s hard to look Mickey in the eye but he forces himself to anyway. “And I know I kinda have a habit of running away from my problems but…I always want to come home. To my family. To you.”

Mickey’s throat bobs at the last part, hands twitching for a moment at his sides before they reach up to land on Ian’s shoulders. “What’s it got to do with your mom?”

Ian gives him a half-hearted smile. “I looked it up; Monica means advisor.” He lets out bemused laugh, shaking his head. “She’s- She didn’t give me good advice,” he says seriously because if nothing else he wants to remind Mickey that he knows Monica played some role in their relationship ending all those years ago. “I know that now but- she did show me what I didn’t want my life to become.”

Mickey nods, expression softening like he understands.

“And…she was lost too,” Ian adds, blowing out a breath. “I don’t think she ever had anyone like you to remind her she had something worth coming back to.”

Mickey stares at him for a moment, a myriad of expressions flickering across his face before he cups Ian’s cheek. “She could’ve come back for you,” he says solemnly and Ian smiles, covering Mickey’s hand with his own.

“I know,” he murmurs. “We were never enough to make her stay though.” Ian presses his forehead against Mickey’s. “You make me want to stay.”

Mickey doesn’t say anything to that, just draws him into a kiss filled with surety and love. Ian wraps his arms around him and kisses back, pouring everything he has into it. Because really, in a lot of ways, Mickey should probably be the one with the compass tattoo considering all the times he’s managed to make his way back to Ian right when he’d needed him.

But he likes it. The past couple of years he feels like he’s found himself again. And in doing that he found Mickey again.

And he’s never, ever letting him go.

*

[psychedellic-phase]

Fifteen (pt 9)

A/N: it’s reader backstory time! This part also includes season 6 spoilers :) xx

word count: 4.0k 

tw: mentions of violence, abuse, cursing, other criminal minds stuff!

masterlist:

The beginning of letter #8 was scribbled out, like you’d written but decided the words weren’t quite right. Spencer tried to look through the black ink lines to see what you wrote, but most of it was smudged from tears. 

“This was the night everything changed, Spencer. This was the beginning of the end, but at the time it just felt like the beginning. It was a little over a year ago, sorry for skipping some of the middle. I could’ve written a 5,000 page novel about every little moment I had with you. If I had the time, I would. I’d write about every date night, every bouquet of roses, every case you held my hand through. I thought about writing about a lot more of the ‘happy’ parts, but they would’ve just been fun, little, anecdotes and made my heart hurt more. I decided on only highlighting the important parts, not that the happy parts were unimportant. I think they may be the most important, they’re the only things that kept me going at the end. Those parts gave me hope that maybe one day we’d get back to those people. But we didn’t and those people are long gone. Now all the bad memories outweigh the good ones. I need you to see the ugly parts. I always showed you those, and you still told me they were beautiful in some way.  

“Everything is a masterpiece if you look at it in the right way” 

So here’s the ugly Spence, any clue how to make this beautiful? How do I make this a ‘masterpiece’? Because I don’t know. 

Before I start, I want you to put on some regular clothes and pack up the box and put it in your car. Remember how in the first letter I said you’d need to go somewhere? This is that letter. So get in your crappy car that brought us together and drive to the place where it all started to fall apart: Meridian Hill Park.”

Spencer stopped reading and did as you asked. He took the sweatshirt off and hung it in his closet in a place he’d see it everyday. He didn’t really own any ‘regular clothes’ so he ended up in slacks and a dress shirt, his version of regular. He grabbed the box and the last of the coffee in a to-go mug and got in the car. He slipped the disc from letter 2 in and listened to Stacy’s Mom on a low volume. Between that and the snow, he felt like you were right there with him. 

When he got to the park, he sat in his car for a moment and reopened the letter. 

“There? Good. The bench we sat at is next to the blue bird bath and under that huge oak tree. Go sit at it.”

Spencer got out of the car, now wearing a heavy wool coat and scarf, and made his way to that spot. After most of your dates you’d go for a stroll around that park and always end up at that exact bench. You’d talk for hours, or sometimes you’d people watch. Either way, that bench became another one of your places. He set the box down on his left, the spot where you usually sat, and kept reading.

“That particular night was in December, during that weird week in between Christmas and New Years when time doesn’t feel real and the world is almost at a stand still. (My favorite week of the year) I had begged you to go to the movies with me. I dragged you to see Frozen. 

“Frozen?” You said, crinkling your nose, “Out of all the movies?”

I laughed and told you that I needed to see it because Mia had and already loved it. I think I said something like, “If I’m going to be her cool Aunt we have to see it.”

And you agreed, because you’d do anything for me. You always would. So two thirty-somethings went to see a six o’clock showing of Frozen on a Tuesday. We looked ridiculous; your messenger bag was overflowing with snacks and we were the only people there without a child. 

I loved it though, and you did too. When the movie was over we sat in the lobby at a table and I finished my slurpee as you told me about the real story of Frozen. 

“It’s loosely based on ‘The Snow Queen’ by Hans Christian Andersen from 1845. They both have a snow Queen, reindeer, trolls, frozen hearts, and snow creatures, but that’s where the similarities end. In the original story there is a horrible magic mirror and,” You finally paused to breathe, “ROBBERS!”

I laughed, “Aren’t all fairytales actually awful? We’ve just disney-ified them for kids?”

You nodded, “Most fairy tales in their original form were gruesome to the extreme. In Cinderella, the step-sisters had their feet mutilated to fit into the shoe.”

I yawned, “That’s why I always stuck to Pixar.”

We laughed and threw away our million candy wrappers. As we were leaving I saw a photo booth, one of those old one’s like I went in with all my high school boyfriends. I pulled you over to it and you grimaced, “It’s a small space CRAWLING with germs Y/N!” you whined to me, “Do you know how many people have been in there?” 

I rolled my eyes, “It’ll take thirty seconds and I will sanitize after!”

I tugged your arm in and we both barely fit in the booth. You pulled me onto your lap and four poses later we had two photo strips covered in pictures of you kissing my cheek and us smiling. That’s your momento for this letter.”

Spencer reached in and grabbed the photo strip delicately between his fingers. It was one of those tacky ones that looked like a roll of film and all the pictures were in black and white. The first one was the two of you smiling as wide as you could, the second you stuck your tongue out and Spencer scrunched up his nose, for the third he kissed your cheek, and the last one you turned your head to meet him. His heart softened for a moment, remembering how soft and sweet your kisses were. They were usually delicate, like you were kissing the finest of china. Or they were intense, like you were drowning and he was coming up for air. He felt warm, despite the snow falling all around him. 

“This is my copy. We printed two. I don’t know where yours is, I just hope it isn’t in the trash. I know it’s another photograph; you just got one of those from JJ’s wedding.  But I love photographs. I have a million of you and I. I always used to shove my phone in your face and you’d block it with your hands. I haven’t been able to bring myself to delete them yet. I just love pictures. They capture moments, the good and the bad. Sometimes the only thing that can get the feelings across is a photo, so here’s four. 

I remember sticking them in my purse as we walked out of the theater hand in hand and found ourselves in this park. I love it when the cherry blossom’s bloom, but they weren’t blooming. We found our way to this exact bench that you’re sitting on right now. I think it has the best view of the fountain. You put your arm around me and I snuggled into you. You were trying to talk about work; something about Rossi and Gideon? I didn’t know. I was so tired, I couldn’t even focus. I remember just staring at the dry fountain; they turn it off when the weather gets too cold. 

“Don’t you agree?” You said, but I didn’t register it, “Y/N?”

I looked up at you and blinked a few times. I sat up and moved myself off of you, “What? Sorry about that I—“ my own yawn interrupted me, “I’m just really tired.”

You looked at me so concerned. Your pretty, honey brown eyes always could see right through me. 

“Tired? But we went to sleep at ten last night, you should’ve had at least seven hours.”

I just shrugged and you raised your eyebrows at me, waiting for me to spill. 

“I couldn’t fall asleep the last few nights.”

I avoided your prying gaze that felt red hot on my skin even in the freezing air and played with the locket around my neck, as I usually do when I’m nervous. 

“Y/N,” You said and grabbed my two hands to make me look at you. I looked you straight in the eyes. 

“Talk to me.”

I sighed, “No.”

“No?” You looked offended, I don’t blame you. 

“No,” I said plainly. It looked like I was picking a fight, but I wasn’t. I just wasn’t ready to tell you. It’s so weird, we had spent over two years together by then, and I still couldn’t tell you. I don’t know why. It wasn’t you. You make me feel comfortable and safe. I think talking about it made it more real for me, you know? And I just didn’t want it to be real. 

“Is it the nightmares? Are they back again?” 

I just nodded. Of course you knew, you always knew.

“Y/N, we’ve been through this. You have to talk about them.”

I groaned and you dropped my hands to run yours through your hair. Frustrated is how you felt in that moment, and I don’t blame you. I was mad at myself too. 

“I know! But can’t I just not want to talk about it?”

You stood up and paced in front of me, “You have to talk to someone! Even if it isn’t me.”

“That’s the thing! I don’t trust anyone except you with it!”

You sounded defeated, “Then why don’t you tell me? You haven’t slept, Y/N. You need to take care of yourself. I can’t just sit back and watch you do this to yourself. It’s not healthy.”

That isn’t the last time I heard you say that, but it was the first. That became your favorite phrase at the end. “It’s not healthy,” as if you’re the judge of what’s healthy and not.

My heart ached at the sight of you; purple scarf disheveled and your eye bags a similar color. Your hair was tousled from running your hands through it and you looked like you might cry. I patted the seat next to me so you would sit down and then before I could even think them, the words were tumbling out of my mouth. Every. Damn. Detail.”

He remembered it so clearly, as if it were yesterday. The cold air bit at your skin causing you to shiver and pull your coat tighter. The only warmth either of you felt was what was radiating off the other. It wasn’t much. 

“It’s the nightmare, like the nightmare. The same one from Jacksonville. It just won’t go away. I wake up sweaty and disoriented and I can’t breathe.” 

Silence came. How hadn't he heard you wake up the last few nights? Why didn’t he notice? He silently scolded himself while watching your feet draw little shapes in the snow. The flakes landed on your hair perfectly and the light made you look like you had a halo. An angel. His angel.

You got yourself together and back tracked, “Do you know what I did before the BAU Spence?”

He thought for a moment and realized he didn’t. He had no idea. It was a strange feeling. He knew the last four or so years of your life so well. He spent two and some change of them with you, together, but he knew little about you before then. He knew about your family and your childhood, but that was it. Your early twenties were a secret. 

“No, I don’t,” He croaked, running his hands nervously down his pants, as if they were sweaty, “Rossi just called you one day and the next you were here.”

You sighed and didn’t dare look at him, “I worked with Organized Crime in California. With the Bratva.”

“The russian mafia?” His voice went high, like it always did when he was confused. 

“Let me start at the beginning,” You took a deep breath and held it for a moment, “I went to school, got my criminal justice degree, you know the usual stuff. I worked on various other criminal psychology and forensic degrees and certs until I turned twenty-three.”

“So you could join the bureau,” he finished your sentence. 

You pursed your lips and nodded, “Yeah, it was my life long dream. So I joined at 23, found myself in organized crimes twenty weeks later. I was on the fast track. Not as fast as you of course,” You smiled and bumped your shoulder with his, earning a warm smile that made you feel more comfortable. 

“I worked various cases for a year or two. Low level stuff, you know? Until they actually needed me.”

He was nervous to hear it now, half regretting asking, and half celebrating the fact that you’d share your deepest darkest with him. 

“You know like in old movies when the gangster has a pretty girl in a skimpy dress on his lap? And she pretends to know nothing about what he does? Yeah that was me. Turns out I was the right age and type for Alexei. So there I was. Twenty-five. Had no idea what I was doing, going undercover.”

“Like Emily did with Doyle,” he said. 

You nodded, “Like Emily and Doyle. That’s part of why we got along so well, we both had similar experiences. She knew what the long haul was like.”

“How long were you under?” Spencer whispered. 

“Sixteen months.”

His eyes went wide, “Sixteen?”

“Yup,” you popped the ‘p’. 

“That’s a long time.”

“You don’t become a mafia kingpin’s girlfriend overnight, Reid.”

He laughed. You didn’t. 

“See you guys do the short stints. A night, maybe a day or so. It’s different. It’s draining. Constantly worrying about knowing the details of my cover while also not losing myself in the process. Sometimes I couldn’t tell where the cover ended and I started. I was paranoid, looking over my shoulder constantly. If they knew who I was, I’d get killed instantly.”

He stiffened next to you, but you carried on. 

“And you can’t break character. You have to do whatever they want. I had to be his girlfriend. I had to pretend to love him. You know how tiring that is? Pretending to be in love with a man you’re trying to take down? Pretending to like what he likes? Pretending to want to be a part of the sick shit they did?”

He sighed, “You had to do everything he wanted.”

His heart sank and he suddenly felt angry. He needed to punch this guy in the face. 

“Everything,” You practically spit out, venom dripping from the words, “And Alexei’s favorite pastime was killing people who he thought were disloyal. He’d switch it up. Some days he liked to make them suffer, others it was one between the eyes and out. He liked to make me watch.  He liked hurting the dancers too. They had a club, they always have a damn club, and those girls were the only friends I had for months. He liked to hurt them too, defile them. ‘Ruin them’ he’d say.”

Spencer’s arm reached around you now. The cold was getting to both of you, but you didn’t budge from the bench. You didn’t curl into him for safety. You just stared at the snow. 

“He liked when it hurt. He liked to throw things at me. Bruise me. Pull my hair. God I hated it,” your voice was a mere whisper now. Spencer’s grip around you tightened with every word. He wanted to protect you. He always wanted to protect you. 

“Shh, it’s okay,” He mumbled into your hair. A few frozen tears dripped down your cheeks. You sat like that, silently sobbing while remembering what had happened to you. What you’d seen. 

“What happened to him?”

You took a shaky breath, “I begged them to let me out. We had enough. I had stacks and stacks of pictures and evidence. But they didn’t let me. My awful handler would always say ‘just a few more days, Y/N, just a few.’ Then that would become another month. The job only needed eight months. I was there double that. Finally, they did the raid. I got kudos and congratulations. A promotion and a couple extra bucks, as if that would take away what I had been through. I wasn’t myself anymore.”

You took a thick swallow, finding it hard to breathe, “So I quit.”

Spencer held you still, not moving a muscle. 

“I quit. I gave up my dream. I moved back to Connecticut. I made coffee at Starbucks for $7.25 an hour. I read. I went on trips and vacations. I needed to find myself again. Then one day you guys stumbled into them and Rossi called me since I knew first hand how they worked. That was all I needed. A taste of it again, and I was all in. So a week later I showed up, Rossi raving about my ‘ability to get information out of people.’ I developed the skill to survive, Spence.”

You turned into him now, head on his chest. 

“So the nightmares are those memories. The girl’s faces. The young kids who messed up jobs. They’re hurting and I can’t save them. That’s the nightmare.”

You sat in silence, letting the words hang in the air between you. You were tired and spent, leaning your full body weight into him. He was just trying to relax and keep calm. He was pissed, and a little bit was directed at you. 

“I’m so sorry Y/N, but thank you for telling me,” His voice was low and raspy, his head spinning. For just over two years he had been your person. Your rock. And he didn’t know this about you? Why couldn’t you tell him? He told you all of his dirty secrets; his dad, the kidnapping, the drugs, and you ‘couldn’t tell him?’ Why?

“That’s why I was so scared when Emily ‘died.’” You used air quotes around the last word, “Her nightmare came true.”

“Yours won’t.”

You sniffled and rubbed your ice cold nose, “I know. You guys keep me safe.”

You looked up at him, falling into his big doe eyes. They were hurt and twisty, but full of love. And you looked at him like he was everything in the world. In that moment, he was. 

He treated you differently after that night. He was always kind and gentle, but he approached you with a new sense of care. He didn’t mean for it to happen, it just did. Someone finally understood you, and it felt so good. But one thing always bothered him, why did you wait so long to tell him? He didn’t think he’d ever know. 

“I loved you and trusted you enough to lay it all out for you, and you took it all in. You told me you wouldn’t let it change anything, but it did. I thought it changed us for the better. Maybe it didn’t, I’m still not sure. You told me it made me stronger, more resilient. It made you love me more, if that was even possible. It made me human. You told me Ernest Hemingway once said “The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places.” You said I was strong at those broken places. 

So that’s what this photostrip is to me. It’s the day I officially took all of my walls down and showed you the parts of me that aren’t pretty, and you didn’t run away. You stayed and kissed me on that freezing cold park bench and warmed me up with a hug I never wanted to leave. I thought after that it would take something much greater than you or I to break this apart, like divine intervention. We were impenetrable, but then again, so was the Titanic.

That night I didn’t have any nightmares. I didn’t have a bad one until a few weeks ago. I missed having you next to me during it. You were right, talking about it does help. I’ll find someone out here to talk to, I promise. 

That night, all the walls were finally down. I think that was my fatal mistake, if only I kept them up a little while longer.

So look at us, all young and innocent before the world left us jaded and hurt. I miss your cheek kisses and the way your hands feel snaking around my waist. I miss your fact dumps and the way you feel like home. Thank you for taking me at my worst, loving me, and leaving me better than I was when you got there. Just like being under, it’s now hard for me to tell where I end and you begin. So many parts of you became parts of me. I’ll have to work on finding myself again, and this time I won’t do it over grande java-chip frappucinos, I’ll do it over case files. I’m finally done running away.” 

Spencer’s throat was dry and his palms were so sweaty the ink was bleeding underneath his fingers. How was he sweating when it was barely ten degrees outside? He put the letter and photo strip back in the box and stuffed it in the passenger seat of his car before walking back into the park. 

The fountain was off again, but he remembered what it looked like running. He walked the same paths you had walked with him a million times. He never wanted to walk them alone. He wondered if Seattle had any nice parks like this for you to walk through. He hoped you were close to Pike Place Market so you could order a coffee at the first ever Starbucks. He hoped you were happy. 

He remembered the way the park looked in the summertime, all lush, green grass and kid’s playing. He remembered the picnic you went on when the blanket flew away. He remembered kissing you under huge trees and feeding birds. As he walked around, he could almost see it, shadows of the people you used to be.  

He walked for maybe an hour before retreating back to his crappy car and crying for a moment. He didn’t turn the music back on as he drove home. He just thought of the way your body racked with tears at the nightmares and how he could always calm you down, almost instantly. He wondered who would see you through the nightmares now? They’re too hard to do alone. 

He didn’t remember when he got home, seemingly having driven on auto-pilot the whole time. When he got back inside he dropped the box and made a beeline for where his copy of your photo strip was, on one of his many shelves covered in books. He grabbed the book he had started six months ago. It was a gift from Rossi and he only read half of it, a rarity for him. When he got halfway through, everything happened and he couldn’t bring himself to open the book up anymore. He rifled through the pages of  ‘What to Expect When You’re Expecting’ and found the photo strip where it was acting as a bookmark on the page where he had left off. He took it out and slammed the book closed, not wanting to read any of the words, even by accident. 

He took the strip over and compared it to yours. His was worn and bent and the shiny photo paper had dulled from the many pages he had stuck it between. Yours was in perfect condition, still shiny and even a little sticky, like it hadn’t been touched. He stared at them, wondering what your life would be now if you could’ve held onto the people in that photo booth. There were so many what-ifs, he didn’t even know where to begin. He knew he couldn’t just leave it at these letters, he needed more. He needed to see you and he fully intended on breaking your ground rules, but not until he was finished. He walked back to the box with newfound vigor, and grabbed #9.

PART 10!

taglist: @l0ve-0f-my-life @aperrywilliams @helloniallslovelies @random-ravings

@ajwantsapancake @andiebeaword @boiled-onionrings @frnks-stuff @icantevenanymore1 @mellifluouswildbluebells @rottenearly @sammypotato67 @blushingwueen @peaxhyjaes @justanotherfangurlz @juniorgman187 @mbowles23-blog​ @blameitonthenight @goldentournesol​

(i think some tags aren’t working so if anyone knows how to fix that pls lmk :)

[inkribbon796]

Radioactive Ch. 1: Unthinkable

Summary: Science marches on as magic and science mix in the most dangerous way.

A/N: Title comes from “Unthinkable” by Cloudy June and Imagine Dragon’s “Radioactive”. This was supposed to be the season finale but there’s still shorts I want to do with this arc so the season finale will be at the end of September with the wedding, where I assure you nothing unfortunate will happen. Absolutely nothing.

In other news, this is my 200th short, and that makes me very happy. Hope you all enjoy this mid-arc short.

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

A thunderstorm started in the city, slowly rolling its way towards the north. Time was of the essence. Hours of testing, born from months of planning now culminated in a single moment.

In a bunker in the middle of the woods, two young men were conducting the first test. It was dark out and the city was in a frenzy, but that didn’t matter out here.

Barely anything mattered out here.

Tubbo and Jack Manifold stood in a well shielded bunker in the middle of the woods to the north east of Egoton. They were hundreds of miles into the cursed woods. They wore lab coats over their clothes.

“You know,” Jack Manifold chuckled to Tubbo as they got in place at the computer, a screen in front of them that overlooked the top of the forest. “It would be hilarious if all this thing did was smoke, shake, an’[1] then catch fire.”

Tubbo made an amused chuckle. “Then I guess I got arrested fer nothin’.”[2]

The two of them descended into a fit of laughter before Tubbo sobered up. “Goggles down.”

“Check,” Jack made sure his goggles were securely over his eyes.

