#and then i have to commute home and then continue packing my room god i am in so much painnnnn

[muirneach]

lowkey i feel like i am going to throw up from period pain so thats nice. enjoyable. really making completing my schoolwork easy.

[rocorambles]

Set My Heart Ablaze

Pairing: Matsukawa x Reader

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Non-Con/Dub-Con, Creepy Matsukawa, Obsessive Behavior, Public Train Sex

Prompt: Chikan/Trains/Public Sex

Summary: Neither of you can deny the mutual spark of interest between the two of you, but Matsukawa takes the matter of turning that spark into a fire into his own hands. Only time will tell if that fire will provide you warmth and comfort or burn you alive.

A/N: This is my submission for the HQHQ NSFW Collab! Masterlist can be found here. Be sure to check everyone’s content once the masterlist goes live tomorrow night~

The train doors open and Matsukawa briefly glances up, smiling to himself as you step onboard, looking left and right for an open spot despite how you always end up in the same corner of the moving vehicle. He doesn’t know anything about you, not even your name. Yet he finds himself drawn to the normalcy you bring, the comfort of knowing you’re a clockwork fixture of his everyday life.

It hadn’t always been like this.

Matsukawa is just a man at the end of the day and he doesn’t deny that he took note of you long before you became so ingrained in his life. But it had been no more than a man observing an attractive woman and he doesn’t give you another passing thought as he returns to gazing out the train windows.

But working with death on a daily basis makes you look at life differently.

He prides himself on being a practical and level-headed man and despite the heavy nature of his profession, he never thought he’d get too bogged down by the environment, by the grimness of his business. Sure, maybe someone like Oikawa would freak out within hours, if not minutes, of being in a funeral home surrounded by corpses and coffins. But he’s not Oikawa (thank God for that). It’s just a job to help keep a roof over his head and food on the table.

But the longer he’s surrounded by caskets, the more grieving and sobbing families and friends he has to comfort yet professionally guide through catalogs and brochures and price tags, he can slowly but surely feel the weight of his daily work resting heavy on his shoulders, digging deeper into him with every corpse and tragic story he reluctantly becomes privy to. Matsukawa finds a new appreciation for life, for every tiny and minute detail, and suddenly you aren’t just another stranger who happens to share his train route.

You’re a reminder that he’s still alive, that despite the curveballs life throws at some, he’s still blessed to enjoy the routine and monotony of it. Life looks different, clearer, as he begins to really pay attention, appreciating every moment he has.

Maybe he’s paying too much attention. He doesn’t know when he begins to focus so intently on you, shocking himself with the realization that he’s observed you so closely when he nonchalantly notices that you’re using a different tote bag than your usual one. When did Matsukawa Issei become someone who notices the details of a woman’s outfit and accessories?

He knows it’s not right, knows even Hanamaki would crinkle his nose in distaste if he found out Matsukawa was creepily studying a random unknown female on a daily basis. But he can’t help himself, his realization only seeming to make him unconsciously focus on you even more. He notices what hand you use to hold your phone. He memorizes every expression you make as your mind drifts off, lulled by the machinery of the train.

But looking from afar only satisfies him for so long and he finds himself creeping closer to you, adjusting where he sits to be closer to your preferred corner of the train. He always tells himself just a little closer, but it’s never enough. And although he’s now standing right beside you, close enough to see every eyelash, every pore of your skin, it’s still not enough. He needs to hear your voice, feel your body against his, know everything about you inside and out.

He understands the irony of the situation he’s found himself in, reminiscing on how Hanamaki and him had gagged at how disgusting men could be as they watched older businessmen grope and grab at poor unwilling female passengers on their way to and from school. He knows how wrong it is, how like an uninspired porno this is, but when the train conveniently rattles, he jostles his body into yours, “accidentally” bumping into you.