“Safety shields one through ten?” Tubbo called next, his eyes and hands already moving to the array of sensors.

“Safety shields one through ten are all stable, an’[1] showin’[3] a steady magical signature,” Jack responded.

“Forest clear?” Tubbo grabbed the microphone and flipped the switch on that sent a signal to dozens of speakers and cameras that the two of them had set up and hidden in the “kill” and “cancer” zones weeks prior. “Attention! Attention! This is a serious warnin’ fer radiation if you are in the vicinity ‘a hearin’ this you must make yourself known so we can safely clear the woods. If you do not, you will die or become severely injured an’ get sick.”[4]

The two of them waited for a couple minutes, flipping through cameras to double check no one was going to get hurt. There was a malfunction from one of the cameras where an audio error was happening but nothing was on the camera and Tubbo sent one of his bee familiars to check it out and it came back with nothing.

Tubbo sent the message again and after nothing, he declared, “Forest clear.”

“Payload in place?” Jack was already checking the sensor.

“Check,” Tubbo double checked it.

“Reason fer[5] use ‘a[6] launch code?” Jack was looking down the button for any sign that something was out of order or going to malfunction.

“Testing payload in a safe environment before storage,” Tubbo answered.

Tubbo took a deep breath. “Here we are.”

Jack nervously swallowed.

The young teen took out a key card with a radioactive symbol and a bee on it. The number 1 marking it. “Ready?”

Smiling, Jack pulled out his own match card with a radioactive symbol and a skull, the number 2 marked on it. “Ready.”

Tubbo hit the sirens as they blared out, a final warning as Jack looked at Tubbo and saw the nervous anticipation.

“Inserting keycards for launch on my mark,” Tubbo announced. “I will count to three, an’[1] then I will say: “go” they are not ta[7] be inserted sooner or later.”

“Understood,” Jack called out, readying to insert the keycard. “Ready.”

“On my mark,” Tubbo called out, copying him. The room was deathly silent as the thunderstorm got closer. “3 . . . 2 . . . 1 . . . Go! Go!”

The keycards went in and a signal raced along the current until they hit a panel far off into the distance. The pause was a fraction, of a fraction, of a second but it hit the payload and lacked it over the tree line until it struck a random tree on its starting descent.

The two young men had been expecting a small explosion, or no explosion, but the opposite happened. The earth shook the entire town for a couple brief seconds as a pulse of magic mixed with a deadly radioactive payload made a mushroom cloud that rose over the treeline and left a crater in its wake.

Tubbo and Jack screamed in horror and surprise as the tremors quickly subsided and Jack was so frozen in terror and surprise that he thought that it was his tinnitus making that sound.

But that was laughter. Tubbo was letting out a mad cackling laugh. The shields had protected them from the explosion, protecting the city. But Tubbo was so charged with energy, and in their surprise no one had yet to notice that Tubbo’s bad right eye had changed. It had been initially blinded and scarred, along with his hearing in one ear, in a close range explosion a couple years ago. Tubbo had designed a replacement and then grew out his hair to hide it. Now it was scarred again, a permanent radioactive symbol etched into the iris. Forever branding Tubbo for his bastardization of magic and science.

Jack looked over at Tubbo, watching him laugh and fight to collect his composure again with a new wash of horror.

“Tubster,” Jack tried to reach out to what he thought was a young man in desperate need of comfort. “It’s okay, it was just a test.”

“We have two more,” Tubbo said in a giddy tone of voice that terrified Jack.

“Wh-What?” Jack saw something briefly glowing underneath the fridge of Tubbo’s hair.

“We’re more powerful than Techno,” Tubbo smiled before remembering something. “But how’s . . .”

Jack found himself unable to speak as Tubbo reached for a RV control and operated his bee drone to head for the site after getting it ready to collect radioactive samples.

What he got brought the smile back to his face. “Cept fer the larger explosion, this looks better than I could have e’er imagined. The magic is helpin’ ta neutralize the radiation. By tomorrow it’ll be clean.”[8]

Jack leaned in to look at the camera, “Oh my—”

Tubbo’s eyes widened as Jack went slack jawed at the video image of the crater. There was a deep hole where the explosion had dissipated most of its force.

The echoes of another mad laugh bubbled in Tubbo’s chest, but he reigned it in. “I think it’s time ta[7] pack up, don’t you?”

“Ye-Yeah,” Jack said uneasily as Tubbo secured the other two payload cores into a leak-proof led box and made them vanish into his coat with his aura. Then Tubbo grabbed their books. Jack’s keycard was burning a hole in his pocket.

Then, once everything incriminating was cleaned up and stored on either Tubbo or Jack’s person.

When Tubbo double checked the area they set up a portal grid that charged with foaming purple aura. Tubbo felt a comfortable release of tension at the bits of Ranboo’s aura that came from the grid. As familiar as Tubbo’s own aura, and it felt like a refreshing breeze when he passed through the portal and into a nightclub that had three different layers to it. A dinning, dancing area. The VIP room was up a flight of curved stairs, and up at the top was a fighting area with cameras that projected the combatants all over the club.

Dream’s Server, where he was judge, jury, king, and executioner. Frequently Dream stayed in the VIP room unless Techno walked in and wanted a fight, or he had to leave to tend to some business.

Tonight everyone was down on the main floor, a match clearly interrupted and when Tubbo and Jack walked in everyone was staring at them, and anyone looked at Tubbo. Staring at him as if he was covered in human entrails.

“What did you fuckers do?” Sapnap spat.

“Language!” Bad gasped from where he was standing amongst the crowd.

“Nothin’,”[9] Tubbo braced his hands on his hips.

“Quit with those muffin-filled lies,” Bad yelled over several other people who were trying to call Tubbo out on his bullshit. “Where were you, young man?”

“Since when does anyone care what I do?” Tubbo scoffed. “I’m not a captain anymore.”

“How about when we feel a fucking explosion,” Quackity spat.

Bad let out another gasp.

“Skeppy, get him out of here,” Quackity turned to glare at Bad. “Bad, I love you, but I can’t deal with your language issues right now.”

“But,” Bad pouted sadly.

“Come on, buddy,” Skeppy patted Bad’s arm and started to walk back up to the arena. Bad glancing between Skeppy and the group before rushing to catch up to his friend.

“You guys felt somethin’[10]?” Jack asked in confusion.

“Of course we did, you guys were nearby doing weird shit and didn’t expect us to notice?” Quackity snapped.

“We weren’t in town, we were north ‘a[6] Egoton,” Tubbo felt a slow smile creep along his face. “Didn’t think it’d shake the whole town.”

“Did it work?” Dream asked, his mask staring at Tubbo.

Everyone, even Jack, stared at Dream.

Tubbo smiled, “Better than I imagined.”

“Alright,” Dream clapped, a smile in his tone. “I have nothing more to talk to you about, you’re free to go. You need any help sorting out the police?”

“Dream, you can’t just leave it at that,” Quackity snapped as Tubbo shook his head.

“We gotta at least know what they did,” Puffy reprimanded. “Cause[11] if they were anywhere near where they said they were and we felt, you can bet Dark felt it. Him and every other demon in this damn town.”

“Fair, fair,” Dream relented. “Tubbo, you wanna share some notes with the others?”

“I just became the strongest glitch in this fuckin’[12] town,” Tubbo proclaimed. “I put myself on the map. An’[1] Jack was there ta[7] help.”

Jack wasn’t sure if he wanted to take any kind of blame and correct Tubbo. Honestly if Tubbo was planning on using or even threatening his “nukes” against demons Jack knew he was already in too deep, and he needed to bail as quickly as possible.

“I’m gonna[13] go lie down,” Jack told everyone. “I’ve used a lotta magic an’ I need ta clear my head.”[14]

“Wait, you two fuckers are just going to walk off?” Quackity demanded, pissed.

“Quackity’s right, your aura’s will have to be tracked for the next little while,” Dream agreed, an air of disinterest.

“Sure, whate’er,[15]” Tubbo shrugged. “Going ta[7] the lab.”

“I’m not done with you yet,” Quackity followed the young man out to a hallway. “I am trying to run a business and you know what drives business away? Fear. I can’t have fear near my fucking casino. Loneliness and hunger gets people to indulge, and when they indulge they spend money. Fear makes people do crazy things.”

Tubbo stopped and just watched Quackity rant at him before leaning in, looking every bit like a mischievous teen that Quackity often forgot he was. He even had his hands folded behind his back and leaned up on his tiptoes. “Can I tell you a secret, Big Q?”

Disarmed a little bit, but not nearly as much as he used to, Quackity sighed, “Depends.”

“You e’er play Civ 5, Big Q?”[16] Tubbo took another step and Quackity watched mischief turn into malice, that smile never fading.

“Yeah,” Quackity answered hesitantly.

“I just became Gandhi,” Tubbo confessed, leaning in. Then he spun away on his heels. “I think I’ve said e’erythin’[17] I needed to say.”

“Hey, what did you just say to me!” Quackity became furious. “You little bastard, what did you do?”

“Go back ta[7] your card tables, Caesar,” Tubbo waved his fingers back at Quackity who looked so outraged he was shaking. In Tubbo’s glee his eye was glowing a sickly yellow. “Rome won’t build itself.”

Quackity watched the young man go, kicking himself for letting his guard down again. When Tubbo turned into a room and left. “Fuck you, Tubbo,” Quackity sneered.

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

Accessibility Translations:

1. and

2. Then I guess I got arrested for nothing.

3. showing

4. Attention! Attention! This is a serious warning for radiation if you are in the vicinity of hearing this you must make yourself known so we can safely clear the woods. If you do not, you will die or become severely injured and get sick.

5. for

6. of

7. to

8. Except for the larger explosion, this looks better than I could have ever imagined. The magic is helping to neutralize the radiation. By tomorrow it’ll be clean.

9. Nothing

10. something

11. Because

12. fucking

13. going to

14. I’ve used a lot of magic and I need to clear my head.

15. whatever

16. You ever play Civilization 5, Big Q?

17. everything

[philliamwrites]

i could make you need me all the time (pt.2)

Fandom: Persona 5

Pairing: Akira/Akechi

Tags: #justice rank 8 spoilers, #slight angst, #persona 5 royal spoilers, #new semester spoilers

Words: 3.4k

Summary: Akechi is counting numbered days, preparing himself for the end. Akira being himself doesn't help.

Note: Part 2 | Inspired by ‘Make it Holy’ by The Staves.

i could make you need me all the time

    Lavenza is not what Akechi has expected. Not that he’s expected anything specific in the first place, but a little child with golden eyes, staring at him with such an intense gaze that he is the one looking away first, is new. Akira being too prying for his own good is nothing new though. He stays after everyone leaves the nurse’s room, leaning against a white wall between two areca palms while watching Akechi on his quest to find band-aids he doesn’t even need.

    Nothing and everything changed after Christmas Eve.

    They aren’t fooling around in Save Rooms anymore. No one buys their ‘Forgot something and have to go back’-trick because no one leaves Akira and him alone for even a second. Akira thinks it’s rude. Akechi doesn’t really care. If possible, he doesn’t want to see him at all.

    “My sports uniform looks good on you,” Akira says. There’s a slight tilt to his voice Akechi’s heart always responds to with a little jolt—the eradicated-the-enemy-fashionably-tilt, the-I’m-your-rival-don’t-get-too-cocky-tilt, the post-orgasm-satisfied-tilt. Where once adrenaline shot through his body, only electricity remains that paralyses him.

    It’s the first time his body simply shuts down instead of running or fighting, effectively betraying him.

    Avoiding Akira is like trying to run away from a bee while wearing cologne that smells of pansies. It isn’t too evident in Maruki’s palace. Any slip-up means potentionally risking all their lives, so Akira approaches him for obligations only. Healing, consultation, strategy. Akechi lets him, always catching him staring at his ass though.

    Everything gets trickier when they’re in the real world. There’s only so long Akechi can hide in his cold one-room apartment, emptied by Shido’s henchmen at some point during his disappearance in December, before a phone call or message summons him to meet with the rest. He does want to defeat Maruki. He does not want to achieve it by pretending to be friends.

    “If you have time to simply stand there, why not use it to plan our next infiltration?” Akechi asks without looking back, pretending that rummaging through the cupboards requires his whole attention. He’s a man on a mission, adamant that if he only ignores Akira long enough, he’ll just lose interest like a child growing bored with their toys.

    He underestimates him.

    Again.

    “Morgana and the rest have that covered.” Footsteps draw closer. Akechi’s body tenses into one hard, solid muscle. “I’m here because there’s something we need to talk about.”

    “Is that so?” Akechi closes a cabinet door with a loud bang, marching to the other side of the room. “Because I have nothing to say to you.”

    There are million things he wants, maybe needs to say, but simply thinking about them closes Akechi’s throat off, choking him with this bitter taste of rotten glory and ruined dreams. He’d rather die than allow this weakness to take hold of him.

    “Akechi.”

    He ignores him, rummaging through a drawer that’s crammed full of snacks. No band-aids. He hates this place.

    “Akechi.”

    Dull pain throbs at the back of his head. He tells Robin Hood to make Loki stop, but silence in return reminds him that since the boiler room, Robin has been gone. It’s easy to forget that sometimes. It isn’t as easy falling asleep again after waking from a nightmare where he hears Robin’s atrocious screams still ringing in his head.

    He tears through the next drawer, refusing to think about anything else except band-aids, band-aids, band-aids, what shitty nurse room doesn’t have band-aids—

    “Goro.”

    Akira is so close; he feels his warm breath on the back of his neck.

    Fight, flight or stay to be devoured. Akechi barely turns his head, eyes creeping up slowly to Akira’s face. Being this close was never a problem before—Akechi has had enough time to count every single lash, black as spilt ink, cursing them curling like crescent moons and throwing long shadows over high, winged cheekbones he can draw with closed eyes on paper. This face is as familiar as his own. He’s seen it angry, laughing, frowning; wearing a wicked, cruel smile, contort in hot, all-consuming pleasure: slightly open mouth with pink, swollen lips, blushing, hot cheeks. Dead, empty eyes. Red, thick blood between slanted eyebrows.

    In his nightmares, Akechi hears Robin’s scared screams in the boiler room, and sees Akira’s slack face slam on the prosecutor’s desk.

    No. There really is nothing to say.

    “Goro?” Akira’s voice is barely a whisper. “You’re shaking.”

    If there is a time for his body to betray him, it isn’t now. Akechi turns away, his mission forgotten. Right now, he needs to get as far away from here as possible. Akechi never feared his mistakes to catch up to him some day, but Akira, alive and kicking Akira, proves him wrong over and over again. “If there’s nothing else, it’s time for me to go,” he says.

    He shoves Akira out of his way, quickly pulling his hand back as if burnt by this simple touch. He manages to cross the room halfway before Akira’s voice makes him stop.

    “Were you looking for this?”

    He turns around. Akira is holding a partially opened package of band-aids, presenting them like bait to prey that doesn’t know any better. Akechi wants to bare his teeth.

    “I’m not here to play games,” he hisses, stomping towards Akira who beelines towards him as well, approaching Akechi too fast. Two feet until they crash like stars and swallow everything. One foot until they collide like cars and explode into tiny, burning pieces. Before they set the room in flames, Akira halts.

    “Good,” he says and takes Akechi’s wrist—far gentler than he’d expected or liked, and leads him to the sitting area near the door where he can see the exit so close and yet so far. “Because I’m not playing.”

    Akechi clicks his tongue.

    He drops begrudgingly into an armchair, folding one leg over the other and crossing his arms. Akira knees down in front of him, just a few inches away from his legs. It reminds Akechi of a similar image several months ago, only he was still acting for an audience that never cared about him in the first place, and Akira was wearing a tight, black latex cop uniform.

    Only one of those things makes him want to go back to that time.

    “Let me,” Akira says, holding out one hand to Akechi like a knight asking for allowance to kiss his maiden’s fair hand.

    “I’m not a little kid,” Akechi hisses but it lacks its usual venom. Akira doesn’t pressure. Wordlessly, he waits, the inside of his palm lying open, vulnerable.

    Akechi stares daggers at it, hoping it will simply disappear. When the result disappoints, he takes the easy route and slaps his hand in Akira’s. “Just hurry up.”

    Akira hums. He’s inspecting Akechi’s hand, searching for the injury like a scientist looking for the answer of the afterlife. His hold is light like a feather, careful and hesitant, as if the universe granted him the honour to look after a priceless treasure that builds kingdoms and burns countries.

    “Where do you need it?”

    “I can do it on my own.”

    “Oh, I don’t doubt your abilities.” Fumbling with the bandage, Akira pulls his eyebrows together in concentration, a little smile flirting with his lips. Akechi knows it, the everything-is-a-game-to-me-smile but this time stakes are too high for him to join. “But humour me. Now, where do I put it on?”

    He glares at him. Seeing no way to win, he turns his hand, his palm fitting perfectly against Akira’s, showing the little, shallow cut on one finger.

    Akira stares at it, very unimpressed. “Are you an actual child?”

    Akechi pulls his hand away—too slow. Akira’s fingers latch around his wrist, holding him in place. “Wait, wait, I’m joking.”

    “You’re not funny,” Akechi replies drily. He watches Akira put a bandage around his finger, smoothing it out with his thumb.

    “This…” He digs his thumb slightly where the wound is, making it burn but Akechi doesn’t flinch. “… looks like a ring, doesn’t it?”

    Akechi raises one eyebrow. “It doesn’t.”

    “Like a wedding ring,” Akira continues as if he didn’t say anything. Akechi looks down at the band-aid around his ring finger. He feels too awake all of a sudden, yet extremely tired. Everything buzzes, from his head to his toes, and he can’t tell if it’s Maruki’s Actualized Happy World or Akira touching him or the fact that he should not be. He remains very still, like a corpse, and stares over Akira’s curly mop of hair at the mirror hanging at the opposite end of the room. Brown eyes stare back at him—unflinching, lifeless like the glassy eyes of a dead fish until he blinks and it’s just his normal, usual face.

    “Don’t tell me you’re entertaining the absurd idea of marriage,” he mocks, a crooked smile cutting his mouth into two red lines. “What are you, a lonely housewife in her thirties?”

    “What can I say, I’m a romantic at heart,” Akira answers. He isn’t smiling.

    Akechi’s grin dies. “If you have time to think about something this foolish, then there will be no problem in securing the path to the treasure tomorrow, right?” His voice sounds weird to his own ears. He feels sick.

    Finally, his hand is set free as Akira places it carefully on Akechi’s knee.

    “You’re smart enough to figure out where I’m going with this conversation,” Akira says, rising to his feet. He seems a little absent minded, his eyes unfocused and thoughts far away from this room. “Think about my proposal.”

    “Propo—” Akechi jumps to his feet, his ears buzzing with a swarm of angry bees. He’s so close to Akira, their chest almost touch. He smells it again: coffee, washing powder, sweat. No blood this time. It feels wrong. “I have no interest in entertaining this stupid idea.”

    “Do you hate it because it’s a social construct and divorce is way too expensive,” Akira asks, his eyes snapping back to Akechi and focusing with too much determination in them on him. “Or is it the thought of living with someone that allows you to be vulnerable that scares you.”

I’m not scared of anything, Akechi wants to say. What comes out instead is, “Why did you ask if you know the answer already?”

“Because I want to hear it from you. I want to know what you want.”

    What does Goro Akechi want? No one has asked him this before, so he’s taken aback a second, speechless. A lump grows in his throat, burning every time he swallows.

    “I don’t want someone else to decide how I live my life,” he says eventually. Slowly, word for word so Akira understands that what makes Goro Akechi the person he is, is something he was never allowed to have in the first place and the crave for it now is like craving air underwater. “I don’t want to be someone’s puppet.”

    Akira’s voice grows louder. “Then what do you want?”

    Akechi’s body shudders with rage. I want to live.

    He turns around, blinking furiously against the burning in his eyes. “We’re done talking. You can contact me if there are important things we need to discuss. That’s what I want.”

    There is no answer, but he knows he’s got his point across. Some people take Akira’s silence for what it is, when sometimes it speaks louder than his words. Right now, he feels it like a solid pressure against his skin, leaving dents and reshaping his body and he’s afraid to turn around and look in the mirror again.

    Marriage.

    Marriage with Akira Kurusu of all people.

    What an absolutely stupid, horrendous idea. What a horrifying dream and scary hope to plant into someone whose soil is home to maggots and vermin that only know the taste of blood. Akechi takes that seed and hides it somewhere deep, deep inside his chest where the dirt hasn’t reached; an almost forgotten place that still loves toy guns and collects Phoenix Ranger Featherman stickers to put them on his bento lunch box.

    That is the only part of himself he wishes Akira could get to know before the end as well.

[gracelessnick]

nace future headcanons 1/?

warning: angst angst angst

this requires you to properly imagine nick being capable of developing deep feelings for someone other than grace. i understand this may be hard.

they’re both 25 when nick, of all people, calls the whole extended family back to grey house one weekend.

is the constantly-traveling nick radford actually homesick? she texts him after it comes together in group chat upon group chat.

something like that 🙄😂

bonding, grace. bonding.

the thing is, she’s in a small romantic lull. at least, that’s what she’s telling herself. she hasn’t had a boyfriend since she was 23, dates very scarce in the time between.

that was around the same time nick met kendall. she’s the first serious serious girlfriend he’s ever had.

clearly there’s no connection between those two things.

so grace just feels...weird, in life in general, which in turn makes her worried she’ll still feel off at home.

grace honestly didn’t expect kendall to be at grey house when she arrives friday afternoon, but she is and suddenly the whole vibe is thrown off.

she’s met kendall before, hundreds of times. well. maybe tens. a handful.

grace has been busy with work, activism, etc. if she’s been extra busy since she was 23, then...another coincidence.

kendall is very nice. and she fits in well with both the russells and the radfords, plus the smattering of guests still hanging around.

grace has about two real conversations with nick the whole weekend. she doesn’t know what to think of it. she tries not to think of it.

abigail leaves donavan to his own devices all day saturday—because he fits in well and doesn’t need to be latched onto his partner, unlike someone—and instead pokes at grace’s discomfort.

abigail asks about risky business endeavors and frustrating friendships and basically everything except what she wants to ask. grace insisting every aspect of her life is going just fine convinces abigail further of what she isn’t saying.

that night, grace happens to go to her bedroom the same time nick and kendall head to theirs. the fact that they share a room stirs something unpleasant in her.

she doesn’t think about it.

the next day at breakfast, nick insists everyone goes out to have a big dinner together before they all split off their different ways.

grace couldn’t agree more. she feels like she hasn’t seen just nick the whole weekend.

the rest of the day goes by slowly, grace overwhelmed with her free time. she visits familiar shops in town and runs into old high school classmates.

she sees noah, ironically, coming out of bell, book, & candle. they have a long but surface-level conversation about college and where life has taken them both.

she feels nothing like she figured she might.

she feels fine.

she decides to head to the park, maybe sit on the swings.

abigail intercepts her halfway. they walk arm in arm, something grace doesn’t realize as a ploy to keep her there until it’s too late.

abigail asks how she feels about kendall. grace says she’s just fine. lovely, even.

abigail asks how she feels about kendall being at the “family bonding thing or whatever.” grace says they’ve been dating a long time, it’s to be expected.

abigail asks how she feels about nick dating someone. finally, grace bites: she asks what abigail’s getting at.

abigail suggests they take a stroll down memory lane. she starts from the beginning, before she herself was even in town.

nick’s “bad boy” beginning. being sensitive about her dad. doing the right thing and taking the fall for the statue. slow dance lessons. helping grace get home after abigail’s ill-advised party. opening up to her.

defending her from brenda and co. at school. offering all sorts of snacks when studying at his house. being concerned about her driving fiasco. inviting her to london with him. forgiving her in two seconds flat.

worrying about her in the hospital. seeming like he was going to ask her out. convincing her to study with him. getting her in free to see movies. listening to her about noah. confiding in her about breaking up with courtney.

telling her about their parents’ engagement. forgiving her. their car talk after getting back to the lake house. watching her back about noah going to a different college. making most of his speech about her.

putting up halloween decorations (for her, not her mom). confiding in her about college decisions. the wedding. checking in on her post-breakup. filming her when the comet came around. being proud of her as valedictorian.

abigial doesn’t say it, hoping grace comes to it herself. she doesn’t.

abigail says it.

“grace, were all these things platonic?”

grace is in denial, not vehementally but pretty close to it, so she doesn’t notice abigial steered them away from the park. they’re on the outskirts of the garden, surrounded by all types of flowers.

in the center is nick on one knee, kendall covering her mouth dramatically.

grace visibly deflates, her arm going slack in abigail’s.

and she gets it. she gets why she hasn’t wanted a boyfriend in two years. she gets why being around donavan doesn’t remind of her luke. she gets why seeing noah had no effect. she gets why not speaking to her stepbrother was a subconscious decision. she gets why watching him with someone else this weekend bothers her.

she gets why nick called them all out here this weekend, if kendall throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him is any indication.

and she gets why abigail brought her here to witness it.

abigial squeezes her arm tighter. “i’m sorry. you wouldn’t have come to this conclusion yourself.”

grace can’t find it in herself to be mad. she knows now, why she’s been feeling this way. the not knowing is over.

but the knowing is a completely different kind of hurt.

to be continued...

[jamielea81]

Just a Simple Lie

Chapter 1

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Description: Having worked on small independent films for the better part of a decade, your friend tells you about an opening for a script supervisor with a large studio. Wanting to advance your career, you apply and get an interview. The only downside, they prefer to hire crew who are married. It’s just a simple lie, right?

A/N: This fic is simply for fun. I know nothing about the personal lives of the two actors in this series and mean no harm. I am also totally guessing regarding the studio talk. This particular chapter is Chris light as it’s mainly a getting to know the reader. Chapters going forward will be heavy on the Chris aspect. Comments, reblogs, and likes are always welcome. Tag list is open, please send me an ask.

“Do you have the ring?”

“Of course, I have the ring.” You let out a frustrated breath. “This is so silly.”

Joanna chuckles over the line. “Where did you manage to get a ring from anyway?”

“It’s my grandmother’s. I feel like I’m majorly disrespecting her by wearing it when I’m not even engaged. Not to mention I’ve been single for-ev-er.” You drawl out.

“Breathe babe. Just breathe.” She says softly.

You inhale deeply and exhale it slowly.

“Maybe don’t do that directly into the phone.” She laughs again.

“Joanna Elizabeth.” You growl. “Why am I doing this?” You ask catching a glimpse of your reflection in the review mirror. Running a hand through your hair, you see the diamond engagement ring on your left finger. It feels so foreign, even stranger seeing it.

“Because this is a great opportunity to advance your career. Stone Lite is a major studio, Y/N. You can’t keep working on those student films.”

“Hey! I worked on a couple of independent movies. One even showed at Sundance.” You defend.

“And that’s awesome. Really. But this could be your big in. You’ve been doing this, what, for ten years?”

She was right. Ten years and the majority of your income came from student funded films and slinging beers three nights a week.

“And by your silence, you know I am right.”

Smug bitch.

“Ahuh.” You sigh.

“Look, I know it’s not right, but if this increases your chances of getting hired, just wear the damn ring.” Joanna huffs out.

“Easy for you to say, oh, wise married one.”

Joanna previously worked for Stone Lite Studios before moving on to Sony. It was a well-known amongst the employees that if you wanted to get hired for any position that put you in direct contact with any of the actors, you needed to be married. The studio was concerned with fan girls and fan boys. As if adults couldn’t control their urges and not make unwanted advances. Not to mention, married or not, some people still have affairs. Now granted, not every person there was married, but you had a greater advantage to get the job if you were. Right or wrong.

You drew the line at saying you were actually married and settled on being engaged. Not wanting to worry about details like how you kept your last name and lying on the tax forms you’d have to fill out. Even though you’ve only worked on small projects, Hollywood was surprisingly small when it came to the industry. It would be a lot harder to explain a sudden husband versus a fiancé. With Joanna’s agreement, you took your grandmother’s engagement ring from your jewelry box and slipped it on your finger.

“I’m just saying, give it a shot and see where this goes.” She reasoned.

“You’re right. You’re right. I better go in anyway. There’s a golf cart that keeps circling around the lot. They’re probably getting suspicious as to why I’m still in my car.”

She let out a chuckle. “They’re going to give you a ride to the offices. Welcome to the big leagues baby.”

 “Ms. Y/L/N, may I call you Y/N? Barbara Floyd, the interviewer and also the production manager asked.

The two of you had already gone over your previous crew history where you held a variety of positions including editor, grip, writer, and even wardrobe. On a whim, you took a script supervisor position on an independent short and really enjoyed it. The next job you took was on full length film in the same position, that’s when you decided that’s where your passion lied. Despite the copious amount of responsibility and that often brought on your anxiety, you loved the challenge.

“Of course, Mrs. Floyd.”

Her eyes went directly to your left hand. “That’s a beautiful ring.” She says.

Here we go.

“Thank you.” You stick your hand out for added affect.

“When’s the wedding?” She asks.

“Next year. We have a lot of out of town family. We just want to make sure they have time to arrange travel.”

Look at me lie. Maybe I should have tried acting.

“I’m sure it will be lovely.” She replies with a wide smile. “I’d like to introduce you to a few people. Please come with me.”

You received a contract via e-mail later that evening. They were bringing you on for one film with the option of three additional films after production. Granted, that’s if you didn’t mess up. Joanna was right, this is the big leagues. If you could make it through the next three to four months, you’d have a long term contract with a major studio.

The next day you received the script. Winter’s Sin was the working title. Whether or not the title would stick was anyone’s guess. You had worked with a few well-known actors, but more of the B list variety. Wonderfully talented actors, but they just didn’t get the parts or the recognition they often deserved. This film had a couple of big names, Keanu Reeves and Chris Evans to be exact. Maggie Jessup was this year’s it girl and rumor had it, this movie was going to launch her into stardom. Generally, you didn’t get star struck, but this was Keanu Reeves! You first fell in love with him when you saw Speed. And again, when you watched The Lake House. Too bad you were technically “engaged”.

Pre-production was set to start next week. This week would be spent going over the script a few times and creating notes. Some wouldn’t consider it the fun part of the job, but you loved diving into a script before it was brought to life. It was also a bonus that you generally liked the script. It was sort of a weepy drama with a love story tied in. But the main plot was between two friends, Milo played by Keanu and William played by Chris. You stayed up half the night and made it almost all the way through. To say you were invested was an understatement.

You read through the script twice more over the next few days and felt ready. Next week you would meet with wardrobe and the writers. The cast would be fitted and you would take photos for your own personal files to make sure styles remain the same for the shoot. Of course, this could all change the day shooting begins which is why you needed to be on your A game and get all the drinking out of the way tonight. You’d have Sunday to recover before starting at the studio on Monday.

 Laurel Tavern wasn’t necessarily your favorite bar, but it had become the place to get a bite to eat and a few drinks. It was also the most centrally located place for you and your friends to meet. Joanna and her husband Ian picked you up on the way, knowing you wanted to drink to excess. The three of you along with Travis and Jemma were celebrating your new job tonight. The five of you often found reasons to celebrate whether it was finding a twenty dollar bill on the side of the road, not getting fired from a particular job you’ve been slacking at, for the record, that was Travis, or getting a full eight hours of sleep. Tonight, was really worth celebrating.

“What do you want girl?” Joanna asked, getting up from your usual booth. “First rounds on me. If you’re nice, I might even buy you a second.” She throws you a wink.

“Ummm. I’d like a margarita, hold the margarita.” You say in all seriousness.

“Tequila. Got it.”  She says before turning away and heading to the bar.

“Extra limes.” You shout.

She waves her hand behind her head, not bothering to spare your table a look.

Travis joins your booth, a couple of pints of beer in hand. “Here, I brought you one.” Setting a pint of golden goodness in front of you.

You lean over kissing his cheek. “I feel so special.” You coo.

Travis wormed his way into your life seven years ago. He was a senior in college at the time, tall and lanky with hair that stuck out from under his hat. He was filming his final project before graduation. The two of you had a mutual friend in common, Jemma, who was an ex-girlfriend of Travis, how they stayed friends, was beyond you. You helped with directing, a little bit of script management, and even filled in for makeup on a few days. Anything to help a friend of a friend. Travis became your pseudo little brother, well, a brother that you kissed once. You had just broken up with Chad, never date a guy name Chad. Anyway, you had just broken up with Chad and were feeling down in the dumps about yourself. He fed you some bullshit about never being there for him when he needed you. You got angry, he got angry, and then he told you that you weren’t hot enough for him. Yep, Chad was a douche. Travis invited you over, feed you pizza and a ton of beers, then you kissed. He wasn’t a bad kisser, but it felt weird. He was five years younger than you, but it wasn’t just that, he was too much like a brother. The two of you agreed that it was a mistake and never brought it up again. Not even Jemma knew.

The five of you munched on burgers and grilled cheese sandwiches. Jemma bought you a margarita, even after you told her you just wanted the tequila. Her motive was to mooch some of the beverage off of you.

“I don’t want all of the calories. I just want to try it.” She grins. Big rosy cheeks and wild blonde hair. Her British accent on full affect after already consuming a few shots herself. She had lived in the United States most of her life, but when she drank, the accent became heavier.

She grabs your drink, taking a hold of the straw and consumes half of it in one go. If you didn’t love her, you would have ditched her years ago.

Pushing Ian out of the booth, you get up on wobbly feet and make the long twenty foot journey to the bar. “I’ll get my tequila myself. Thank you very much.” You tell the table.

 It’s after midnight by the time you’re dropped off. Running a makeup remover cloth over your face and stripping down to a cami, you call it good enough and crawl into your cozy bed.

 After a pit stop at Starbucks, you make it to the studio an hour earlier than you need to be. After parking in Timbuctoo, you graciously accept the golf cart ride from security.

One of the admins directs you to a small office down a long hallway with similar offices. There’s a laptop computer, various pens and notepads on the desk. You unpack a small plant you picked up yesterday after you dragged your hungover self out of bed and to the grocery store for food. There was no window in your office which you figured; a little greenery would liven the place up, literally.

 An hour later, one of the producers, David, came by to introduce himself and walk you around the grounds and through the soundstage you’d be shooting on. Filming would take place on the soundstage for a little more than a month. Then everyone would move the whole operation to Vancouver. The movie was called Winter’s Sin after all and there wasn’t a whole lot of winter in Los Angeles.

Before stopping back in your office, David popped into the office across from yours. He knocked while walking in, apparently already comfortable with the occupant.

“Hey Monica. I want you to meet Y/N. She’s the assistant script supervisor I was telling you about.”

Assistant? What?

Monica got up from her chair to greet you. You plastered on a smile and stuck out your hand. She was around your age and seriously gorgeous. Beautiful thick brown hair with a touch of caramel highlights that hung just above her chest.  

“Hi, Y/N. I’m looking forward to working with you. Would love to hear some of your ideas.”

“Same.”

What could you say? You weren’t told that you were an assistant script supervisor, you thought you had the position. Apparently, it was a shared position.

“Y/N will be working primarily with Chris and Keanu.”

Whoa. Well, at least there’s that.

Monica scoffs. “Really?”

Your eyes automatically go to her left hand. No ring. Of course.

“Yes, really. You’ve got Maggie. I think she can really flourish under your direction. Not to mention you have Hector, Tim, Daisy and Joe.

After the awkward exchange, you traded cellphone numbers with her and made plans to meet after the first read through with the cast.

Walking across the way into the safety of your office, you figured you might as well ask.

“I wasn’t aware that I was being hired on as an assistant script supervisor.”

David ran a hand down his face. “Y/N, listen. This is your first big film; you need to walk before you can run. Alright? If this goes well, you’ll probably get hired on as the lead.”

“Okay.” You sighed out

“Alright, I’ll see you later. Meeting at three on the soundstage.”

“Got it.” You replied, plopping yourself down in the desk chair.

David peeks his head back into your office. “You’ve got some visitors.”

“Thanks.” You call out, standing back up and pulling your door open wider.

Your heart stopped. At least you were pretty sure it did. Keanu and Chris were both in front of you. Yes, you were there to film a movie, but this felt like a freaking movie. The two of them, side by side, grins on their faces. Keanu’s hand outstretched while Chris’ hands were snugly in the front pockets of his jeans.

“Y/N, pleasure to meet you. I’m Keanu.”

You accept his hand but your pretty much speechless. You may have muttered “hi” but you can’t be sure. Sensing your nervousness, he gives you a smile and releases your hand. He looks to Chris and they exchange a silent conversation. Chris steps forward offering you his hand and once again you can’t breathe.

Has he always been this attractive? Apparently, I haven’t watched enough Avengers movies.

His hair’s a bit longer than what you remember from the one or two movies you’ve seen. He’s also sporting a full beard. Definitely something he can pull off.

You mentally slap yourself and pull your hand from his after you realize you hadn’t said anything.

“Um. Sorry. Haven’t had enough caffeine today. It’s nice to meet you both. I look forward to working with you on this shoot.”

“Nice plant.” Keanu says, pointing at the fern taking up the front corner of your desk.

You giggle. Like actually let out a giggle and you’re pretty sure your cheeks are flushed.

You’re a professional. Get your shit together.

“Well, you know?” Shrugging your shoulders. “Need to green the space up a bit.’

Chris nods his head and offers a closed mouth smile.

“Well, we won’t take up all your time. Just wanted to say hello.”

“Hello.” You reply with a wave.

Why am I so awkward?!

They both chuckle and Chris waves back at you.

Tomorrow you wouldn’t be so starstruck. These are just two men that you work with. Who cares that they both seem nice and are dangerously attractive? You’re an “engaged” woman who is also a professional. You can do this.

Yeah. I can do this.

If you are crossed out, I can’t tag you.

Tag list: @southerngracela  @chrisevansforever  @chrisevansfanfic @zsuzstyina @peach-acid @tanelle83 @pinknerdpanda @allaboutthebooz @estillion14 @panicfob@patzammit @heartislubbingdubbing @collinsstanharbour @twittytelly @thefandomzoneisdangerous @linki-locks11 @jennmurawski13

[aelia-likes-monsters]

The Wedding Date

Characters: Male Orc, Female Reader Rating: LEMON Content: NSFW, Oral Sex, Vaginal Sex, Chubby Female Reader Word Count: ~6800

Notes: This is a “fake dating” commission for @hufflesmonsters <3 

Story is also available on AO3

And now this story has art! Check out this piece by @pyxyydraws

“Are you bringing a date to the wedding?” Your mom asked.

“Maybe,” you said, leaning your hip against the kitchen counter and staring at the calendar; your perfect, successful, younger sister’s wedding was in a month.“I don’t want to rush things with the boyfriend. You know the impression it sends when you drag them to weddings. Then there’s all the extra stuff since I’m a bridesmaid, so it won’t be fun for him.”  

Also, you didn’t want to bring him because he wasn’t real but you weren't going to admit that to your mother. When Anna had mentioned her engagement everyone had been so excited, but they’d also turned to you and started asking questions. Why aren’t you dating? Why are you still single? Do you have a job yet? So you’d lied. You’d lied your ass off, and now you had to keep up the lies. As far as your family knew, your boyfriend was gorgeous, successful, madly in love with you, and had been for eight months.

“Just bring him, darling. All of us want to meet him!” Your mother said, ignoring all of your protests. “We’re having a family barbeque this weekend and going over some details, you should bring him by! Finally introduce him to everyone! I insist.”

You grimaced. Maybe you could fake break-up? Fake an emergency for him the morning of? You’d figure it out. You had to.

“Sounds good mom, I’ve gotta go now though. Love you! Bye!”

You hung up the phone and buried your face in your hands. You had no idea what you were going to do, but the pressure was on. You were running out of time to figure this out.

Two days later you were sitting at your favorite coffee shop, sipping a latte and enjoying a croissant. You were no closer to solving your problem, and had even considered hiring an escort for the wedding. It might be pathetic, but at least you wouldn’t be alone.

It was then that opportunity literally fell into your lap as a tall orc tripped on someone’s laptop bag, slammed into your table, and practically face-planted into your cleavage. In the process, he sent your latte cup flying, and spilled his own coffee, coating both of you in the sticky beverage. You bit back a string of curse words and shoved away from the table, looking at the disaster that had just befallen you.

“I’m so sorry! Are you okay?!” The orc who had just landed on you asked, rolling off your table and onto his knees beside you. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

You opened your mouth to give him an earful, and abruptly closed it. First, because he was gorgeous. He had dark hair, braided and pulled back into a ponytail that cascaded over his shoulders, and a dark, neatly trimmed beard. His tusks were clean, unchipped, and banded with silver, which drew attention to full lips that you wanted to nibble on. He was dressed well, in a button up shirt that fit him like it was made for him, and nice slacks, though both were covered in coffee.

Secondly, and more importantly, you knew him. You’d gone to high school with him. Karthurg had been a bit of a loner, but the two of you had been friendly. You’d never been close friends, so you had lost touch after graduation, but it seemed fate had brought him back into your life at just the right moment.

Because you needed a date, and this beautiful man might just be it.

“Are you okay?” He asked again, and you realized you must have been staring at him silently for far too long. You met his eyes--as blue as you remembered, and still framed with gorgeous long lashes-- and blushed.

“Oh. Shit, I’m sorry. Yeah, I’m okay. I just….” You were abruptly aware of your soggy clothes, and of the latte that you’d been enjoying, which was now soaking into your cute slacks and the drapey blouse you were wearing. You glanced down. Not only was there foam and coffee soaking into the fabric, but it was also making your clothes cling to you. On a skinnier girl, you thought the look might be sexy. On you, it just made you hyper-aware of how big you were.

“I’m sorry,” Karthurg said, grabbing a towel from one of the staff members who had rushed over to help clean up the mess. He raised his hand as if to wipe coffee off your blouse, but rethought the gesture. His eyes flickered to yours, and a blush stained his cheeks. He handed the towel to you, and let you wipe the coffee off yourself.

“I know you,” You said, blurting the words out finally.

Karthurg laughed. “A lot of people know me.” He said, continuing to clean himself up. “Comes with the job.”

“What?” You asked, pausing mid-wipe. “I don’t know what that means. We went to school together, Karthurg.”

Karthurg also stopped what he was doing, and looked at you. He seemed to really look at you for the first time since he fell on you. His eyes widened, and his lips curved into a grin that would have wet your panties if they weren’t already soaked with coffee.

“Well shit, you do know me. It’s been a while.” Karthurg sat back on his heels and cocked his head to one side, really taking you in. “In that case, if you’re interested I live near here and have an in-unit washer dryer. Since we’re old friends, it’s not as weird if I offer to wash your clothes for you.”

You thought about your plans for the day; about the job interview you were supposed to be at in a few short hours, and the coffee staining your clothes. You could go home and change, but you thought spending some time with Karthurg might be more interesting. Besides, there were other jobs, and you weren’t particularly excited by the one you were interviewing for today.