Acting isn’t Matsukawa’s forte, but he thinks he damn well deserves an award for the performance he’s putting on as he profusely apologizes to you, hiding the groan of satisfaction he feels from the brief contact he’d had with you, from the way your attention is solely focused on him, from the way your voice seeps into his ears like the loveliest melody he’s ever heard. He doesn’t even know what he’s saying, meaningless small and polite talk leaving his lips as his mind focuses on what’s more important, mentally recording every syllable and movement you make as you continue conversing with him. But whatever words are spilling out of him seem to be working and something hungry and possessive stirs in him when your face lights up as you board the train the next day, making a beeline towards where he stands as you cheerfully greet him.

Maybe it’s foolish of you to so easily trust and warm up to a complete stranger. But he’s tall, attractive, and interesting, which is more than you can say for most of the men you’ve met and your friends and family are always telling you to put yourself out there more. Is there really much of a difference between finding a random stranger on the countless dating apps you’ve installed versus connecting with one in person? You’d even argue that there’s something whimsically romantic about how the two of you met, even though you don’t know for sure if this is really going to lead to anything. But at the very least, your daily commute becomes more exciting.

You’re everything and more compared to what Matsukawa had imagined and if he thought he was infatuated with you before, he’s completely and utterly obsessed with you now. You’re all he can think of, all he can see in his mind’s eye, even hours after you’ve parted ways on your morning commute, even as he lays in bed in the middle of the night. And as his hand slips underneath the hem of his boxers, wrapping around his aching cock to his imaginations of what you’d look like writhing underneath him, how you’d sound moaning his name, he knows he needs to have you.

After all, as pretty as a meal can be, it’s ultimate purpose is to be devoured.

You giggle when the train shakes and you feel a long toned body shift into yours, squishing you against the wall you’re leaning against, sighing in bliss at how right, how good it feels to be in Matsukawa’s embrace even if it is just for a fleeting moment, a little accident all too common on jam packed trains. But your face heats when you continue feeling his warmth, when his body seems to press even further into you until you can feel the expanse of his body against yours, not even an inch of space left between you.

“Matsukawa-”

Your words are caught off by a gasp as Matsukawa buries his face in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent, lips and tongue mouthing and licking the sensitive skin there. You’re confused, scared, and aroused, hands reaching up to clutch at the lapels of Matsukawa’s suit, unsure whether to hold him tight to you or push him away. And your humiliation only increases when a nearby elderly couple scowls at the two of you in disdain, clearly unamused by the scandalous gestures of what they believe to be a young couple in love.

Yet you can’t help how your heart beats faster, wondering if this is proof of Matsukawa’s attraction to you, wondering if your hidden feelings for him are returned. But this isn’t the time or place for that conversation and you fervently whisper in his ear, begging him to stop, telling him people are watching.

“Is that the only reason you want me to stop? Because people are watching?”

You grow flustered at the implied meaning of his words, shame filling you at how much you’re enjoying this, hating how your neck arches for more attention as he straightens up once more, his body hiding yours from view as he stands in front of you, still pinning you to the wall.

“Better be as still and quiet as you can, sweetheart.”

You don’t have time to register his words before your mouth opens in a pathetic whine as a calloused hand trails under the hem of your shirt, sliding across the stretch of your stomach, mapping your torso before finally shoving your bra above the swell of your breasts, kneading one of your mounds, tweaking and swirling around your hardening nipple. It feels so good and you almost succumb right then and there, lost in the predatory lustful gaze he pins you with.

But when the train makes its next stop, the conductor’s voice jars you from your trance and you clutch at Matsukawa’s forearm, silently pleading for him to stop with desperate eyes despite the way you quietly mewl when he just quirks an eyebrow and pinches your nipple in retaliation.

“We can’t- We shouldn’t-”

Your hand trembles, jaw going slack when he slides one thigh between your legs, digging his hard muscles into that already dripping hole only protected by the fabric of your pants.

“You’re not very convincing. How about we play a game? If you can tell me you don’t want this without moaning like a bitch in heat, I’ll stop.”

There’s no room for disagreement as he abruptly begins grinding his thigh into your aching cunt, flexing and relaxing his muscle in a pattern and rhythm you can’t keep up with. It takes every last bit of will power in you to not wantonly ride his leg and hump against him like the lewd slut he had just accused you of being.

“I don’t want-”

You cry out in agonized pleasure as his fingers still hovering near your breasts begin to roll your nipples between calloused tips, his thigh never losing its momentum. And under the dual points of attack, your resistance crumbles. Matsukawa’s eyes widen in awe as you bounce and roll your hips against his leg, hiding your face in his chest as you try to muffle the lewd sounds slipping past your lips in the fabric of his jacket.

You’re gorgeous like this, a needy, lustful mess. But as much as he loves to see you suffer so beautifully, there’s only so much time before your stop and he decides to have mercy on you, to reward you for being so honest, so good for him. Your face snaps up to stare at him with pupils blown wide as his hand reaches underneath the waistband of your pants and panties. He groans when his fingers are instantly soaked in your arousal, your panties sticky with your fluids and his digits slip inside of your tight wet heat with no resistance at all.

He wants nothing more than to push the pesky fabric out of the way and lay you bare for his viewing pleasure, to have easy access to thrust in and out of you. But he’ll save that for another day. Instead his fingers slip out of you, tips circling your swollen clit, rubbing your sensitive bundle of nerves as you resume humping his leg, body trembling, drool beginning to trickle from your lips as you frantically chase your end. And as the train stops once more, passengers trickling in and out, you silently scream, body convulsing as he brings you over the edge, pleasure washing over you and leaving you exhausted as you shiver and slump in his arms that are quick to embrace you and hold you steady as the train begins to move again.

You submissively let his fingers coated in your essence enter your mouth, obediently sucking and licking him clean, finding strange comfort in the action as you remain rested against him. But you keen in confusion, cheeks still hollowed as you mindlessly continue sucking while he guides one of your hands to the bulge in his pants.

But although Matsukawa is a man of few words, his desire is clear despite the silence and your face heats in embarrassment as he unbuttons his trousers, bringing your hand to the waistband of his boxers, dark eyes expectantly staring down at you. You shouldn’t. You really shouldn’t. Not when you can literally hear the other passengers surrounding the two of you, only Matsukawa’s tall frame hiding your illicit activity. But your body has a mind of its own and you greedily slip under the fabric barrier, moaning around his fingers at how large, hot, and heavy he is in your hands.

You hate how badly you want to see it, to feel it inside you, splitting you apart. Your pussy clenches, leaking in interest once again despite having just found blissful release mere minutes ago as your hands curiously trail up and down the shaft, trying to memorize how every bit of it feels against your skin, trying to visualize what it looks like. But you whimper as Matsukawa finally pulls his fingers free from your mouth, squeezing your jaw and giving you a warning look.

“Don’t tease me, doll.”

Your fingers wrap around the length and it’s your turn to stare up at Matsukawa with eyes full of hunger and awe as you watch his Adam’s apple swallow, as you feel a pleased groan reverberate in his chest with every stroke of your hand. Up and down. Up and down. Your hands are slick with pre-cum and you know it’s just your imagination, but you swear you can hear the lewd wet sounds of his sticky essence coating his shaft with every movement of your palm against the velvety skin. You’re so mesmerized, so lost in the experience that you startle when something hot and thick spurts onto your hand, mixing with his pre-cum, making an even bigger mess of his boxers and you.

You stare stunned at the hand you pull out from between his legs, gazing at the white and transparent fluids that coat your flesh. But before you can even think about wiping it off or scavenging around for a spare napkin or paper in your bag, a large hand grabs your wrist and brings your stained fingers to your mouth. You try to resist him, the spell he had you under broken now that the haze of lust isn’t blinding you. But his grip tightens until you wince and finally relent, stomach churning in disgust and shame as you tentatively lick at the bitter liquid.

He doesn’t release you, not until every last drop is coating the inside of your mouth, his taste heavy in your mouth, seemingly in every crevice of your orifice, your hand completely clean and void of your sinful interaction.