“Yeah, okay.” You said, gathering up your things. “It’d be good to catch up, too.”

Thirty minutes later you were freshly showered and sitting on Karthurg’s couch, wearing a pair of his exercise shorts and a t-shirt that stretched obscenely over your chest. You were self conscious, but there was nothing for it; your clothes were in the wash. For his part, Karthurg wore jeans that hung low on his hips, and a t-shirt that hugged his muscles. When he moved you could just see hints of green skin between his shirt and his jeans and you couldn’t tear your eyes away.

Gods he was a beautiful man.

“So,” you said, sipping the replacement coffee he’d made you. “Why is it that people know you?”

“I model,” he said, taking a seat near you. He stated it matter-of-factly, though you thought you caught a hint of a blush.

“Wait,” You reached into your oversized purse and retrieved a magazine you read on the train. You flipped through it, and opened it to an ad; an orc sprawled across the page, visible from his tusks down to his thighs. It was an underwear ad that you’d enjoyed seeing earlier. You looked from it to Karthurg and blushed brightly. “This is… you?”

“Yeah.” He smiled, clearly amused by your reaction. “That’s only the most recent.”

“Holy shit, no wonder you assumed I was a fan at first.” You laughed. “You must have tons.”

“Eh,” He shrugged, and took a sip of his coffee without making eye contact. “There’s a few, but most folks who pursue me don’t recognize me, they just think I’m pretty.”

“You are.” You said, before quickly drinking coffee to stop whatever else was going to come out of  your mouth. It gave your brain time to catch up, to process, to keep you from embarrassing yourself completely. “So, I have a ridiculous favor to ask you, as a long time friend?”

“I like to think we were friends, yeah,” Karthurg said, that flirtatious smile back on his face.

“My sister is getting married in a month,” You told him. “And between now and then there’s some family gatherings that I need to go to. I might have told my family I have a boyfriend…” You couldn’t look at him for this part. This was too pathetic to admit. “I don’t.”

“You’re single?” He said, and you heard him shift in his seat, but you still couldn’t make yourself look at him.

“Yeah, embarrassing, right?” You sighed. “I know it’s a lot to ask, but do you think you could pretend to be my boyfriend for a few events?”

“I’m in.” He said, so quickly that you knew he hadn’t thought about it.

You gaped at him, but he was just smiling at you, that mischievous twinkle that you remembered from high school in his eye. Karthurg had always been down to cause trouble, it was part of what had drawn you to him then, though you worried that now that penchant for trouble would be less endearing.

“Well, let me get you up to speed then…”

“Are you ready?” You asked Karthurg, your grip tight enough on the steering wheel to whiten your knuckles.

“Yes. It will be okay,” He reached over and pulled your hands off the wheel. He held onto them until you turned to look at him. “I know you. I’ve known you for years. I’m also very good at small talk, and if worst comes to worst I’ll just rip off my shirt and flex until nobody remembers what they were talking about.”

You laughed, picturing him standing on the buffet table flexing like a living statue.

“There’s my girl,” he teased. Your belly flip-flopped. You liked hearing that too much for your own good. You held his gaze, and let yourself pretend for a few seconds that this was real. Then, before the fantasy could run away with you and set you up for heartbreak, you pulled your hands from his.

“Let’s do this.” You said.

Later, you’d be hard pressed to remember the entire family barbeque, but some moments stood out to you. Your mother had been pleased as punch to “finally meet the mystery man.” She’d made a point of pulling you aside later and telling you that she was happy you were happy. The guilt had sat heavy in your stomach, so you’d chased it away with a beer.

Your sister had practically had to wipe the drool off her chin when she saw Karthurg. You’d laughed at the look on her face, and the thumbs up she’d given you. You’d kept him away from her mostly; your sister might drive you crazy, but she was also one of your closest friends, and she’d see right through the bullshit.

Throughout the afternoon, you remember his hand on the small of your back, keeping you close while he spoke to people and charmed literally everyone (but especially your Aunties.) You remember the way he kept your plate full of snacks, and he was careful to make sure you got enough water to balance out the beer you were drinking. You especially remember the moment when he leaned down to whisper something in your ear, because his lips had just brushed your earlobe, and you’d nearly combusted.

As the afternoon turned into evening, your mother “stole you away” to talk about wedding stuff. You’d glanced at Karthurg in desperation, but he’d just laughed at you, and pressed a chaste kiss to your cheek. You’d blushed brightly, and his grin had grown bigger, but he hadn’t saved you. Instead he’d turned back to his conversation with your father about… whatever it was they were discussing.

That part you pushed out of your mind; it was all stuff to do with the wedding. Things that, in the moment you remembered, and you even jotted down in the notebook, like a good maid of honor. But your mind was on Karthurg. On the feel of his hands on your back.

When it was over, you’d rushed out of there, and right to his side. Karthurg had pulled you close, held you as he finished his conversation with your dad. Then you’d said your goodbyes, and left. Karthurg had driven you both home in your car, because you’d had too much to drink (not normally your style, but you were stressed.)

The bits between leaving the barbecue and waking up the next morning were a little fuzzy. You remember Karthurg telling you he had fun, and him helping you upstairs and into your apartment. You also thought you remembered- gods had you propositioned him? You think you did. Immediately you felt the need to text him.

You >> I’m sorry if I behaved inappropriately last night. Karth >> You didn’t cross any lines. How’s your head? You >> Ehh. It’s bad, but it could be worse. Thank you for yesterday. You >> I really am sorry if I… said anything that made you feel weird. Karth >> No problem. It was fun. You didn’t. Karth >> Drink the water on the nightstand. It’s good for you. You >> <3 Omg you left me medicine and water?! You’re amazing. Karth >> I know. <3

He was so sweet. You couldn’t handle this. You were half in love with him already, and you knew it was only going to get worse. Your mom had texted you an itinerary of events that she expected you to bring Karthurg to now that she’d met him and decided she liked him. It was bad; she’d gone ahead and planned extra things just to torture you. You were sure of it.

You forwarded him the list with dates and times. He shot back confirmation that he could make it to nearly everything. Oh joy, you thought. On the one hand, you were genuinely delighted you’d get to spend more time with him, because it was easy with him. It didn’t feel fake. Last night had felt comfortable. You trusted him. On the other hand, this was awful precisely because it was so easy. You were falling fast, and you were falling hard, and you were sure to get your heart broken.

You’d do this to save face, and you’d get through Anna’s wedding, because you loved your sister. You sometimes wanted to throttle her, and you hated that you always got compared to her and found lacking, but you loved her. But afterward, you were going to let Karthurg go and nurse the inevitable heartbreak.

You had to.

Family dinner with Karthurg. Brunch with Anna, her fiancee, the bridesmaids, and Karthurg. Finalizing hair and makeup, helping Anna with a million checklists, dragging Karthurg along to about a million things that you’re certain the maid-of-honor’s boyfriend wouldn’t normally be invited to, except that your family had decided they loved Karthurg. The big, beautiful orc was so sweet and patient and happy to help that you were dying a little more each day, too.

Today you were helping your mother and Anna with wedding favors. Anna was adding her own labels to bottles of sparkling wine, beer, and fizzy juice for guests to take home after the ceremony, wrapping it in tulle, and adding a bow with a cute note. It was a bit of a pain, but the other bridesmaids had helped yesterday with the labels, and now you and Karthurg were here to help with the tulle and the bows.

You and Anna were working on the coffee table in the sitting room, which adjoined the dining room. Karthurg was at the dining table, teasing your mother and making her laugh as they twisted the tulle and added blue ribbons. You were watching them, and you must have had some kind of sappy look on your face, because Anna’s elbow caught you in the ribs and jerked you out of your reverie.

“You’ve got it bad, huh?” She said, giving you a grin.

“I…” You were torn between denying it and agreeing. You looked from your sister, to the gorgeous orc at the table. “It’s just great that he’s so good with mom. You remember my last boyfriend.”

“Oof. Yeah, he was awful. You only kept him around because mom hated him.” Anna said with an eye roll.

“I came out here to help you, and I feel really attacked right now.” You said with a laugh.

“You know I’m right.” She jostled you again. “I’m glad he makes you happy. It’s been too long since I saw that look on your face.”

“Girls! If you can’t talk and work, don’t talk!” Your mother barked from the dining table. “We’ve got to get all 200 of these done today!”

“Yes mom,” Anna said, giving you a little eye roll. You bit back a laugh, and got back to work.

Part of you was relieved. You didn’t want to talk about what was going on with Karthurg, and you were so close to telling Anna everything. She didn’t need that, not right now, with her wedding so close. There was too much on her plate already.

You glanced over at the dining room again. Karthurg was looking at you, a soft look on his face. He was so good at this faking thing that you could believe he was really your boyfriend sometimes. Your eyes met, and he gave you a smile that melted you. Gods I do have it bad. This was going to hurt. You smiled back.

That night he held your hand as he walked you out to the car. His hands were big and warm and soft, and his fingers wrapped around yours gently. He helped you into his car carefully, and he smiled down at you in a way that made your stomach flutter, though nobody watching from inside the house could have seen it. It made everything feel more real. The entire drive home you watched his hands on the steering wheel, and imagined how they might feel on your body.

Karthurg parked outside your apartment building, and walked you to your front door. You wanted to invite him inside. The words were on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t quite get them out.

Karthurg leaned down slowly. He closed the distance between the two of you carefully, stopping with only the smallest distance between his lips and yours, leaving the choice to you. You gave him a brief, chaste kiss, and then pulled back, blushing brightly. What was that?

Karthurg stood up again with a grin. “Have a good night, I’ll see you tomorrow.” He said, before taking a big step back and turning to leave, that smile still on his face.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” You said, still a little dazed. You watched him walk away, and fought the urge to brush your fingers against your lips. You were not a silly teenager, or a character in a romance story. You were a strong, independent woman, dammit.

But dang was he cute. You smiled to yourself, and headed into your apartment.

Morning came too soon, and sweet dreams about Karthurg were rudely interrupted by someone pounding on your front door. You grumbled your way out of bed, pulled on an oversized t-shirt and yanked the door open to rip them a new one.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” Karthurg said, greeting you with a smile that was far too cheerful.

“Why are you here so early?” was all you managed to say in response as you glared up at his beautiful face. You knew that the look on your face said you were thinking about homicide, but he was cheery as could be. In that moment, you hated him.

“Your mother called. Apparently today’s schedule got bumped up. When you didn’t answer her many phone calls she called me.” The big, gorgeous orc held up a takeout tray with paper coffee cups and a paper bag full of food. “I come with offerings, but you need to get a move on. We don’t have much time and you…” he looked down, “are not wearing much.”

Maybe later you’d be embarrassed, but in the moment you knew the damage would be done, and whatever he’d brought smelled delicious.

“Food first. Pants after.” You said, dragging him into the kitchen.

Without comment, Karthurg gave you a breakfast sandwich and one of the paper cups. You nearly inhaled both. He was quiet as both of you ate, and every time you looked at him, he seemed to be staring intently at something that wasn’t you. The lack of pants seemed to be stressing him out; you’d think an underwear model of all things could handle a woman less than fully dressed. Though you supposed most of the women he was around were skinnier and prettier and… you stopped that thought. Down that path was insecurity and hurt feelings. You knew better than to go there.

“Thank you for bringing me food.” You said. “I just need to grab a quick shower, and then we can go do… I don’t remember. Whatever today’s ridiculous wedding prep is.”

“I think today is place cards and finalizing the seating chart?” Karthurg said, after glancing at his phone.

“Ugh. If I ever get married, I’m eloping. This is absurd.” You stuffed the remains from breakfast into the trash. “If you can think up a good excuse for us to miss this, I’ll love you forever.”

Karthurg choked on the coffee he was drinking.

“You okay?” You asked, rushing to his side.

“Yeah, just… can’t breathe coffee.” He waved you off. “Go shower. I’ll be here.”

When you emerged after a speedy shower, you emerged to hear Karthurg getting off the phone. He was busy assuring someone that he’d “keep them up to date,” and that he was “so sorry.”

“What was that?” You asked when he finally stuck his phone back in his pocket.

“Only me being the best fake boyfriend you’ll ever have,” he said. “We had a minor car issue and I’m not sure but I am afraid it’s going to take all day to get it taken care of… unfortunately I don’t think we can help today.”

“You didn’t?!” You launched yourself at him, and gave him a huge hug. “You’re the best.”

He hugged you back, and it felt so good that you were overwhelmed. Why couldn’t this be real? Karthurg was a great friend. He’d be an amazing boyfriend, too, you were sure. But this “fake dating” thing was so complicated already, and you didn’t know if you’d get out of it unscathed.  

“Yeah, but you’re not rid of me.” His voice broke through your thoughts. “We’re going to go do something fun. What do you want to do?”

“That’s a hard choice. There’s too many options.” You said. “Narrow it down some.”

“Hm. Beach or a park or something else entirely?”

“Oh! The museum? There’s an exhibit that’s on loan that I was hoping to see?” You grabbed his arm in excitement, and he smiled down at you. The look on his face was soft.

“Sounds like a fun day.” He said with a smile.

And it really was.

You took your sweet time exploring the museum, wandering the halls and looking at the many exhibits. You found that having someone like Karthurg was actually better than when you came alone, because he was there to listen to you gush about the things that excited you, and to discuss things that he liked, too. And he was patient, letting you take your time looking at things, strolling along at a comfortable speed. Lunch was from the museum cafe, but the food was tasty, and you could look out over dinosaur fossils while you ate.

“I’m glad we ran into each other again,” Karthurg said.

“Me, too.” You wanted to say more. You wanted to tell him how much you’d like spending time with him this last month, how you looked forward to texts from him. How you’d laughed more with him than you had in a long time. But you didn’t want to make things weird, or burden him with expectations, so you bit your tongue, and looked out over the museum again.

Karthurg, seeming to take his cue from you, didn’t say anything either. You tried to tell yourself you were overthinking things, but you felt like maybe you’d screwed something up.

When you finally made it to the basement, where the full arctic dinosuar exhibit was on display, Karthurg’s hand brushed against yours. You startled, but then his fingers wrapped around yours and held on. It was nice, and it didn’t feel like he was pushing anything, so you tried to just enjoy it.

He held your hand all the way back to the car.

You were both quiet during the drive back to your place. When he parked, he gripped your hand, and caught your eye.

“I like you. A lot.” Karthurg paused, and you tried to remember how to breathe. Was he about to give you a ‘just friends’ speech? Signs pointed to no, but you’d been wrong before.

The silence stretched, like Karthurg was searching for words. You bit your lip, and waited, knowing that if you spoke you’d probably say the wrong thing and ruin whatever this was.

“I like-like you,” he said. And then, as the absurdity of his words hit him, he dropped his head back on the seat and groaned. “I swear, I’m an adult, it’s just… I had the biggest crush on you in high school, and here you are again, as gorgeous as ever, and I have another opportunity, and all I can think is ‘pretty girl, wanna kiss’ and it’s making me dumb.”

“Well shit.” You said, not really able to say anything more intelligent. Your brain had sort of short-circuited after hearing him call you gorgeous, especially since he’d apparently had a thing for you for years. “Do you want to come upstairs then?”

“Absolutely.” He said.

You got up the stairs to your apartment in record time. There was a moment, as you locked the door, where you found yourself wondering if this was real. But then his big hands found your hips, and pulled you back against him, and you realized that no, this was really happening.

“Not having second thoughts, are you?” He asked, his tusk teasing the shell of your ear.  His hands skimmed up under your shirt, just brushing the sensitive skin of your belly. You melted against him.

“No.” You said, your voice more of a purr. “But I think you still owe me some kisses.”

You turned in his arms, and reached up, pulling him down so you could press your lips to his. He was soft, and warm, and tasted vaguely of the peppermint candies he liked to snack on. His arms slid around you, and then his hands were cupping your butt. And then he was lifting you up like you were weightless, and you were gasping into his mouth. It was exhilarating but also terrifying.

“I have definitely thought about this” he informed you as he carried you over to your couch.  You squeaked in alarm and wrapped your legs around him, and held onto him for dear life. He just chuckled in amusement as it made all the soft parts of you press hard against him. “I’ve got you, it’s okay.”

“I’m going to hurt you!” you insisted.

“No, babe. You’re soft and squishy in all the right places, but you’re not too big for this.” Carrying you an extra circuit around the apartment to make his point before he sat down on the couch.  With you straddling him like this, your faces were nearly level, so you were looking into his eyes.

He opened his mouth to say more, but you silenced him with a kiss. This was getting to be too much too fast. Too many emotions, and you couldn’t process it all right now. But kissing? That you could handle. So you did. You brought your hands up to cup his jaw, your fingers sinking into the scratchy-soft hair of his beard as you held him. You slid your tongue along his lips, and when he opened his mouth, you dove in, tangling your tongue with his and pillaging. Laying claim. He groaned, and wrapped his arms tight around your waist. You felt one of his hands come up to cradle the back of your head, pulling you tight against him.

You shifted, grinding your pelvises together and creating friction that had you both panting as you kissed the corners of his lips, where his tusks jutted up. You would have done more teasing, but Karthurg had other plans, shifting so that he was kissing the side of your neck. The feeling of his lips, his tusks, and his beard was enough to drive you to distraction.

One of his hands worked between you and cupped one of your breasts, and even through the fabric he managed to zero in on a nipple. He pinched it gently, and you arched into it, chasing the feeling.

“Hey,” he murmured between nips. “Bed?”

“Yes.” You purred. Maybe rushing things was bad. If it was, you’d deal with it later. Right now all you could think was that Karthurg was the sweet and gorgeous and you l- nope. Not going there. You like-liked him.

As you giggled at your stupid thought, Karthurg scooped you up again, and with some directions from you, carried you to your bed. He threw you onto it in a way that made you bounce, but he looked smug.

“Damn you’re pretty,” he said. “Wanna get naked and let me see how lucky I really am?”

“When you ask so nicely…” you hopped back off the bed. You could try to turn this into a sexy strip-tease, but you know yourself. So instead you slide your pants off, and then look at Karthurg expectantly. “Well?”

He grinned and took his time removing his own pants.

“You damn near killed me this morning when I saw you wearing that shirt and no pants,” he admitted. “All I could think of was touching your thighs.” He stepped closer, invading your space, pulling your shirt off over your head as he spoke. “Touching and tasting what’s between them. Making you scream my name.”

“Oh.” You smiled, and shimmied out of your bra and panties, so you were standing there naked. “I like that idea. Let’s do that.”

“I like when you’re agreeable like this,” He picked you up- again, the showoff- and set you back on the bed, stripped off the rest of his clothes, and climbed into bed with you. He rolled you onto your back and pinned you, pressing  you down into the soft mattress with his weight as he kissed you, softly at first, and then with more intensity.

He worked his way down to your neck, and then your chest. He lavished attention upon your breasts, having noticed how you reacted in the living room to a simple touch. Here, with his hands and his fingers he teased you until you were quivering with need.

“Karthurg,” you whined.

“Yes?”

“I want more.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You pushed at him, and he obliged by rolling onto his back, and looking at you with a hungry smile.

“Remember what I said about those gorgeous thighs of yours?” You nodded, and he continued. “Come sit on my face, pretty girl.”

You felt greedy, taking your pleasure like this when you hadn’t done anything for him yet, but at the same time, it was exciting. So you crawled up the bed, and settled yourself with your thighs on either side of his head.

“If I need you to lift up, I’ll tap, otherwise you stay put.” Karthurg said, before tugging you down so your pussy was pressed to his face.

His tongue immediately went to work, delving into your wet folds, laving over you and teasing you. His nose nudged against your clit. His tusks scraped gently against your outer lips as he feasted. His hands wrapped around your thighs, sinking into your soft skin as he held you tight, and soon you felt yourself losing control. You fell forward, and struggled to hold yourself up as his tongue thrust into you and his nose rubbed your clit and he devoured you.

“Oh fuck,” you moaned as your first orgasm rolled over you. He kept going, teasing more out of you, drawing it out, until your legs were shaking and you were nearly ready to pull away in overstimulated desperation.

He slowed though, and let you relax. And then his fingers loosened, and he tapped. You lifted away, and he slid out from under you, his tongue cleaning his lips like a smug cat.

“Didn’t hear my name though.” He said. “Guess I’ll have to make you cum again.”

You laughed, but gave his weeping erection a meaningful glance. “Can’t I do anything for you?”

“Whatever you want.” He said. “Though unless you have condoms…”

“I absolutely do.” You said, diving for the nightstand drawer. There was a box inside, one you’d purchased not too long ago in idle hope. You flipped it and checked the expiration. “No latex allergy?”

“No,” Karthurg replied. “There’s other types I like more, but that’ll do.”

“Noted,” you said, and ripped open the box. You separated one from the rest, then crawled back to Karthurg. You knelt beside him, and grinned, your fingers sliding over the tip of his penis, rubbing the precum around. “There’s a few things I’d like to enjoy first though; latex doesn’t taste so good.”

“Like I said, whatever you-” his words became a groan as you sucked the tip of his cock into your mouth. You ran your tongue over him as you took as much as you could, exploring the bumps and ridges as you went. “Oh fuck.”

Your gag reflex was too strong to do anything fancy, but you got your hands involved, wrapping one hand around the length you couldn’t fit into your mouth. You worked your hand and head in synch, so all of his cock was getting attention. Karthurg brought one of his hands to the back of your head, tangling his fingers into your hair; holding on, but letting you set the pace.

You felt his body tighten, heard the way his breath sped up, and you backed away, slowing down. He groaned, and laughed.