You want to hate him. You want to wipe the smug satisfied look clean off his face. But as you readjust your disheveled clothing, you’re reminded of your own body’s betrayal, your own carnal desire and pleasure, by the uncomfortable mess in between your legs. And all you can do is silently stand there and pretend that nothing has happened as Matsukawa nonchalantly tucks himself in and checks his phone.

There’s an uncomfortable silence as you wait for him to acknowledge what has just happened, only to be disappointed as he doesn’t even spare you another glance, too observed in the glowing screen in his hand. You wonder if this was just a one time thing, if he had been stringing you along all this time for one quick public tryst. And you hate the way that thought makes your chest hurt, hate how much you dislike the idea of never seeing him again, never talking to him again, never feeling and tasting him again.

But as the train pulls into his stop, your eyes widen when his face hovers by your ear, lips grazing your lobe as his voice melts into your soul.

“Wear a dress or skirt tomorrow. No panties or bra.”

He laughs as surprise turns into an endearing scowl that barely hides the apparent relief in your eyes and he just casually waves farewell as you send him on his way with a tirade of angry words about his fucking audacity. But it’s all empty heat and he chuckles at the self-conscious embarrassment written all over your face when he sees you the next morning, a pretty dress fluttering around your knees.

There’s no preamble, no pretense of what’s about to happen and he smirks in appreciation at the unobstructed feeling of skin against skin as he slips his hand under your skirt, not an inch of fabric covering the treasure at the apex of your thighs.

[haik-choo]

karasuno first years out late w/ their s/o

request: Could you write how 1st years (yachi too pls🥺) going out with their s/o late at night ?

a/n: this is such a cute little concept i -- 

[KARASUNO FIRST YEARS OUT LATE AT NIGHT WITH THEIR S/O]

-tsukishima, kageyama, yamaguchi, hinata, yachi

tsukishima kei.

not gonna lie, he’s often awake late at night. he’s a night owl and doesn’t mind sacrificing his sleep to watch some youtube videos

occasionally, he even goes out late at night, slipping past his parents and brother’s room and softly closing the front door with his headphones covering his ears and his hands stuffed in his pockets

so when you text him at 3am and ask if he can go out with you to the convenience store, he agrees in seconds to meet you at the halfway point between your houses

wastes no time in putting on his sneakers and a hoodie; he wants to get there quickly so that you aren’t left out by yourself

tsukishima knows there’s creeps out there, which is exactly why he jogs to the halfway point and is relieved when he’s the first one there

as soon as he sees you in the distance he fast walks to catch up to you, and slips his hand into yours

he totally brings bluetooth earbuds so that you two can listen to the same music instead of his wired headphones <3 uwu

is always on the lookout for any weirdos, and if he spots someone eyeing you up he shoots them the nastiest glare

eventually wraps his arms around your shoulder while your hand is sitll in his and its that cute little thing where your arms is across your chest holding his hand </3

pays for whatever you get at the store, ignores your complaints and tells you to shut up when you continue to insist on paying

“im trying to be a good boyfriend for once, for the love of god PLEASE shut up”

secretly takes a candid photo of you at some point in the night and sets it as his home screen -- NOT his lock screen, and when you see it he outright denies having taken it

tsukishima: you told me to take a picture of you

you: stop lying i know you’re a closet hopeless romantic 

convinces you to stop at the park and eat the snacks you both got there, music still humming in your ears as the moonlight washes you both in cool tones

tsukishima when he’s alone with you is so soft -- he literally kisses your hand and temple and mutters very softly “love you” 

all in all, tsukishima kei is the perfect night-owl boyfriend to go on snack-runs with 

kageyama tobio.

"why would i go out right now. do you know what time it is. i have practice in the morning”

kags really out here kinda hurtin’ your feelin’s ngl boy doesn’t understand the vibes LOL

honestly you probably woke him up, he’s asleep at like ten every night (even tho he still has homework to do he just flat-out ignores it LOL) 

only agrees to go out walking with you because you said he could bring his volleyball and you’d toss a few for him....and also because he’s a little worried because it’s so dark out

doesn’t walk with you to the park but meets you there LOL

he deadass has his wholeass duffel bad with the ball, two waterbottles, two towelettes, volleyball sneakers and everything

“you know,,,,we’re not playing a game, right, tobio?”

“yeah???? and??? what’s your point”

acts nonchalant but is totally having fun and is lowkey glad you asked him to go out so late because it’s cool out, there’s no one to bother him, and you just look...really good under the stars

he’s not a cheesy person but...god you just take his breath away sometimes. not that he’ll ever say that though

you ask to take a break like thirty minutes in because you are LITERALLY dying meanwhile he hasn’t even broken a sweat (”you’re already tired? maybe you should workout more” “shut UP kageyama”)

you both sit on the bench, and you’re lowkey waiting for him to reach for your hand but they’re just folded in his lap as he stares out in the nothingness of night

kageyama can’t take a hint. we know this. he’s incapable of knowing what you want unless you flat out tell him; so you have to be a very honest person

he doesn’t even really initiate skinship, not because he doesn’t want to, but just because it never really crosses his mind

plus he doesn’t feel the need to constantly show affection because he thinks it’s obvious that he likes you

despite this, he is good at spotting weird people, and he’s pretty protective of you, so you’re completely safe with him. trust him, he’ll keep you safe

all in all, have patience and stamina because kags will play volleyball with you until you pass out. also, he loves you 

yamaguchi tadashi.

is in bed by 11pm but doesn’t actually go to sleep until two am because he’s scrolling through tiktok on his phone

sees your text about wanting to go out for a late night walk and maybe go through the little forest near your house and automatically sends a text that says “ill meet you at your window! can you pack some snacks? :)”

he walks all the way to your house, even if it’s more convenient to meet halfway because he wants to protect you! he’s not the strongest nor is he the most intimidating, so all he really has to offer is his presence

despite not being strong nor scary, yams literally has eagle eye. you can’t tell me that he can’t read people in a heartbeat -- he’s extremely perceptive 

also texts you to not bring a jacket because he’s bringing on of his own for you !!! so sweet what the hell

he waits at your front door and when you step out he automatically pushes his volleyball jacket into your hands and he takes the bag of snacks from you and sticks out one of his hands UGH such a gentleman

lets you ramble about anything and stares at your side profile as he listens 

joins in with a few quips here and there but ultimately is pretty quite and lets you speak or lets the silence cozy into the conversation

sees that there’s a guy sitting on a bench up the road and he switches places with you so that you’re further away from the stranger 

also wraps a protective hand around your waist until you both are past the random dude but yams will glance behind yall every once in a while

when you two reach the mini forest he ends up taking the lead claiming that he knows a good spot

and damn, he’s right

it’s a little clearing that is illuminated solely by the moonlight and he sets the bag of snacks down beside him before sitting down himself, apologizing for not bringing a blanket that you two could sit on 

pats the spot next to him so that you sit right beside him and he leans back with his hand on yours ONGMIRG 

is the super cheesy type and tells you that you look really pretty and that,,,he kind of wants to kiss you

you: *experiencing heart palpitations* and you did this for what. 

yamaguchi: ...because i love you?

you: *K.O*

all in all, yamaguchi is the boyfriend that completely indulges your late-night escapades <3 

hinata shoyo.

is either completely fast asleep and doesn’t see your text or was awake and not planning to sleep for the next five hours, no in-between

but if he’s awake and sees your text, he agrees right away and asks where you want to meet up and what time because homeboy probably has to bike to get there AgAGAGAGA

literally doesn’t even show up in sneakers. he’s wearing sandals and shorts with a short sleeve top 

“i came in my pjs”

“i see that.”