“You are wicked,” he said. “So cruel.”

You did it again; bringing him right to the edge and then backing off. Karthurg didn’t hurry you along. You felt his fingers tighten in your hair, but didn’t press your head down or try to force anything. He just groaned in beautiful complaint when you slowed.

His penis slipped from between your lips with a deliberate ‘pop’ as you sat back. The fingers that had been tangled in your hair stroked your cheek as you moved; a soft caress. You looked at your handiwork proudly; Karthurg lay there, watching you, breathing hard, clearly right on the edge.

“You think you can last until I cum again?” You asked, rolling the condom onto him.

“I’m game to try. And if I don’t, you’ll still get another.”

“Excellent answer,” you said, straddling him. You lowered yourself slowly, savoring the stretch. He was big, but not uncomfortably so, and he filled you perfectly.  You rolled your hips. Karthurg’s eyes shut, and his brows drew low as he concentrated on lasting. His hands slid along your thighs, before settling on your hips.

You ran your hands over his gorgeous chest as you rode him and took your pleasure. Your finger brushed one of his nipples, and he jerked. Of course that meant you had to keep teasing him. He struggled to last.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “I’m so close.”

“I’m getting there,” You caught one of his hands, brought it down so he could rub your clit.

He understood what you wanted, circling the sensitive nub with his fingers, pressing just-so and speeding up as you built toward your second climax. And then you were there, rushing over the edge. You fell forward, trapping his hand between you, but Karthurg was right behind you, slamming into you with a few more thrusts and a long groan.

The two of you lay there for a moment, just catching your breath. He slipped out of you, hanging onto the condom. You rolled off him, and headed for the bathroom to clean up some.

“Shower, then dinner?” You asked.

“Yes, please.”

Later, after dinner, and more sex, and a lot more kissing, when Karthurg snored quietly in your bed, you lay awake. What the hell were you doing? You wondered. Sleeping with your fake boyfriend seemed like a great way to complicate things. But, was he fake? Him still being here, one of his arms draped over you, clinging to you even as he slept, suggested he wasn’t faking, and maybe never had been.

Had you ever been faking with him? Maybe at first, when you hadn’t let yourself believe it could be real, but your feelings had gotten tangled up in this pretty fast. Karthurg was the sweetest guy you’d ever dated, fake or otherwise.

There were three days until the wedding. After that, you could ask the messy questions like “what are we, really?” and “I know we were faking but I have real feelings and do you want to stick around?” And then came the part you dreaded, admitting to your family that you’d lied.

This was going to suck.

But it would be worth it, right?

As if on cue, Karthurg pulled you closer. Yeah, it would be, you decided.

The morning of the wedding was chaos. Between the hundred last minute crises that your mother fluttered over, to helping to get Anna ready, and wrangle her other bridesmaids, you very nearly forgot to eat. Late in the morning, a knock at the door signaled the arrival of food, and one very handsome orc.

“Delivery for a gorgeous lady,” Karthurg said.

“You’re the best,” you said, taking the tray of bite-sized snacks from him, and quickly handing it off to one of the other girls.

You stepped out of the room, and looked him over. He was already suited up, in a navy blue ensemble that would complement your bridesmaid dress without making him look like a member of the wedding party. Gods did you love a man in a suit. You were mentally undressing him already.

“Hey, my eyes are up here,” he said with a laugh.

“Can’t blame a girl for appreciating the view,” you said.

“Can’t blame me, either then.” He looked you over, then leaned down and whispered in your ear “You make that dress look so good I can’t wait to peel it off you later.”  You know you must have turned bright red, but his smile was wicked, and he didn’t look even a little bit apologetic.  “I won’t keep you, I know you’re busy.”

And though you were beyond frustrated with him for teasing you like that, you did have to appreciate the view as he left.

The wedding itself went well. Anna glowed. Her groom beamed. Several of the two-hundred people packed into the hall wept.  Then the ceremony was over, and the reception began. There was dinner, and dancing, and you saw family and old family friends, and you know it was a fun evening, but you didn’t remember most of it. There was a haze of fatigue that colored it. But Anna beamed, and you knew her magical day was going well, which was the important part.

And then came the bouquet toss.

All the unmarried women crowded the dance floor. You were out there with them, and though you had no desire to catch the flowers, there you were. Anna, damn her, looked over her shoulder, pointed at you, and winked. You glared, but there had to be a sister-seeking-missile in the flowers, because they landed right in your unwilling arms.

For his part, Karthurg just grinned at you. The bastard.

“So,” Anna said, as you sat with her near the end of the reception. “Is it finally real?”

“What?” Your stomach sank.

“Oh come on,” She raised an eyebrow. “You can bullshit mom and dad, but I follow your Insta & Snapchat. You didn’t post any pictures of the two of you until like… three weeks ago.”

“Damn it, Anna.” You buried your face in your hands. “I’ve been freaking out, trying to figure out how to tell you, and you knew?”

“Yeah.” She laughed. “It was pretty fun watching you squirm. But like, I knew you’d figure it out. You always do.”

“It’s real.” You told her. You watched Karthurg chat with your parents, keeping both of them entertained while you talked to your sister. The two of you had planned this, and now you knew it was unnecessary. “Think we can just… never tell them?”

“Depends… what’s it worth to you?”

This story was a commission, if you’d like your own, check out my commissions page.  If you want to read other stuff I’ve written, check out my Writing Masterlist.

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[emetoandotherthings]

“Choices”

A/N: Time for more of Zara’s saga - this isn’t really a sickfic, but it’s p central to the plot.. also @lickstynine has been asking for it for days, so I’m finally obliging...you can find the first part HERE, the second part HERE,  and the third part HERE. (And yes for anyone who gets the title, it is a Tatianna reference). I hope you enjoy this, and I’d love to know what you think..

She knew that the bump probably wasn’t big enough for other people to notice – and if they did notice anything, they would most likely think that she had been slacking off on her fitness regime, or perhaps indulging in one too many pies. But she knew. And she’d now heard the steady thump, thump, thump of the heartbeat, which wasn’t hers, beating away inside her. It was now real in a way it hadn’t been before.

She ran her hands back over the firmer skin of her abdomen, and she couldn’t help sighing again. The only good thing about now being thirteen weeks pregnant was the constant nausea and morning sickness had abated slightly.

She pulled a top over her head, then a jumper, and sat down on the edge of her bed, her hand still cupping at her lower belly. The whole concept of her being pregnant was still one that was a little confusing, but she was beginning to realise that she would need to figure out what she was going to do – and soon.

But first things first, she was going to get some toast.

Zara could hear voices coming from the kitchen; and she paused for a second as she heard Murray laugh. A tingling feeling spread through her, and she wondered whether her body knew what she was going to do.

“Hi guys,” she said as she entered the kitchen; Murray and Aleks were both at the table, a laptop and folder spread out in front of them.

“Hey Zara,” Murray greeted her as she pulled down an open loaf of bread and inserted two slices into the toaster.

“I still think your name should go first,” Aleks commented, carrying on a conversation they’d been having before she entered.

“But alphabetically your name comes first,” Murray protested.

“Yeah, I know,” Aleks said, “but technically I asked you, so your name should be first.”

“Let’s see how it looks,” Murray suggested, pulling his laptop towards him and began playing around with an image in front of him. “See?” He pushed the laptop over towards Aleks as Zara began to spread peanut butter across her toast. “It kinda looks weird.”

“I think it looks better than before,” Aleks replied, and Murray sighed a little.  “Here, Zara, what do you think?” Aleks turned the laptop to the side that Zara was standing. She had just taken a bite of her toast and she chewed fiercely to swallow it.

“What?” She said, as both Murray and Aleks looked at her.

“Do you think the order of the names is okay?” Aleks asked; Zara looked at the image on the screen – it was the invitation for their wedding. Zara’s eyes scanned over it, her eyes clocking the date.

“I think it looks great like that,” she nodded. “Are you really getting married in February?” She asked, picking up her toast and taking another bite from it.

“Yep,” Murray replied, turning the laptop back to him. “We’ve booked the City Chambers already, which is why we need to get the invites sorted – cause they’ll have to go out soon.”

“Relatively soon,” Aleks corrected, smiling as Murray pursed his lips as though he still agreed with them. “I told you it was better with your name first.”

“Fine,” Murray said, clicking save on the programme and sticking out his tongue at Aleks.

Zara stood watching the two of them as she finished her piece of toast, chewing slowly. She was reaching for her second piece when she realised that her hand was shaking, she gripped it onto the edge of the kitchen counter, trying to control it.

“You want a coffee?” Murray had stood up from the table and begun filling the kettle.

“Huh?” Zara took a second to figure that Murray was talking to her. “Uh, no thanks.” She shook her head slightly, picking up her other piece of toast and taking a bite. Her mouth had gone dry, and she struggled to swallow it down. Her heart had sped up in her chest as she thought about broaching the subject with her friends. She’d paused with her toast hovering a few centimetres in front of her face; Aleks had cocked his head to one side, his eyebrows raised as he looked at her.

“Are you okay?” He asked, looking a little concerned.

“Yeah,” she said shortly, forcing herself to take another bite and chewing.

“I thought you’d be at the gym this morning,” Murray commented as he poured milk into his coffee; Zara had to look away, milk was one of the things that still made her feel slightly nauseous.

“Nah, I didn’t feel like it,” Zara mumbled, trying to finish the last piece of toast. She watched them as Murray sat back down at the table with his coffee, blowing slightly on the surface of the liquid.

“This bit needs moved over a bit,” Aleks was pointing at the screen, at the image of their invite.

“Which way?” Murray asked, Aleks pointed and Murray moved a tiny piece of text to one side.

“That’s it,” Aleks said, nodding. Zara stood watching the two of them, she could feel her heart thudding in her chest and her breath caught in her throat. She had to do this soon if she was going to do it at all. She turned the butter knife over and over again.

“So, do you guys have a plan?” She heard her own voice without entirely realising she’d spoken.

“For the wedding, d’you mean?” Aleks asked, not turning his head away from the laptop.

“Like after, I mean,” Zara had started, so she had to keep going. “Like, are you gonna try and get a house, and kids and all that.”

“We haven’t quite decided everything yet,” Aleks said quickly.

“Well, we kind of have,” Murray chipped in, looking slightly frustrated.

“Oh, sorry, have I said something wrong?” Zara looked between the two of them.

“Well, I’ve still got one year, then specialisation before qualifying,” Aleks explained, which was the same position Zara was in herself. “And Murray’s got another year-”

“I’m thinking of graduating this year,” Murray cut over Aleks.

“What? At the end of this year?” Zara couldn’t quite hide the surprise in her voice. “Without honours?”

Murray sighed, he’d clearly heard that several times already. “Yeah, without honours.”

“Wouldn’t you be worth doing last year just for the sake of it?” Zara said, and she could tell by Aleks’ face that he’d been thinking exactly what she was saying.

“Well, see – I’ve been offered a position as a choreographer and dance teacher with the Glasgow Academy,” Murray told her. “and, well – I mean, even one year with them could get me enough contacts to set up my own dance school.”

“Really? Wow…” Zara had no idea, but it sounded like a great opportunity.

“And as much as uni is great – and, yeah I could get an honours degree in another year, but it’s not what I want to do…” He shrugged.

“I guess you’ve got to go for what you think is your way,” Zara agreed.

“Yeah,” he nodded, “but that means explaining to everyone why I’m leaving uni.|”

“Though, you’re not leaving, are you?” Zara suggested. “You’re graduating with a degree – but if it’s not your passion, life’s too short, isn’t it?”

“Exactly!” Murray stated enthusiastically. “So that’s what I’m thinking.” Aleks made a small noise of dissent. “Aleks doesn’t like the idea though; me, working and earning while he’s still studying.”

“It’s not that,” Aleks protested, looking affronted. “It’s not about you earning and me not – I just, I dunno… I know you want to dance, I’m just a bit wary.”

“Don’t be!” Murray insisted, patting Aleks’ knee. “This is a great opportunity! I know what I’m doing.”

“I know you do,” Aleks said.

“Sounds like you’ve both got it figured out,” Zara commented, she’d poured hot water into a mug and was stirring it, completely forgetting that there was no teabag in the mug.

“Hopefully, yeah,” Murray nodded. Zara could feel a trickle of sweat dripping down the back of her neck.

“And – and kids and stuff?” She pressed.

“Well,” Aleks and Murray looked at one another, “we both want kids, like absolutely.”

“It’s a bit more complicated for us, being a same-sex couple and everything,” Murray commented.

“Really?” Zara questioned, a little surprised. “I’d’ve thought things would’ve moved on a bit by now.”

“Oh, well, it has mostly – but I mean, we can’t just “get pregnant”, can we?” Murray let out a little laugh, nudging Aleks jovially.

“Not from lack of trying,” Aleks mumbled, and Murray’s cheeks flushed bright red; Zara closed her eyes, that was a mental image of her friends she didn’t need.

“No, I mean – we’ve got to go through the whole adoption process, get interviewed and approved, then you’ve got to wait for a child and, assuming that they’re the right match and everything, you then have to go through all the legal adoption stuff,” Murray said all of this very fast; both Aleks and Zara stared at him.

“Sounds like someone’s done their research,” Zara said; and for some reason she felt a little more at ease than she’d felt before.

“Yeah,” Aleks agreed, his eyebrows raised.

“You’ve got to know,” Murray shrugged casually.

“So, if – what if you knew someone who’d give you a baby?” She said, trying to sound as though this was the next obvious question.

“Like a closed adoption?” Murray said, he seemed to know more about the situation than either of them. “Or surrogacy? I mean, they’ve both got pros and cons.” He shrugged.

“Well-“ Zara’s heart was racing so fast that she was surprised that words were even coming out of her mouth. “Say one of your friends was having a baby, and they were willing to give you the baby?” She was trying her hardest to stay calm. But Aleks’ eyes had widened in his face, and Zara knew that he’d cottoned on to something – even if Murray was blissfully unaware.

“I mean, that certainly makes things easier-” Murray started, but this time Aleks cut over him.

“Zara – are you…?” He tailed off, turning in his chair to look at her.

“What?” Murray looked nonplussed as he turned between Zara and his partner.

Zara turned to her side, pulled up the front of her jumper and pulled at the back of her t-shirt, revealing the small but tell tale bump. Her two friends both stared at her in relative shock, and there was a good thirty seconds before anyone said anything. Then it was Murray who broke the silence.

“Oh my god! Oh my god Zara!” He squealed, his hands going to his face; then he sprang to his feet and threw his arms around her. “Congratulations!” He said, then he pulled back with his hands on the top of her arms. “Wait – how?” He looked slightly confused.

“Me – and a boy…” She said vaguely. “One thing led to another…” She shrugged and grimaced. “You don’t need the gory details, do you?”

“I’d rather not…” Aleks chipped in.

“Well, I’m now in this situation,” Zara pointed to her bump. “And I’ve been chatting with the dad, and I thought I should put my feelers out – find out if there’s any options before I go professional.”

“Options…” Murray said, looking at Zara. “You mean – us?” Murray pointed to Aleks and himself.

“I mean, I know it’s a lot for you to take in,” Zara explained, pulling her jumper back down over her bump. “And it’s not perhaps at the right time for your plan – but I needed to give you the option, so you can think about it.” Her heard was thudding again.

“Zara – are you serious about this?” Aleks asked, his voice much calmer than Murray’s. “I mean, this is a baby, your baby… Are you sure about giving it away?”

“It’s not in my plan,” Zara answered honestly, shrugging. “I know that probably sounds callous – but I want to be an army medic. I don’t want a kid.” Her hand had gone automatically to the bump. “But others do… so, easy equation.”

“”That’s a serious equation Zara,” Murray agreed.

“I know, but it’s the right one - and the dad agrees,” Zara stated firmly.

“Wow…” Aleks ran his hands through his long hair, still looking a little shell shocked at the whole revelation.

“Us?” Murray repeated, looking surprised still.

“I know it’s a lot to take on, and think about, but I’ve told you now…” Zara said. “And you can think about it,” she picked up her mug, “and you can let me know.”

Before giving either of them time to say anything else, she marched out of the kitchen and straight back into her room. As soon as she laid down her mug, she collapsed onto her be – curling onto her side with her hand protectively underneath the bump.

She had done it. She had told them. Now she just needed to see what they’d say… Would it be a yes, or no?

[angrylizardjacket]

Asher Kids Do An Interview

Choose an OC.

Answer them as that OC.

Tag 5 people to do the same.

Tagging @siriuslymooned​ @sam-writes​ @toplesstaylor​ @rogerandhishair​ and anyone else who sees this and wants to do it!!

[aydtd]

Note: Astrid is the oldest. Cate is the middlest. Barney is the youngest.

1. What is your name?

Cate: Cate Taylor.

Barney: Barney Clarke- Taylor... Sun. 

Astrid: Astrid Taylor.

2. Do you know why are you named that?

Cate: It’s short for Catherine.

Astrid: Is that what it’s short for?

Cate: Shut up.

Barney: What are you short for?

Astrid: That’s just how I grew.

Barney: You grew?

Astrid: I didn’t come out of ma at five-foot nothin’, yeah I fuckin’ grew, ya turnip.

Cate: Barney’s short for Barnabus.

Astrid: Barney’s short for a giant.

Barney: Taller than both of you.

Astrid: Taller than everyone.

Cate: ’s not difficult to be taller than Trid.

Astrid: Shut it; Barney what’s the deal with your last name?

Barney: Clarke is my professional name, I was born a Taylor, and I married into Sun. So legally I’m Barnabus Sun-Taylor, but I’m usually credited professionally as Barney Clarke.

Astrid: Huh. Nice; I didn’t realise you and Mickey [Barney’s partner] hyphenated. I’m named Astrid ‘cos dad liked how it sounded.

3. Are you single or taken?

Barney: Taken. [Barney wiggles the fingers off his left hand, to show where a wedding ring sits neatly on his ring finger.]

Cate: Taken? Taken. Not married though, almost made that mistake before.

Astrid: Single as.

4. Have any abilities or powers?

[There’s a long silence, the three of them look at one another with confusion.]

Barney: I played a superhero once.

Astrid: Oh yeah, you were good in that, what was it-?

Barney: X-Men.

Cate: Did you really forget X-Men?

Astrid: He’s been in a lot of movies!

5. Stop being a Mary Sue.

Cate: The next time you read an alcoholic, lesbian, disaster Mary Sue, can you please send me a link? 

Astrid: Hey!

Barney: I’m pretty sure it’s ‘Gary Stu’ for me?

Cate: You’re not a Gary Stu... Actually-

Astrid: Maybe a little?

Barney: I’m successful, there’s a difference, I think.

Cate: (amused) Did you put yourself through the litmus test?

Astrid: There’s a litmus test?

6. What’s your eye color?

Astrid: Blue.

Cate: Blue.

Barney: Ma’s eyes all the way; green.

7. How about your hair color?

Barney: Ginger.

Cate: I dunno, I think I’d consider myself a strawberry blonde.

Astrid: We’re a weird sliding scale between mum and dad; I’ve got dad’s blonde hair.

8. Have any family members?

[They look at each other with amusement.]

Astrid: (sarcastically) No, I’ve never seen these people before in my life.

9. Oh? How about pets?

Cate: My daughter’s been asking about getting a dog and I’m pretty sure Joe’s gonna get her one if he gets wind of how much she wants it. 

Astrid: God, imagine her little face if Joe gets her a puppy, oh Christ.

Cate: She’d cry, she’d absolutely cry, like happy tears but... oh, God I’m gonna get a dog aren’t I?

Barney: Pets are great; I love Sir more every day.

Astrid: I hope [Cate’s] dog is nothing like Sir, that cat is an asshole-

Barney: Only to you.

Astrid: Barn, your cat is an asshole.

Barney: You’re an asshole.

10. That’s cool, I guess. Now tell me something you don’t like?

Astrid: Barney’s fucking cat.

Barney: Astrid.

Cate: Calm down you babies. I don’t like wearing high heels.

Astrid: Seconded.

Barney: Thirded.

11. Do you have any activities/hobbies that you like to do?

Barney: I box.

Astrid: That’s your go-to, isn’t it?

Barney: Fine, I also enjoy swimming, spending time with Mickey, and mixing drinks. 

Cate: That’s cute.

Astrid: I enjoy drinking the drinks he mixes.

Cate: That’s less cute.

Barney: Drinking isn’t a hobby.

Astrid: Alright, I enjoy going to pubs to listen to music, driving fast cars, and spending time with pretty people.

Cate: Yeah, that checks out. I don’t have a lot of time for hobbies, though I play music, my bass mostly, and, ah, studying languages I guess. And spending time with Claud [her daughter], obviously.

12. Have you ever hurt anyone in any way before?

Astrid: Bar fights, mostly. Smacked a few assholes who’ve heckled Barn’s movies while I’m trying to watch them.

Barney: That’s actually kind of sweet. I’ve only been in one bar fight, and Trid finished that guy off, but other than that, and a few stunts gone wrong, a few hits in boxing, not really.

Cate: (visibly uncomfortable) Not, uh, not physically.

13. Ever… killed anyone before?

Astrid: What the fuck? No.

14. What kind of animal are you?

Cate: I think I’m a meerkat.

[Astrid immediately raises her hands up to her chest like paws, perking up and looking around, imitating a meerkat. Cate smiles, and imitates the gesture.]

Barney: Yeah, I can see it. Trid’s that terribly taxidermied- ah, [he pulls out his phone, and taps away at the screen for a moment] cheetah! 

[Astrid shoves him, but both he and Cate are laughing.]