asks if you two can bike around instead because he doesn’t want to have to wheel his bike around for like an hour 

he tells you to hold on tight because the bike was built for one person, and when you press against his back his warmth is literally so,,,comforting 

has no sense of awareness and will scream going down a hill in the middle of a neighborhood, no fucks given

so, no, he doesn’t notice any weriod people even if there are some around

you always end up running into some weird people and you get new interesting stories every other day because let’s be honest hinata is a magnet for crazy shit and crazy people (usually crackheads) 

you both just ride around as he talks about his day, usually his sister always comes up in the conversation( “she asked me to marry you the other day” “doirhgAEROIHFGRE SHOYO WHAT” “what? i told her i would. i keep my promises!”)

after like thirty minutes he begs for a break and you stop at a little 24/7 ice cream store that is run by the sweetest elderly couple

you share a sundae because you don’t want to eat too much this late at night

he plops on the bench right outside the store with his bike leaning against the metal handles, and h snuggles up to you and watches you scroll on your phone

he talks a little here and there, but for the most part, he goes quiet, and it’s during this time where you’re unaware of his gaze that he just takes his time drinking in your features in the yellow light of the lamppost 

he can’t read the mood most times, but this time he does, and he stays quiet, and he thinks to himself

that he really will marry you one day

all in all, hinata gives you the impulsive young teenage experience of late night bike rides while eating his fair share of ice cream

yachi hitoka.

another either or, except this time she’s either fast asleep or stressing over homework and the nine tests she has the next day

when you ask if she can go on a walk with you she’s hesitant because she doesn’t want to get in trouble with her mom and she’s a total goody goody and terrified of doing anything reckless; but then she remembers that her mom was on a business trip and so she, very cautiously, says yes

you: good. i’m outside your door btw

yachi: i never had a choice did i

you have to meet her at her house because she’s way too scared to walk by herself at night; she might even make you factime her as you commute because she’s worried for you

jumps at every little thing, even the crows cawing make her shit herself

instictively grabs onto your sleeve and nervously look around the entire time, to the point where she doesn’t hear what you say

so you offer to go to a little cafe that’s still open and right away she nods

she’s so adorable, she bows really deeply when you two walk into the store and apologizes for it being so late

and finally, because you two are safe, she’s calm and smiling as she sips at her strawberry smoothie

awkwardly and very shyly reaches out for your hand on the table and gently lays her palm on yours

canon: yachi totally has freckles and you can’t convince me otherwise 

her face is red and her freckles are just on display you can’t help but coo at her and tuck some hair behind her ear because god could she get any cuter?

you two end up staying for like a hour and a half and very shyly she asks if you could walk her home 

and this time on the walk she’s not overly cautious and seems to enjoy the nighttime breeze and your hand softly clasping hers

does that cute thing where she lays her head on your shoulder or arm while you both are walking and looks up at you through her eyelashes and asks if you could give her a kiss on the cheek </3

you: stop. please. im going to die.

when you’re at her door she literally just stands there awkwardly for a few seconds before tilting her head upwards and pressing her lips to yours and then promptly running inside

video calls you three seconds afterwards to make sure you get home safely 

all in all, you might need to be the impulsive one, but yachi enjoys spending late night time with you more than she admits. also please kiss her thanks      

[bluewhale52]

Morning Rush

Summary: Packed like sardines in a tin, that’s your fate this morning. Until you encounter a beautiful stranger on your morning rush to work.

Pairing: Jimin x OC Female

Genre: S2L, nonidol!au

Rating: NSFW, no explicit sexual scenes but still, if you’re a minor, please kindly shoo.

WC: 1.4K

Warning: accidental stimulation, public stimulation, public grinding, public touching, it’s not really that PUBLIC public but yeah it’s in public

A/N: Just a little one as I’m having a massive block and also time isn’t really on my side. But as I wrote this, I am becoming very fond of OC and Jimin, so let me know if you’d like to read more about these two horny people.  As always, comments, likes and reblogs are very much appreciated 💜

You take a deep breath as you squeeze your way into the train carriage. It is so packed, you don’t even have to hold on to anything once the train starts moving; you and your fellow commuters keep each other standing upright. You always go to work earlier to avoid the morning rush hour, however it is your own fault for pressing snooze one time too many this time.