Astrid: You’re your asshole cat.

15. Name your worst habits?

Barney: Oh, Mickey actually hit the nail on the head when we did the Husband Tag on their channel the other day- follow Mickey, they’re sunteamick, all one word, on YouTube.

Cate: What did they say?

Barney: I’m too unperturbed.

Astrid: You’re too chill?

Barney: They said I’m a danger to myself because of it; got hit in the face at boxing a few months ago, broke my nose - not the first time, but still not pleasant - and went home instead of to the hospital because I didn’t think it was that bad. It wasn’t; I still should have gone to hospital but it wasn’t that bad. Much worse things could have happened, it’s just a nose.

Cate: You need to be more perturbed?

Barney: I need to be more perturbed.

Astrid: Being unperturbed isn’t exactly a habit.

Barney: I also leave the cap off the toothpaste after I use it.

Cate: That’s bad and you should feel bad.

Barney: I do, but I’ll never change. It perturbs Mickey.

Astrid: My worst habit is that - I’m a stunt driver sometimes, right, and I do mad dangerous stunts, and every time I get injured or have like, a near death experience, I don’t think like ‘oh maybe I should slow down’, I think ‘how long until I can get this fuckin’ cast off and get back behind the wheel?’.

Cate: You’re an adrenaline junkie.

Astrid: But only with dangerous car stunts.

Barney: You perturb me.

Astrid: Good.

Cate: I bite my nails.

16. Do you look up to anyone at all?

Astrid: Physically or metaphorically?

Barney: You look up to everyone physically. 

[Note; Barney Clarke is 6′4. Astrid Taylor is 5′0.]

Cate: Our parents, obviously. They’re very successful, and have been through a lot. I grew up idolising them because they’re my parents, but as I came to know more about them as people, it was just natural to idolise them as people too.

Barney: Yeah, mum and dad, also Alec Baldwin.

Cate: Alec Baldwin, really? I wouldn’t have picked that.

Barney: Did you see him in Streetcar? [he hums appreciatively] That man’s career, his talent, all the stuff of legend. Meryl Streep, too.

Cate: Yeah no, I get that.

Astrid: Meryl Streep can get it.

17. Are you gay, straight or bisexual?

Barney: Uh, I’m pan?

Cate: I’m probably on the asexual spectrum, I haven’t thought about it in a while. Not aromantic though, I guess I’d be bi or pan romantic? Queer. I’m queer.

Astrid: I’m- look at me, I’m a whole damn lesbian.

18. Do you go to school?

Astrid: I take a few classes here and there, but I actually didn’t finish high school, dropped out in Year 10 with my parent’s blessing and started working as a mechanic.

Cate: I haven’t studied in a while but I have a Masters in Public Relations.

Astrid: And she speaks like eight languages.

Cate: Five.

Astrid: Still, you’re a very impressive lady.

Cate: Thanks, Trid. 

Barney: I finished high school, but I’ve been working pretty steadily since then, don’t have a degree or anything.

19. Ever want to marry and have kids one day?

Cate: I’ve got Claud, I almost married her dad, but... but that would have been bad for everyone. I’m not in a hurry to get married, let’s say.

Barney: Mickey and I don’t really want to be parents just yet, maybe one day, but we’re happy just spoiling Claud when we can.

Astrid: Oh, absolutely seconded; that kid is terrifyingly sweet for how spoiled she is.

Barney: She’s so great.

Cate: She really is.

20. Do you have any fangirls/fanboys?

Astrid: I run a Barney stan account on Twitter.

Barney: Really?

Astrid: Fuck no, but he does actually have fans.

Cate: I guess we all have fans in our own way, but a lot of that, like minus Barney, who’s genuinely a star, is more because of mum and dad.

Astrid: Imagine if Claud grows up to be a Queen stan on tumblr.

Cate: That’s horrifying.

21. What are you most afraid of?

Cate: The concept of Claud finding smut about Joe.

Astrid: The concept that Cate’s found and read smut about Joe.

Barney: Why would she need it? Couldn’t she just-

Astrid: Maybe before they were together?

Cate: I hate you both.

Barney: Well, that’s not a ‘no I haven’t read smut about my boyfriend’. Also I’m afraid of submarines.

Astrid: Submarines?

Barney: The big hole in the front of them gives me anxiety.

22. What do you usually wear?

Barney: Astrid doesn’t get to answer this one because she doesn’t know what fashion is, and dresses like a single dad in the middle of his mid-life crisis.

[Astrid shrugs but keeps quiet; her shorts have oil stains on them.]

Barney: Good. I’m a fan of colourful button-downs and slacks.

Astrid: Gucci [pronounced Gucky, like ducky but with a G] button-downs, you mean. 

Barney: (quietly, but with a lot of feeling) I hate you.

[Cate is laughing too hard to answer. She wears a pastel sweater and well fitting jeans.]

23. What’s one food that tempts you?

Astrid: Kracken Rum.

Cate: That doesn’t count as food.

Astrid: I’m not changing my answer.

Cate: Fine. Original Glaze Krispy Cream Donuts.

Barney: Like the ones dad used to buy us when we’d visit him on tour in America?

Cate: Yeah! God they’re good.

Barney: I’m always tempted by whatever Mickey cooks, though they don’t do it a lot. I usually cook. I enjoy it a lot.

24. Am I annoying to you?

Cate: No, you’re fine.

25. Well, it’s still not over!

Astrid: How many questions left?

26. What class are you (low/middle/high)?

[All three of them seem to become uncomfortable with the question.]

Cate: We- we’re comfortable. Our parents are Roger and Ash Taylor, we’ll always be comfortable.

27. How many friends do you have?

Cate: I’d say we’ve all got good circles - very different circles, sure-

Barney: If Astrid could stop collecting my pretty-boy costars that is.

Astrid: (smugly) It’s not my fault I’m good at making friends with your pretty-boy costars.

Barney: I’m glad people don’t realise we’re related, sometimes.

Astrid: Because I embarrass you?

Barney: (grumbling under his breath) Because everyone thinks you’re cooler than me.

Astrid: Men are so easy to get; look good, drive fast, and drink hard. Once they find out I’m gay and I can help wingman them really well, and maybe fix their cars, I’ve got ‘em, hook, line, and sinker.

Barney: That’s a bit of a generalisation, don’t you think?

Astrid: Fine; pretty boys in Hollywood are easy to get. 

Barney: That much I’ll give you.

28. What are your thoughts on pie?

Cate: Actually, Barney, that apple pie you made for Easter was stunning, I was meaning to tell you.

Astrid: Easter was months ago.

Cate: I’ve been busy!

Barney: Thanks, I can send you the recipe if you like.

Cate: I’d never have the time to cook it.

Barney: I’ll make it for you again, then. 

29. Favorite drink?

Astrid: Kracken. Rum.

Barney: Peanut butter and chocolate milkshake.

Cate: (again, uncomfortable) Orange juice, I guess.

30. What’s your favorite place?

Barney: The kitchen of my LA apartment, with a roast dinner in the oven and Mickey sitting at the kitchen island talking to me about their day.

Cate: Awww!

Astrid: That’s really sweet, Barn.

Cate: Well mine’s probably being side of stage at one of dad’s concerts with Claud with me.

Astrid: (quiet) Mine’s gonna sound stupid.

Cate: No, it’s- well, maybe.

Astrid: It’s just- I don’t really have like a favourite favourite place, you know? I have like, moments with people that just stick with me. Like, I shared a cigarette with Ben [Hardy] during one of Cate’s gigs and I just remember talking and laughing and looking up at the stars, and I could hear my talented as all fuck sister playing inside, and I just- it was lovely. 

Cate: Trid...

Astrid: And you know, I do remember X-Men, you know? Because when you flew with that scream-thing you do in the movie? I fucking cried. I was so fucking proud, dude. My favourite place is in a cinema watching my little brother on the big screen, or at a bar watching my sister smash out some of the best rock and roll of our generation, or watching dad play, or seeing mum’s smile when she’s finally happy with an outfit- fuck, sorry I didn’t mean to get all sappy and shit.

Barney: No- Trid, no, don’t apologise.

31. Are you interested in anyone?

Astrid: Not in a long-term sense.

[Cate and Barney share a frown, before turning their identical ‘are you kidding me?’ looks on the interviewer.]

32. That was a stupid question…

Barney: Yeah, I’m married.

33. Would you rather swim in a lake or the ocean?

Cate: Ocean, always the ocean.

Barney: Yeah, I’m with you on that one.

Astrid: But the ocean has submarines in it.

Barney: Well I can’t see them so it’s fine.

Astrid: Fair cop, I also have to say ocean.

34. What’s your type?

Astrid: (teasingly) Cate likes cute, goofy actors with dumb perms and big grins and-

Cate: Astrid likes all girls ever, especially if they buy her a drink.

Astrid: Guilty as charged.

Barney: Two opposite ends of the spectrum? Every girl ever and Joe Mazzello specifically?

Cate: ... Pretty much.

35. Any fetishes?

[Astrid opens her mouth, but Cate smacks her hand over her mouth.]

Cate: That’s information I don’t need to know about my sister, thanks.

Barney: (grinning) Bondage.

Astrid: (muffled) Nice.

Cate: Christ.

Barney: That’s the tame shit, Catie.

Cate: You are my Baby Brother, shut your mouth. Ow!

[Astrid has bitten Cate’s hand. She removes her hand from Astrid’s mouth.]

Barney: I’m a married man!

Cate: I don’t want to know what you guys are into, and I don’t want you to know what I’m into, okay? We all know too much about our own family, I’d like some modicum of privacy.

Astrid: Yeah, after you see your mum bare it all in a photoshoot from the seventies with Bowie, life does get a little weird.

Barney: Oh, I forgot about that. Okay, moving on.

36. Camping or outdoors?

Astrid: Camper van.

Barney: I like hiking, but not really camping.

Cate: Claud camps in the backyard sometimes, it’s fun to join her, sometimes we stargaze.

Astrid: That’s a grossly cute image to end on.

Barney: Does Joe stargaze with you guys?

Cate: (blushing) Once or twice. Claud fell asleep on him last time. It was pretty cute.

Astrid: Oh that’s actually really cute.

Cate: Yeah, it was.

[literallyusuk]

Just For Us (USUK)

Summary: England. 76 Chambers Street. 6:30. The door will say ‘closed for renovation’ but it’s open. Meet me inside? A

Notes: HEY @diurnaldays HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! I really hope you enjoy this!!

Warnings: None

England

An innocent note lay on his briefcase when he came back from lunch. Rather than handwritten, the word seemed to have been typed on a typewriter. England took the paper into his hands carefully and could make out a similarly typed message inside. In the interest of safety, he examined the paper first to make sure there was no residue or anything off about it before opening it up.

76 Chambers Street. 6:30. The door will say ‘closed for renovation’ but it’s open. Meet me inside?

A

The other nations had slowly filed in while he was reading, and England looked up to catch America’s eye.

His boyfriend winked.

England sighed and tilted his head down to hide a small smile. That man. Always trying to be dramatic or mysterious, as if his entire existence was part of some movie. But England’s curiosity had been sufficiently piqued.

The note was tucked away into his briefcase for the rest of the day’s meetings, but England kept thinking about it. It wasn’t his first time in the city so he relatively knew where Chambers Street was, but his mind couldn’t conjure up any specific buildings of interest.

He made eye contact with America a few more times, but other than a bright smile or another wink, the bubbly nation didn’t give any indication that something was going on.

When he tried to grab America’s arm at the end of the work day, America just sidestepped him and laughed as he ran down the hall.

“You-!” But England just allowed his arm to fall back to his side.

“He’s being weird again?” Canada asked, stopping next to him and watching America tripping out of the building along with England.

“He has something planned.”

Canada nodded solemnly. “In case this is it for you, thanks for everything.”

England just snorted. “You’re very welcome.”

“By the way, Alfred keeps stealing cat treats from your house for Hero.”

“Bastard,” England murmured fondly. “In any case, see you tomorrow.”

“Or not,” Canada said with a cheeky grin.

“Or not.” England’s lips quirked up. He nodded to the other man and started down the hall.

He still had over two hours before he had to be at the agreed spot, so he stopped at a nearby restaurant for a quick meal before heading back to his hotel for a shower and a change of clothes. Since he wasn’t sure what exactly was going on, he settled for dark skinny jeans, a deep forest green dress shirt, and a steel grey vest along with his work shoes.

76 Chambers Street turned out to be a tiny stone chapel, squeezed in between two more modern buildings that absolutely dwarfed it. As promised, there was a sign on the door that proclaimed the building closed for renovations, but it opened easily under England’s hand.

The lights were off, but the interior was lit up with hundreds of small candles. It gave the place an even older air, a hush that draped itself over England’s shoulders and lungs like a veil.

A solitary figure sat in the first row of pews on the left side, golden hair glinting faintly in the light.

“This had better not be a recreation of a horror movie,” England murmured as he started down the aisle.

“It’s not,” America replied softly. Solemnly. He stood up and turned to face England, a small smile on his lips. He wore dark grey fitted slacks and a black sweater over a navy dress shirt. “Hey, we kind of match.”

“Do we?” England examined the two of them as he came to a halt beside him.

“Yeah. Grey and black and you’re in your green and I’ve got my blue.”

“I suppose so. Why are we here?”

America kissed him instead of replying right away. Broad hands cupped England’s face, cradled it and turned it just so.

“This is one of my favourite places,” America said when he pulled away. His hands dropped to England’s neck, then shoulders, then finally to his own sides. He half-turned away, looking around. “I come here a lot. No one else really does, so a lot of the time I have it to myself. I’ve slept here a few times, but usually I just talk for a while.”

“I didn’t take you for being so religious anymore.”

“I’m not. I don’t talk to anyone in particular, but there’s just something…something here that makes it easy to.” He laughed. “Or maybe not. I don’t know, but I just tend to come here when I need to.” He took in a deep breath and released it slowly.

England noticed for the first time the slightest of trembles in his shoulders. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just…a little nervous, I guess.”

“Why are you nervous?” England’s eyebrows knitted together and he reached for one of America’s hands. “Alfred, what’s wrong?”

America slipped the hand free and put both of them in his pockets. “I’m thinking you’re gonna think this is silly. Or stupid.”

“I won’t.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“Alfred, when have I ever actually, genuinely thought your thoughts were stupid? And wars don’t count. I’m not going to just dismiss whatever you have to say. We know that doesn’t work.”

“I know.”

This time, England stepped forward so they were toe to toe and tilted America’s head down for a brief kiss. “Now tell me what’s up,” he said when he moved back.

America nodded. He withdrew something from his pocket; a small black box, and knelt onto one knee. “Arthur,” he said softly. “Will you marry me?”

The breath rushed out of England’s lungs. He had been proposed to many times over the centuries, but never did his heart beat so wildly as when America did it. His lips curved up in a sad smile and he closed his eyes as he shook his head. How many times had they been through this? “I can’t. You know I can’t-”

“I know.” America was smiling too as he climbed to his feet again. “But would you? If you could?”

“In a heartbeat, my dear.”

“Then would you- Would you accept this ring anyway?”

England’s eyes flew open. This was a deviation from their script. “What?”

“Like.” America shrugged and opened the box to reveal two gold bands inside. “It won’t mean anything to the rest of the world. But it can be just for us? Just so we- Just so we know if we could…” He looked down. “We’re not human and things get so weird and hurt so much so much of the time, but my love for you will never change, England. And I don’t doubt that you love me, of course I don’t, but I’m just thinking it might be nice to just…have a more physical reminder.”

England swallowed. He didn’t trust himself to speak quite yet, so he simply stepped forward and nodded.

“Really?” America’s face lit up.

“I don’t think that’s silly at all,” England whispered thickly.

“Can I- Can I put it on you?”

“Well surely you don’t expect me to put it on myself.”

America let out a laugh at that and slipped the smaller of the rings from the box’s velvet lining. He took hold of England’s proffered hand and lifted it to his lips before sliding the ring onto the ring finger. It was a perfect fit.

England’s breath caught in his throat again as he watched the band glittering in the soft candlelight, and he held it up closer to his face. Just a simple gold ring, so unassuming, but America had given it to him and so it meant the world.

“Let me put yours on too?” he asked after a moment, drawing his gaze back to America and the ring that still sat in the box.

America smiled so brightly he could have powered a city. “Please do.”

England plucked the ring out and slid it into place with little fanfare, but once the band was on America’s finger, he brought it to his cheek. His eyes closed as he leaned into that roughened palm, and he smiled as he kissed along it until he reached the ring. The metal was cool against his lips.

“I have.” America stopped and wet his lips, then tried again. “I have matching chains back at my house. So you can wear it around your neck if you can’t have it on your hand.”

“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?” England asked, the smile on his face growing as he glanced up at the other man from under his lashes.

“I was determined to marry you some way or another this time,” America said with a sheepish grin.

England laughed. “Your persistence is endearing this time.”

“This time!” America squawked, but he was still grinning.

“This time,” England agreed. He looked around again, at the chapel and the candles and the rings on their fingers. His chest swelled, and he abruptly pulled America into a hug.

“England?” America asked, wrapping his arms around England’s waist in return.

“You’re…incredulous. I love you.”

“I love you too.” The taller nation dropped a kiss into England’s hair.

They stood there for a moment, England’s head resting on America’s shoulder. Then, England glanced up at him again. “Since this is some sort of an engagement and renegade wedding all rolled into one, should we have a first dance?”

“Hell yeah.”

“Alfred, you’re in a sacred place!” England admonished, but he hid a snicker into America’s sweater.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s fine. Hang on.” Trying not to jostle England around too much, America fished his phone out of his pocket and searched up a song on YouTube. He soon set it down on the pews and pulled England into a more proper dancing position as Peter Gabriel’s version of ‘The Book of Love’ started playing from the speakers. “I always think of us when I hear this,” he whispered.

England’s eyes softened, then dampened as they swayed. “So do I.”

Even though the music was playing out of a phone, the chapel’s acoustics did a good job of bouncing the sound all throughout the space. America squeezed his hand and leaned his head against England’s. He led England in a slow dance up and then back down the aisle, twirling dipping him in front of the altar and singing quietly into his ear.

England joined him for the last verse.

“And I, I love it when you give me things.

And you, you ought to give me wedding rings.

You ought to give me wedding rings…”

He buried his head into America’s shoulder once more as the music faded away, his fingers gripping onto his lover’s – his husband’s – sweater tightly.

“Are you crying?” America asked softly.

“No,” came the wobbly reply.

“Okay.” America hid a smile in England’s hair and pressed a few more kisses into the silky strands. He was content to stand there and just hold England until the older nation had composed himself again. He also tactfully ignored the damp spot on his shoulder, and refrained from commenting on England’s red cheeks.

“Well,” England said, sniffing rather harshly. “I do believe that was the shortest wedding I’ve ever attended.”

“The best though, right?”

“Yes. The very best.”

America suddenly grinned. “Should we move onto the wedding night?” he asked, waggling his eyebrows.

England swatted his arm. “Sod. At least dine me first.”

“You’re in luck; I made us dinner reservations for eight just a few blocks away. You’ll love the place.”

“We still have some time before then,” England said, glancing down at his watch. “What shall we do until then?”

America reached for his phone. “Dance?”

England smiled and nodded, reaching for it. “Let me pick a song.”

Music filled the air again as they danced and twirled, the golden bands shimmering on their fingers, the candlelight their only witness.

[izzy-b-hands]

Mark the Date, Pt 2

Okay, so a part three will be in order, if only because more keeps happening!! These boys will be the death of me. 

Wanted to note their wedding colors as well; used this website to get to them because I needed to be as picky as possible and play with colors: https://coolors.co/. 

Specific hex codes are: F6E27F and A9B18F!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

He was sleeping hard enough that he only just registered the sound of knocking on the front door, and the persistent ringing of the doorbell.

He shot out of bed. “Snafu! Get up, he’s here!”

Snafu raised his head, one eye still closed. “Mhm? Who?”

“The tailor?”

The closed eye shot open, and he groaned. “Fuck. I haven’t showered, and I have to, I am disgusting.”

“I got this. You shower quick, I’ll let him in, get him sat down with some coffee, then when you come down, I run up here and shower,” Eugene said as he pulled on a T-shirt and the first pair of slacks he could find, a belt looped through whichever loops he could actually find as he rushed.

Snafu was out of bed and in the shower before he even made it out of the bedroom, half slipping down the stairs as he ran down them.

“Hi, Mr...” Eugene panted as he opened the door, and held a hand out to shake.

“Taylor,” the tailor replied tersely, a hand reaching up to smooth his already perfect grey hair, styled carefully to one side. “Our appointment was for seven sharp. It is now ten minutes past.”

“My apologies. We slept through our alarm clock,” Eugene replied, nervously pulling his hand back as Mr. Taylor walked past him and into the house like he owned it, his dress shoes clacking on the floor.

“Taylor. That’s a heck of a last name, considering...y’know,” Eugene tried again as Mr. Taylor settled himself in a chair in the sitting room, smoothing non-existent wrinkles from his suit.

“So I’ve been told. Did the coffee sleep through its alarm as well?” Mr. Taylor asked, setting his leather bag by his feet.

“Of course not, give me just a moment,” Eugene replied. He didn’t remember this man for the life of him, and wondered how on earth his father knew him. Or why he’d want to spend time with someone so...strangely rude.

“Okay, your turn,” Snafu was behind him suddenly, skidding into the kitchen, his shirt buttoned incorrectly.

“I’ve got to take him his coffee first,” Eugene replied calmly, gesturing to the bag of coffee grounds he’d only just pulled from the cupboard.

“I can do it, you go,” Snafu said.

“Fix your shirt first,” Eugene laughed, and continued to make the coffee, watching as Snafu looked down, and sighed.

“Didn’t even notice. How is this guy anyway? Your dad said he’s...different.”

“Different is one way to put it. My mother would say rude, I think,” Eugene replied.

“Great,” Snafu muttered sarcastically as he finished rebuttoning his shirt and took over the coffee. “So I should be prepared to bite my tongue?”

“Think we’ll both be doin’ that,” Eugene said as he kissed his cheek and left to run to the shower.

It was a quick one, but any time away from their guest made him feel unsettled. What weird things might he be saying to Snafu? Had he gotten upset all together and just left, ready to call his father and condemn them both as terrible to work with?

He could hear Snafu and Mr. Taylor talking as he jogged back downstairs, his hair still slightly damp even though he’d done his best to dry it as much as possible.

The sight of them was more to take in. Snafu was standing in the sitting room half naked, looking mildly panicked with Mr. Taylor crouched between his spread legs with a tape measure, muttering to himself.

“Eugene! So glad you’re back! I promised Mr. Taylor here you wouldn’t be long,” Snafu was over-enunciating, as best he could with his accent, clearly looking to escape.

“And yet long he was,” Mr. Taylor remarked dryly as he stood up. “Off with your shirt. I take measurements from what you’re wearing, as well as of the body. Pants we’ll do after. And I presume you have swatch samples for me as well?”

Eugene tried to process everything as quickly as he could, but it was a struggle. “We...Mr. Taylor, can I be honest with you?”

“I should hope you would be, or we’d be wasting your time and mine,” Mr. Taylor replied as he jotted notes down in a notebook set on the coffee table, and motioned for Snafu to sit.

“We haven’t done anything like this, really. I mean, we’ve both been fitted for things, but not...wedding things. And this was meant to be an anniversary surprise, so I just found out about it yesterday,” Eugene laughed, hoping Mr. Taylor would as well.

He didn’t.

“Um. So I hope you can bear with us, during this appointment. For the things we don’t know, or don’t expect. Like the swatches, I don’t know if we-”

“We do have those,” Snafu interrupted. “Mary brought them to me a few days ago, at work. She’s a lifesaver.”

“Indeed,” Mr. Taylor replied. “Are you going to bring them to me, or shall I hunt for them myself?”

Snafu snapped up and ran out of the room like he was on fire, flashing Eugene a frightened glance as he left. 

“Mr. Taylor, if we’ve somehow offended you, then I am very sorry. And I know, we’re green at all of this and it must be irritating to deal with, and-” 

Mr. Taylor held up a hand to interrupt him, and motioned to one of the chairs. 

Eugene sat, and started to unbutton his shirt as Mr. Taylor motioned at the buttons. 

“Young man, the only irritating thing to me is that your father didn’t reach out sooner to me. By his own words, your husband had asked him to call me months ago, but he’d forgotten until your mother reminded him. That is why I am here at such an ungodly hour, so terribly close to your wedding, when really I should only need to come around for a last minute check of the fit by this point. Other tailors might do it differently, but by god I have my method and it works,” Mr. Taylor replied as he pulled a pipe from his bag, sorted it, and lit it. “You both deserve something fantastic, not last minute. So I’m going to do the best I can, but never fear, my best is incredibly good. Did my own wedding, actually. John and I were quite a picture together, if I do say so myself.” 

It took a moment to process, but once it clicked it hit like a hammer. “My father-” 

“Was one of the few people at my wedding,” Mr. Taylor interrupted. “Tried to get him to be a groomsman, but he feared he’d be called away by a patient and didn’t want to leave me hanging.” 

Eugene nodded as he pulled his shirt off, making a mental note to ask his father about Mr.Taylor later. 

Snafu jogged back into the room, and handed the swatches over without a word, sitting only when Mr. Taylor motioned him towards a chair. 

“Alright. I can work with this,” he said, looking over the yellow and green swatches. “A bit muted, but that’s sensible enough. After all, you’ve been married how long?” 

“Three years, in three more days,” Snafu replied quickly, a hand reaching out for Eugene’s. 

Mr. Taylor only smiled as he set the swatches aside, set his pipe on the coffee table, and stood. “Up with you, Eugene. I’ve already humiliated Merriell with the process, your turn now.” 

It was humiliating, if only because Mr. Taylor was rather rough. He moved limbs and prodded and measured as if he was measuring furniture, not a person. But he seemed to relax as they finished and sat again, watching them both with softened eyes. 

“So. I don’t mean to pry, but I do love weddings. How’s the rest of it going?” 

“Sn-Merriell’s done the majority of the planning,” Eugene replied. “But it seems, well.” 

Snafu nodded, his hand having returned to Eugene’s as soon as he was sat back down beside him. “Got decorations and all that ready for the backyard, comin’ in a few days. Gonna finish the gazebo later today, hopefully.” 

Mr. Taylor nodded. “And vows?” 

Snafu turned to Eugene, and shrugged. “Um. The usual ones, I suppose.” 

“Oh boys, that won’t do,” Mr. Taylor tsked. “You mean to tell me neither of you has even tried writing your own vows?” 

“I’d like to stress I’ve only known about this for half a day, so,” Eugene interjected. He hadn’t even considered vows. 

“Maybe so,” Mr. Taylor replied. “But I’d bet you’ve thought about all the ways you love him and would want to tell him over and over again, in a thousand different words.” 

Eugene nodded and squeezed Snafu’s hand. “That’s true.” 

“Then there are your vows!” Mr. Taylor chirped. “Just narrow it down to a few big statements, keep it clean for the family, and for god’s sake do not set it to music. The ones that do are almost always the ones who shouldn’t; that’s not me trying to insult either of you, I’m just being honest.” 

Snafu giggled, and the tension broke a bit more. 

“Are you that type? Romeo with a lute, underneath Mercutio’s window?” Mr. Taylor giggled right back. 

“Nah, nah. Unless he asked me,” Snafu replied. 

“You’d write a song for me if I asked you?” Eugene smiled. The thought was an interesting one. Snafu didn’t have a bad voice, but he pondered what he’d write. 

“Do a lot of things for you if you asked me, darlin’,” Snafu said. 

Mr. Taylor squealed, and they both jumped. 

“You two are so sweet; I cannot handle it,” he continued. “It’ll be close, but I promise I will have everything done by the morning of the wedding. I’ll come by, make sure you’re all fitted right, then-” 

“Stay?” Eugene asked. “I mean, if you don’t have other work to attend to. We’d love to have you as a guest at the wedding.” 

Mr. Taylor was glowing. “And I would be honored to be there. That’s the plan then! I can’t wait!” 

He’d gone from the rudest stranger Eugene had ever hated having in the house, to someone he wanted to invite to stay for dinner (if nothing else, he pondered what stories of his father he might have.) But he left after a few more bits of conversation about the colors and pocket squares and bow ties, and the house seemed alarmingly empty then. 

“Vows...” Snafu murmured as he meandered outside, stripping off his shirt as he retrieved his toolbox from its place by the back door. 

“Are we allowed to show them to each other, you think? Once we’ve got them all written, I mean,” Eugene asked as he followed him outside. 

Snafu shrugged. “Probably not, but I don’t see why we couldn’t. Gotta make sure you include a passage about how amazing my cock is.” 

“You remember he said to keep it clean?” 

Snafu shrugged again. “Can have clean or honest, not both.” 

“I think I can manage both,” Eugene chuckled. “You really wanna talk about my cock while my parents are sitting there, watching us?” 

“Good point,” Snafu replied as he started to work. “You go on in, ‘fore the sun comes up high and burns ya. You can get to writin’ your vows and I’ll start back up on this. Hope Sid gets here soon.” 

“I’m sure he won’t be long,” Eugene said. “Be careful, okay? Call for me if you need help before he gets here. Can’t marry you if you’re in the hospital.” 

“You would anyway,” Snafu smiled. “Bet I coulda proposed in a foxhole, and you would have said yes. Not sure who coulda married us...” 

His smile fell a bit. “Maybe Ack Ack. Think he would have come, if we’d invited him to this and he was...” 

Eugene nodded, trying to ignore the lump in his throat. “Yeah. I think he would have.” 

Snafu nodded quickly, and Eugene left him to it. He didn’t need to look to know Snafu was fighting off that same urge, to sit and dwell on the thought of all the people they wanted to invite, but couldn’t. The full set of groomsmen they could have had, loud and boisterous and happy to celebrate with them. 

He did his best to move those thoughts to the side as he sat down in the study with a pen and paper. Vows couldn’t be that hard. He told Snafu how much and why he loved him all the time. All he had to do was write that out. Easy as pie. Hell, by the time Snafu and Sid were back inside for the night, he could have them done, and by god, he would! This was the one part of wedding planning that would be simple.

[haloud]

take a chance and don’t ever look back -- chapter 4

ao3

Life in Roswell seemed impossibly small when he was a kid with a ticket out, but even then he had no idea how boring it could be. Work on the ranch keeps his hands busy and soothes his soul; the Fosters have been good to him in a life where Michael can’t say that often. Still, though, his brain paces his skull like a circus tiger, coiled and starving. People don’t talk to you when you start sixth grade in clothes three sizes too big; people don’t talk to you when you’re twenty-five and day drunk on household chemicals.

Boredom’s gotten Michael into trouble more and more over the past eight years but agreeing to help plan Isobel’s wedding just might take the (proverbial) cake.

Four hours into Isobel’s book of fabric samples, he’s slumped in the corner of his bunk and wracked with a new respect for his sister’s choice of career. He groans, “Why do you even need an assistant? You’ve planned a million weddings. And this time you won’t even have to argue with people who are too dumb to know that you know everything.”

Isobel stops pacing and wheels to face him with her hands on her hips, a pale satin tie clenched in each fist. “Because a good wedding is the result of the competition between two forces: an idiot with a vision and me, who knows how to make it happen. If fewer than five screaming fights take place, I consider a project a total failure.”

“Iz, I’m not gonna fight you; you know I’ll just agree because I want this to be special for you.”

“Well, if you really want this to be the wedding of my dreams—” She fights back a smile, “—you can start by having an opinion between ash blue and periwinkle. Really let me have it.”

“Periwinkle is for dumb sluts.”

“That’s the spirit,” she says, tossing the ash blue tie into the reject corner with all the rest. “Excellent. With that done, we’re all set for you guys’ fittings next week. Is Friday okay for you? Max has a thing on Saturday.”

“Iz…”

“You’re sitting in the front row, so you don’t get to say no. And before you say anything at all,” Isobel sticks her palm in Michael’s face, “I’m paying for Max’s suit too. As if I’m going to let my own brothers make their own wardrobe choices on my wedding day. How stupid do you think I am?”

“Front row, huh?” An unexpected lump in his throat blocks the words, leaving them watery and weak. He scrubs at the back of his head as Isobel gives him an exasperated look.

“Of course. None of Noah’s family will be there, so we’re not having traditional attendants or anything, but that doesn’t mean you’re not still my maid of honor.” She reaches out and cups his cheek. Her eyes glisten bright, too.

“Flattery won’t get you anywhere.”

“Doesn’t need to; you’re already here. Dumbass.”

Michael gasps dramatically as she claps him on the cheek. Then Isobel goes back into action mode, taking a step back, straightening her shoulders, and tossing her hair back like they hadn’t just been thirty seconds from weeping openly in each other’s arms.

“Alright,” she says, “I’m off to put the fear of god into a pastry chef. I’ll be back tomorrow, though—next, you get to help me put the playlist together.”

She tears out of the lot, the same terror behind the wheel she was at eighteen. He watches her go, unease prickling in his guts.

He…doesn’t want to put together a wedding playlist.

He hasn’t had much to do with music in a long time. Mostly, it just hurts. It hurts to not even be able to mock the fingerings against his thigh. It hurts to think of musicians who never got to live their dreams. It hurts to hear about love, and it hurts to be that guy who turns off the radio because of an old flame.

Not that Isobel knows any of this. Just another secret under lock and key. He’s got a lot of those, in the form of a literal locked box among several boxes he keeps shoved in drawers and under things, stuffed in the hidden corners of his life. He pulls it out and sits in in his lap; he fiddles with the little padlock holding it shut safe.

It—it was never an actual dream he had, or anything. It never formed fully in his mind. They never even knew each other until it was already too late, even if they didn’t know it at the time. Helping Isobel with all the preparing, it—it shouldn’t be this hard.

The problem is. The problem is he kind of likes it.  Sitting shoulder to shoulder with his sister on his narrow bunk while she lectures him on fabric integrity and color theory. Comparing flower varieties until he fears he’s lost his sense of smell entirely. Eating so much over-sweetened cake it makes him sick. It’s boring as hell, and frustrating, and overly extravagant, and. He wants it. And he shouldn’t want it. Not while he’s half a murderer with a rap sheet as long as Max’s latest light reading. Not while the only person he’d ever ask could be dead already, and no one even knew to tell him.

With an old, resigned ache beating dully in his throat, he slips the lock and nudges the box open. Inside are the usual suspects—old institutional copies of a human birth certificate, a Social Security card, some emergency cash, the title for his truck, all beside a small stash of other things. As a kid, he’d been a bit of a magpie. Treasure always found its way to his fingertips—pocket-sized ones, in case he had to leave again. Beads and bits of embroidery thread; glittering stones and false keys. He grew out of the habit slowly after aging out of the system. He kept what kept his memories alive and discarded the rest. He runs his fingertips over the remnants, and they feel impossibly small. A single earring of Isobel’s, missing its twin. A button off an old jacket of Max’s that someone might mistake for gold. A necklace he found at a secondhand shop—two bullet casings and a chunk of quartz threaded on a ribbon—he’d meant to leave on Rosa’s memorial before Max looked at him with salt and sulfur in his face and told him to stop going before people started talking. And there’s—just one other thing.

He stayed a magpie when it came to Alex Manes; he kept an unhealthy number of trinkets in a desperate bid to keep him close. A stub of eyeliner pencil he found in the footwell of the passenger seat. A handful of chipped guitar picks dropped on the desert sand by clever, distracted hands. Hell, he even kept an old flyer from the UFO Emporium, just because he remembered it tacked on the glass of the ticket window the day they kissed in the dark. But nothing Alex left him belongs in this box of mundane essentials and things a desperate someone might think to steal. Nothing except the thing that was never his, and always was.

Michael started helping Sanders out on weekends and days off school when he was fifteen. The old man’s sight was going, and though he refused to admit it to even Michael’s face, he knew it was a good idea to hire someone on to pick up the slack. The yard was the closest thing to a haven Michael had—it felt good to work with his hands, no one would go looking for him there, and even if Sanders could be a real bastard, he never raised his voice or his fists around Michael.

Late on a summer evening, Michael was bent double under the hood of a tourist’s Mercedes, searching for the source of a weird clunk its owner started hearing from the engine after an oil change, when he felt something cool and smooth on the tip of his finger. With a little extraterrestrial assistance, he straightened up with it in his palm—a simple silver band, no adornment, no engraving.

Sanders laughed his cackling smoker’s laugh about people dumb enough to lose a ring inside a car; red-faced, the car’s owner swore up and down that it wasn’t his, never seen it before, he’d never do anything that stupid.

So Michael just…kept it. Carried it around in his pocket. Kept it in his glove box, took it out sometimes to look at it, put it in his lockbox once he settled down a bit.

Even at seventeen, he wasn’t that kind of romantic. Marrying Alex Manes didn’t start to cross his mind until…he can’t even pinpoint when it was, exactly, that looking at the ring started feeling like looking at his future, started feeling like it deserved a matching set. It just feels natural, now, that the day he fell in love with Alex he already had a ring in his pocket.

He thinks back to being touched all nervous and hungry, and he thinks Alex might have loved him just a little, too. Maybe not enough, maybe not enough for a lifetime together, but Michael would still like the chance—that’s all he wants, just the chance—to go down on one knee and find that out some day.

But hey. It’s not about him right now; it’s about giving Iz the best damn day of her life. Helping her forget the secrets and the lies, just for a little. So he replaces the lock on the box, replaces his aching back on its shelf, and starts scrolling through the music on his phone.

He dances as Isobel’s wedding. He dances with his sister and with girls he knew from high school; he dances with Noah’s lawyer friends and other people he’s never even met before. He dances with acetone cutting his blood and his brain a thousand miles away, under vaulted ceilings and, later, under the stars.

--

In a clean, cold hospital half a world away, dancing gets a little more complicated for Alex Manes.

[mysweetestcreature]

Wish Upon A Star (StepBro!Harry) Part X

Part IX

***

“I’m so proud of you,” she smiles up at him as she balances herself on her toes to give him a quick peck. After the success of his last project––and yes, that project––Harry is now an official partner, owning an even thirty-two percent of the company’s holdings. He truly deserves it, especially considering how he had dedicated every minute of his life to working, upon completion of his degree. (It’s only now that he’s eased up, and he says she’s to blame for why he’s gone slack all of a sudden.) They’re at his congratulatory party, surrounded by his colleagues from the firm. 

“When we get home, how about you show me how much,” he husks in her ear, his hand trailing dangerously low on her body. She releases a low giggle, her fingers reaching up to caress the small hairs on his chin.

She’s sure to stick to his side all night. One of the other architect’s secretaries seems to harbor a crush on her man and makes it so painstakingly obvious. Sometimes, when she visits him on her lunch break, she’ll catch the redheaded woman––Ivy, she thinks her name is––shooting her annoyed looks whenever she passes through the doors. It’s quite funny though, how Harry never seems to notice when she’s trying so hard to show off her cleavage from her unbuttoned blouse. When she’d asked him about it before, his reply was a simple, “I only really like looking at your tits, love,” and that was the end of that discussion. 

“If looks could kill,” she says, and he doesn’t even need to turn around because he knows exactly what she’s referring to. Instead, he presses his mouth to her temple, keeping them there as her scent floods through his nostrils. “You should really talk to Greg about this one. Naomi told me she’s been begging her for a switch.” Naomi, Harry’s secretary, a sweet older lady, had expressed her grievances about the whole situation.

“Stop paying attention to her, and pay a little more attention to your fiancé, yeah?” he smirks, letting his breath hover over her expecting lips. 

***

Uh-oh.

All the wedding planning has consumed their free time outside of work. Harry’s just finalized the designs for the hotel––they’re about to start construction within the next couple of days–– and Y/n has finally managed to organize the company’s budget (no one bothered to tell her that the former executive accountant had been such a moron). When they’re not at work, they’re meeting with the wedding planner, or knocked out in bed. Any minute in between their busy itinerary is used for a quickie on the couch, in the shower, or against the fridge. 

They knew this was bound to happen eventually, they’ve talked about it multiple times now. The timing isn’t necessarily bad. With the wedding in just a little over two and a half weeks, her dress is sure to fit…hopefully. It’s just that she can’t believe she’s gone an entire month without remembering. Y/n fiddles with her 2-carat white-gold engagement ring, as she stares at her untouched foil of birth control that sits contemptuously on the island. 

“Harry?” she calls. His footsteps echo through their flat as he makes his way from the bedroom.

“Yeah, baby?” his hands slide down to her hips and he peeks over her shoulder. “What are you looking at? Aren’t those your pills?”

She nods her head slowly, “They’re from last month.” He hums in acknowledgement, and she sighs when he doesn’t get what she’s trying to allude. “I haven’t taken them in a month.”

“A month,” he repeats as if there’s no underlying meaning. She listens as he says it another three times before he’s spinning her on her heel to face him. “Are you…?” his eyes are bulging out of their sockets; his mouth hangs open with the ends turned up. 

“I don’t know. I mean, I can’t remember if I got my period last month. Or the month before…” she searches her brain for whether she had ever sent him out for tampons, but it’s all lost in the jumble of wedding prep that’s marked every inch of her memory since the beginning of May.  

Harry hesitantly places his hand on her clothed stomach, gently rubbing small circles over where a little bean might be growing into a baby, their baby. He’s always wanted to be a dad. Ever since his own had abandoned him and his mum when he was younger, he promised himself that he would never do that to his own child. 

“You think there’s one in there?” he asks and lifts his gaze to meet hers. A smile graces over her soft features when she sees the expectancy in his eyes. She knows when the time comes, whether it be sooner than expected, Harry will make the best daddy in the world, she’s sure of it. 

***

When she sees her son adjusting his collar in the mirror, she instantly bursts into tears. It feels like only yesterday that he was her little boy always begging for his mummy’s attention and menacing any man that showed even a hint of interest in her. He turns around and gives her a crooked smile and extends his arms for her to wrap herself in.

“Can’t have you ruining your makeup, Mum. Need you to be looking your best,” he jokes. Anne grasps his shoulders, leaning back to get a good look him.

“My bub is getting married, you can’t expect me not to,” she says, fixing an astray hair and smoothing it back to join the others. “I’ve just seen her, she looks absolutely stunning. I already know you’ll be spluttering over your words later.” Just before coming here, she had snuck a peak at her daughter. And bless her heart, she doesn’t think she’s ever seen a more radiant bride (just don’t tell Aunt Deborah that her she’s been overthrown). “Oh, you two are going to give me the most perfect grandbabies one day!” she exclaims, and Harry chuckles as he brings her in for another hug. 

He groans at the thought that he hasn’t seen his love in well over sixteen hours. If there’s one thing Harry doesn’t like, it’s waking up without her. His mum had insisted on them staying in separate ends of the house the night before the wedding. “The last time I’ll ever forcibly separate you,” she had joked while leading Y/n away. He doesn’t identify himself to believe any of those superstitions that those from decades before him, but just to appease her, he allowed himself to succumb to the traditions––it’s not like they need it though, after all, nothing about their relationship has been considered to follow the conventional route.

“Now you be a good husband, you hear me?” his mum says sternly. “In case it might have slipped your mind, I’m rather close to your bride-to-be, so I expect some stellar behavior from you, or so help me God.” But she knows that she doesn’t have to worry about him treating Y/n right. Because right from day one, Harry has always treated her the way every woman deserves. And if what she’s witnessed over the past few months––with an open mind this time around––it’s obvious that he doesn’t know any other way. 

***

She giggles has her father twirls her around, the skirt of her gown flowing gracefully around her feet. It’s like she’s a little girl again, dancing with her daddy, while she balances on his toes as he waltzes her around the living room. Right now, everything is much different, his precious gem is just moments away to fulfilling yet another mark a maturity. He’s gotten much better at accepting just how fast of a pace she’s grown up before his eyes. 

“Your mum would be so proud,” he says softly. After all, all of what’s happening today is her handy work. In just a few short minutes, the wedding planner will be signaling them to get into place, then he’s sending her off to embark on this new journey.

“Thanks, Dad,” she sighs happily, throwing her arms around his neck. At the height of their preparation, her and Harry had taken to looking through their parents’ wedding albums for some inspiration. And as her fingers grazed over a photograph of her mum in her white dress, she couldn’t help but wish that she had gotten more time to spend with her, to really get to know her. “She’ll be watching us, I guarantee it. Will have the best seat in the house, I reckon,” Harry had tried to lighten up her mood. 

She breathes in deeply, chills scattering down her back. “Is it weird that I’m still nervous? I mean, I’ve married him so many times in the backyard,” she laughs, and wriggles her arms to relax herself. 

“It’s completely normal to get little jitters. I’ve gotten married twice, and they just don’t go away. You should’ve seen Harry when I went to see him earlier, poor lad couldn’t even get his tie right,” he replies.

“How does he look?” she asks eagerly, not even a day, and she’s missing him terribly. When she had gotten out of bed this morning, she had called him, just wanting to hear his voice. They talked for a good hour, despite him still being half asleep and mumbling random bits of information in her ear about how he can’t wait to call her his wife, and how he wants to make more babies with her.  

“Takes after his old man, yeah?” and she rolls her eyes at the subtle stroke of his own ego. “He looks rather dashing, and hopelessly excited to see you.”

He watches as she smiles to herself, and fiddles with the flowers in her bouquet. Everything about her lets him know that she’s ready to start this new chapter in her life. Ready to take on the obstacles of marriage that he just knows that her and Harry will be exceptional at. A gentle knock on the door, and the planner pokes her head in. He nods at her, then turns back to get one last look at his daughter. 

“Let’s get you married.”

***

Age 16:

They’re walking home from Georgina Rupert’s Sweet 16. The aftermath of their confession of feelings has them feeling all giddy. Neither one of them has been able to wipe the stupid grins off their all too happy faces. And now that he knows how perfect her hand fits in his, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to let go.

“Hey, guess what?” Harry smirks, squeezing her hand.

“What?” she quirks an eyebrow. He stops walking and leans down and places a sweet kiss on her lips. When he pulls away, she’s a blushing a shade of rose. She can’t help it, she still hasn’t gotten over what had happened earlier, and she doesn’t know when she’ll get used to him kissing her, but she hopes he’ll do it again and again.

“Just wanted to kiss you,” his dimples pop out as he swings their arms back and forth. He’s so happy right now, the girl he’s loved for as long as he can remember loves him back. And it doesn’t even matter that his inner monologue is aligned with the biggest romantic clichés because that’s how amazing love actually feels. 

But like every great love story, there lies some kind of problem that gets in their way. In their case, she’s supposed to be his sister––well, stepsister more like it––and he’s not supposed to want to kiss her when she makes cute faces or giggles in that way that makes his heart beat twice as fast. He’s supposed to be guarding her from unwanted suitors and making fun of her just because he’s her brother. 

As they come closer and closer to their street, the initial feelings of excitement are slowly morphing into chest-constricting anxiousness. Y/n bites her lip nervously when the lights of their front porch become more visible with every timid step. “What are we…Harry they’ll freak out.” What would they do? For sure they wouldn’t be happy about it.

“Relax, love. I need you to relax,” he cups her cheeks to get her to stop moving and look at him. “We’re just going to have to be careful, yeah? Mum and Dad won’t find out as long as we don’t act any different from how we usually are.”

“You think we’ll be able to pull this off?” she asks unsurely. “You’re absolute rubbish at keeping secrets. Every year you blurt out what everyone’s gotten each other for Christmas. Just the other week you accidentally told Mu-”

He cuts her off by attaching his lips to hers. “You’re worth all the effort.”

***

Present Day:

Each step she takes is just one step closer to finally being able to start the lives they had always hoped for. Because now there’s no heavily guarded secret that looms ever their heads, and they are no longer afraid of getting caught in the midst of any passionate act of affection. No more hiding behind the façade that they’re not completely head over heels crazy about each other. And as she walks down the center of the white throw that covers the grass, her hand placed snuggly in the arm of her father, she can’t stop the memories that encircle her mind as she gets closer and closer to the person she shares all of them with. 

All those times she coerced him into playing her Prince Charming, to the night of their first kiss when feelings had been spewed out into the chilled air of the winter night, to the day of their unlikely reunion after punishing years of separation; each one, and every little kiss and argument in between, are all a part of the story that started way before either one of them knew how to properly tie their shoes. 

His eyes meet hers, connected by a shared trance from the vision of each other that grows bigger as she draws nearer. And it’s like he can already see their entire future flash before him in elaborate spurts of images of what the rest of their lives will be like once the priest officiates their everlasting promise of love and unity. They were just kids when their hearts chose each other, nearly eighteen years ago. But now…now they’re adults functioning in the enigma of the real world, yet he still gets that wistful flutter that encompasses his entire being whenever his name rolls off her plump lips.  

“Go get him,” Eric smiles at her and kisses her cheek through her vail, the glimmer of a tear sparkling in the corner of his left eye as he hands are off to man he’s been blessed enough to call his son. He envelops Harry in a strong hug, patting the younger man’s back. “Take care of each other,” he says to both of them. And he backs away, returning to his designated seat. He catches Anne’s eyes from the adjacent pew, and they nod at each other because finally they got it right. 

Harry squeezes her hand as he takes in her appearance up close. “You look beautiful, baby,” he whispers to her over the decrescendo of the string quartet. And she peers up at him with glistening orbs, a smile worth every pearl in the world. He leans his forehead against hers, bumping noses before they turn to the priest. 

“Dearly beloved,” his voice is light and vivacious, “we are gathered here today in the sight of God, and in the presence of family and friends to join together this man and this woman in Holy Matrimony.” Behind them, there’s already an audible sniffle. “Commended as a commendable estate, instituted by God and therefore into lightly but reverently, passionately, lovingly and solemnly. Into this, these two persons present now come to be joined. If any person can show cause as to why these two cannot be joined together, speak now or forever hold your peace.” 

As hard as they try to pay attention to the readings and all the prayers and other traditional elements of the ceremony, the bubbling mixture of elation and fulfillment make each moment they spend standing next to one another. With their hands tightly clasped together, their hearts beat as a single entity. 

For a moment, Harry loses sight of where they are, his stare panning to the left, mesmerized by the woman he’ll soon be calling his missus. It’s only until the priest is calling for him to recite his vows. The rest of his body aligns with his head, and he can already feel the sweet burn prickling behind his eyes as she looks back at him.

“I’ve known you all my life, and there’s not much I can tell you now that you won’t already know. You’re the best thing to ever happen to me, and I could go on and on about how much I love you and all that you mean to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, baby. You’re my heart…got me properly whipped, yeah?” he jokes, eyebrows mischievously bouncing. The audience bursts into a medley of laughter, as Y/n lightly hits his arm. 

“We met because our parents fell in love, and I don’t think anyone expected that we would follow their lead, but I’m so thankful that we did. Because I can’t imagine loving anyone else as much as I love you or sharing any of the experiences I’ve had with anyone else. There’s no one else I’d ever want to do any of this with.” There’s a brief moment of silence, but their eyes never stop talking. A smile from her as she tilts her head to the side, and he knows to continue. “I promise to love and cherish you for the rest of my life. I promise to be there for you through all the tests and trials we might endure, and especially when we try to take on our little one when he or she gets here.”

A gasp spreads throughout the crowd. Eric and Anne turn to each other, mouths ajar as the they replay the words in their heads. From behind him, he can here a faint ‘I knew it,’ presumedly from Miguel. They turn back to see their children staring back at them, slowly nodding to confirm their greatest delight. Anne blows them a kiss with weepy eyes, the tears making little puddles on the fabric of her dress. Her husband, along with others, start cheering and whistling in celebration of a new baby ready to enter the world.

“I already know that you’ll be the best mummy there is. Our baby is going to adore you as much as I do. And just know that once we’ve got a hang of the little bugger, I’ll be ready to start making the next one,” he winks. His hand lands on her waist, and gently tugs her close to place a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I love you both with all that I am, and I can’t wait to start our family. We deserve this, my love.”

“Y/n, if you could recite your vows to Harry.”

“I know we said no crying, but…” she carefully wipes under her lower lash line, praying that the two coats of waterproof mascara are holding up fine. “I love you, I have since I was a little girl. We’ve dreamt of this for practically our entire lives, and being here with you right now? It’s like an actual fairytale come to life.” A giggle passes through her lips. “Not many people meet the love of their lives so early, but we’ve never been a standard case.”

“We’ve been through a lot together; and even when things got messy, you were still there at the end of it all. People think the greatest love stories are just artificial narratives in movies and books, but I think ours might be the best one there is. No one has fought as hard for this as we have, and…” there’s no stopping the emotions that overcome her as she thinks about all that it took to be standing here today, “I’m so thankful that you never gave up on me or stopped loving me even when I left.”

A surreal melody of sniffling and hushed sobs spread through the crowd like wildfire. And yet, no one can truly feel the expanse of what they’re feeling. Because to everyone else, this is a wedding between two people that fell in love, but to them, it’s means so much more. This is their triumph. It’s the much-awaited illumination at the end of the darkest, most emotionally draining tunnel. With genial tears in their smiling eyes, they bask in this greatest achievement.

“And I promise you that I’ll never leave again, not unless you’re with me. I promise to be the best wife to you, and to laugh at all your jokes, no matter how corny they may be,” he rolls his eyes jokingly, at the subtle shade (his jokes are phenomenal, mind her). “Our little bub is going to be the luckiest child in the world because they will have you as their daddy.” She takes a deep breath, using the time the fresh garden air fills her lungs to really take him in, scan over the features she knows all too well. “I love you, Harry.”

***

Age 6:

Whenever they play wedding, if Y/n is the bride, then Harry absolutely has to be the groom, and vice versa. There’s no exception to the rules. Carrie had complained that it was her turn to be bride, but Y/n had stood her ground. So, as they stand in front of Fr. Jameson––who’s got his bible, a.k.a. Anne’s gourmet cookbook open to a recipe for pecking duck––imitating the lines he once heard recited on the telly. 

“Do you, Harry, take Y/n to be your wife?” he asks the curly-haired boy.

Harry nods his head eagerly, a cheeky smile adorning his young face. “Yeah! ...I mean, I do!”

“Ok…and do you, Y/n, take Harry to be your husband?” he repeats to the beaming little girl wearing her white sundress with the little daisies lined up on the bottom hem. 

“I do!” she exclaims. She plays with the bottom of her dress, as she sways her body in anticipation for what’s to come next. As everyone knows, once the bride and the groom say, ‘I do,’ they get to kiss! Cinderella kissed Prince Charming at their wedding, and so did Sleeping Beauty and Prince Philip!

Jameson shrinks away, his nose scrunching up as he scratches the back of his head. “I’m not sure what to say next,” he confesses in a whisper to Harry’s ear. Carrie, from where she stands off center, smacks her hand to her forehead. 

***

Present Day:

“For as much as Harry and Y/n have consented together in holy matrimony and witnessed the same before God and those present…” and as the ceremony draws to an end, the proclamation they’ve waited years to hear, is finally within reach, and the priest broadcasts the most delicate grouping of words to tickle their eardrums, “…I know pronounce you husband and wife.” He gives the groom a knowing look, and he knows he’s waiting anxiously for his go signal. “Harry, you may now kiss your bride.”

No one needs to tell him twice. Harry lifts the vail over his wife’s head, until it’s gracefully hanging behind her. His hands reach up to gently cup her face, thumbs stroking away the dampness on her cheek. The audience is cheering them on, waiting to witness their first action as a married couple. They both lean in, pausing for just a moment to let the ends of their lips dance around each other. It’s Y/n who closes the gap, and their mouths fully connecting. And it gives them similar feelings to the first kiss they had shared when they were sixteen when they had declared their love, but this time, there’s no need to hide any of it. 

They say that people have the power to choose their own destiny, but sometimes it won’t hurt to let fate interfere every once in a while. A widower with a daughter met a divorcee with a son during a quick run to the supermarket during lunch break. They fell in love, got married, became a family unit, simple and straightforward. But it was never their story, they were just pons in the grand scheme of life because that’s the thing about fate. It has crazy ways of bringing two people––who some would say shouldn’t be together––into each other’s lives. Fate can take on many forms: you may meet at a social event, bump carts at the store, or if you choose to believe in them, a wish upon a star.

***

Age 6:

Jameson and Carrie faces contort in pure disgust, both still firm believers in kids of opposite genders carrying cooties and other diseases. And he places the sweetest most innocent kiss on her nose, and she can’t help but giggle when she feels his wet lips touch her skin. There’s an indescribable flutter happening in their tummies––maybe they’re just hungry, Anne surely has put together some snacks inside––but maybe it’s another sensation that hasn’t quite made its way into their vocabularies at such a tender age. 

Whatever it may be, they’re in love with the feeling.

***

Present Day: 29 Weeks

Pregnancy is fun, as Y/n has come to learn. Besides the morning sickness, which doesn’t seem to be all that bad, she finds that she enjoys most of it. Her cravings had started very early, and she’s had her husband running out of their flat (their house still under construction) at 3am with some of the strangest requests, a popular one being a chippy dipped in peanut butter with a dollop of mayonnaise.

Although, he can’t complain because the sex has been amazing! God, how he’s obsessed with her boobs. There are at least a dozen pictures of close ups he’s taken since he first took notice. It’s true what they say, with her hormone levels hitched up, she’s jumping his bones every chance she gets, and he’s always a willing participant. 

So, as they lay in bed together, his back propped against the headboard as she leans into his chest, his hands gently roam her tummy. “Has he been kicking a lot today?” He loves feeling his little one moving in there. The baby loves hearing his daddy’s voice, always reacting whenever he’s near.

“Mmhm,” she hums, fingers filling in the spaces between his. “He’d been feeling fussy all morning…had me running to the loo every twenty minutes,” she shakes her head, “but then you came home and suddenly he’s an angel.”

“My boy just missed me is all, right bub?” he rubs over the smooth swell, and he feels light thump from inside. “See, already know he’ll be a fair football player!” 

She rolls her eyes and lightly jabs her elbow back. Not even born yet, and her son is already a mini-Harry. Anne had described in full detail every aspect of her pregnancy with Harry, and so far, hers is matching that to a tee.

In about ten weeks or so, they’ll finally be able to meet their baby. His conception had been a surprise, but by no means unwelcomed. A true blessing if they’ve ever heard of one. The product of their love for one another, cultivated into a tiny being soon to enter their world and change their lives forever. 

***

Present Day: 6 Years Later

Thirteen hours, that’s how long this labor had lasted her. The contractions had started while she was making lunch for her boys, a sudden rush of flowing water streaming down her legs. She’d expected the delivery of this baby to be as easy as the last, after all, they say that pregnancy gets easier with each one. 

Their first born, Lucas––or Luca, as everyone calls him––gave her no trouble at all, popping out of her within three hours of her water breaking. It’s hard to believe that he’s already five, when it feels like only yesterday she was holding him in her arms for the first time. The spitting image of his daddy, same green eyes and dark brown hair that curl at the ends, and same adorable dimples that she loves so much. Luca is their little athlete. The moment he came into contact with his little red ball that Gramps had bought for him, he was kicking it around the house, much to his mummy’s dismay. Whenever Harry’s home from work, he drags him into their backyard to kick the football around. 

When Luca was about nine months, their neighbors, Joaquin and Annalise Pewter, were giving away little puppies that their beagle had just birthed. At first the new parents had been a bit weary, but one of the pups had jumped over the barricade when he saw the family. Harry knelt to the ground, with his son in his arms, to get closer. “What do you think, little man, are we taking him home with us?” Harry had asked the nine-month old. The pup––who the family now affectionately call Pancake––scouted his snout to sniff Luca’s chubby hand, and the heartwarming sound of a baby’s magical laugh entranced all wistful listeners in the room. “That settles it then.”

Baby #2, Declan, had been the easiest of the three to deliver. Welcomed into the world as soon as she was brought to the hospital (and it’s true what they say, sex does indeed help induce labor). He’s got features to match both Harry and Y/n, ‘the most perfect blending,’ as his nan had described. Their sweet little three-year-old, always following one of his parents around the house, and pouting whenever they drop him off at nursery school. “But I want to go to work with you, Mumma” is his argument every morning. It takes everything in her to ignore his big green eyes as she rushes back into the car, but at least she’s stronger than Harry. She once scolded her husband for actually taking their son to work. 

And now, after thirteen hours of pushing as hard as her exhausted body could afford, their precious youngest snoozes in Y/n’s arms. “You did great, baby,” Harry says with his lips to her temple. “She’s perfect.” He’s completely awestruck by his little angel swaddled in the baby pink blanket, a little hat sitting atop her head to keep her warm. Her still swollen eyes shut as she basks in skin on skin connection with her mummy’s bare chest. He leans down to delicately press a kiss her flushed cheek. 

“She is, isn’t she?” Y/n replies, playing with her daughter’s little fingers on the arm that’s escaped its wrapping. 

He nods, as he wipes away a fallen tear. “Looks just like you,” he says. After two sons that resemble him more and more each day, he’s happy that he’s finally got himself a mini version of his love. “My little love is just as pretty as her mumma.” The baby’s smaller fingers now move to wrap around his index finger.  

“Why is she so tiny?” Declan asks from his place by her legs. He examines his baby sister’s small figure carefully. When Y/n had gone into labor, he was rather upset when both his parents rushed out of the house, leaving him and Luca with their grandparents. 

“Nana says all babies are tiny when they come out of their mummy’s tummies,” Luca explains. During this pregnancy, he’d grown extremely attached to Y/n. Always peppering kisses on his mum’s bump and talking to his sister through the protruding skin. 

Declan scratches his head, as he tries to absorb the new information. Suddenly he’s gasping in realization, “Was I that small, Daddy? Because I came out of Mumma’s tummy too, right?” Harry chuckles and nods in confirmation and watches his son gape in disbelief. 

“What’s her name?” it’s Luca’s turn to ask the questions. He crawls up so he’s sitting snuggly between his mum and dad, wanting to get an even closer look at the new addition to their family; and Declan follows suit, and settles in Harry’s lap. 

When they found out they were having a girl––they always opt to find out the gender of their babies as soon as possible––one name in particular came to mind. It seemed fitting, especially since they have this person to thank for all of this.

“Charlotte,” Y/n smiles, and the baby in her arms makes a little noise in response. Her eyes open widely, taking in her new surroundings. “You like that, don’t you? We can call you Charlie, my sweet girl.” 

“That’s Nana Char’s name!” Luca exclaims. The way he’s looking at his sister and the way his fingers fidget with each other gives away what’s on his mind. “Mumma, can I hold her, please?” he asks nervously. Y/n instructs him to open up his arms, and she very carefully sets the newborn in his lap, making sure that her head is well supported. He has the biggest smile on his face when Charlie peers up at him, a small quirk at the ends of her delicate lips twitch up. “She smiled at me!” 

Harry ruffles the hairs on his eldest boy’s head. “You’re doing a good job, bub,” he praises. Their younger boy starts to stir in his lap, squirming around until he’s standing up in place, his little hands clutching his dad’s shoulders. “And what’s my little monkey up to, hmm?” But Declan’s body leans flush against his chest, his head nestled into the crook of his neck. Y/n watches has his eyes begin to flutter close.

“Someone’s tired,” she rubs his back and places multiple kisses to his palm. All the craziness of this past day sure has taken a toll on them all, but of course, it had all been worth it. Harry lifts up from the side of her hospital bed, and gently sways back and forth to lull the drifting child in his arms, whispering sweet little nothings into his ear, and pecking the side of his head until he’s completely crossed over.

He meets his missus’s eyes, hers welling up with a gleaming wetness, complemented by a luminous array of whites peeking from behind her lips. She pats the empty space next to Luca and Charlie. Minding a sleeping Declan, he sits back down next to the rest of his family. It’s the one he and wife had dreamed about since before they were eighteen, and finally it’s tangible in their hands.

They did it.

Fin.

***

A/N: Marriage? Check! Adorable little bubs? Triple Check! 

Thank you for all the support you’ve given this story! I can’t even begin to express how thankful I am to each one of you. All your comments and messages have really made this experience all worth while, and I hope I’m leaving you all satisfied now that it’s come to an end, and hopefully some of you love these characters as much as I do!

Comments? Questions? Concerns? Bub Requests? Tell me here!