You gasp as the train jerks and instinctively your hand reaches out to grab onto something, only to be jostled around by the other passengers. You are losing your balance and falling backwards, only for your back to hit something hard.

“Are you OK?”

You turn slightly to find a slightly taller man just behind you, his hands hovering at your sides, as if ready to catch you.

“Yes, thank you. Sorry I didn’t mean to crash into you.”

He smiles gently in understanding. “Don’t worry about it. It happens.”

You return his smile politely and turn away. He is probably one of the most good-looking men you have ever seen, and your close proximity to him makes your cheeks blush. The train arrives at a stop, and some people go out, but more get on into the carriage, and like sardines, you are pressed even closer to the handsome stranger behind you.

He curses softly in Korean when someone pushes past you roughly, and you turn to look at him and tell him it is ok, all in Korean as well. His eyes twinkle at the familiarity of the language.

“Ah, I thought I heard home in your English.” He comments in your native language. “Do you live here or are you just visiting?”

“Visiting for work, till the end of the week. How about you?”

“Work and study. Two more months.” He answers, his voice tickling your ear. “Where do you get off?”

You strain to look at the subway map. “Five more stops.”

“Ah, same.” His hand shoots out to hold your side when the train jerks again. He immediately apologises. You shake your head and smile at him, telling him it is all right, and you thank him, again, for preventing you from falling over.

You feel heat creeping up your neck and cheeks for being so close to someone so good looking. You have buried yourself in work and more work since your last break-up. At first work was to take your mind off things to help you move on, but as time went on, you kept finding solace in your office, and you jumped at the opportunity to audit the overseas branches. With all that, you isolate yourself further, and loneliness becomes a friend.

The train starts rocking gently from side to side as it travels. You squeeze your eyes in embarrassment as your butt rubs against the man behind you, and you quickly try to put some distance between you and him. It is impossible however, with how packed the train is. As the train moves, you have no control over how you continue being jolted to the man behind. And oh how your body betrays you- you are actually feeling turned on from the unintentional grinding on your fellow commuter.

Your breath catches when you feel something stir against your butt. Your body feels hot all over when you realise what it is. The man clears his throat and tries to shuffle away, but you don’t know what comes over you when you grab his hand, stilling him.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers, shame thick in his voice, “I didn’t mean to, I don’t know wha-”

“It’s ok,” you cut him off, your voice breathless, “I don’t mind, if you don’t.”

Surprising yourself, you squeeze his hand to signal your consent, and you move to rest it on your stomach. His body freezes for a moment, and you can feel his shallow breaths against your hair. You feel him relaxing a bit, splaying his fingers over your tummy, holding you closer. You boldly rest your body fully against his, and your bottom continues to rub on his crotch. Even when the train is moving smoothly, you writhe your hips discreetly, biting your lower lip to bit back a groan as you feel the hardening shaft behind you.

Your heart is pounding so loudly, you are sure he can feel the heartbeats. He nuzzles your hair, breathing your scent in as his fingers start to dig into your flesh over your clothes.

“God, I’m so sorry,” he whispers in your ear, “I can’t help it, you’re so fucking sexy, fuck.”

Four more stops.

You continue to grind against each other. The train is still as crowded, and to anyone looking, the two of you would look like a loved up couple commuting together. You shudder quietly when he pushes his hips forward, you can feel the whole of his length and girth.

Three more stops.

You feel your panties going wetter by the second. Your sex is throbbing so hard now, you love how hard his cock has gotten, and you salivate, almost moaning out fantasising about it stretching you. He chuckles and shushes you.

Two more stops.

“You’ve gotten me so hard. Would you like to exchange numbers so we can continue this in a more appropriate place later?”

You turn to look at him, the first time since the two of you started this erotic surreptitious action. You whimper when you see how flushed his cheeks are. “I’d like that.”

He smiles. “May I?” You feel his hand inching higher up your body. You nod and close your eyes when his fingers brush the underside of your breasts. You reach back, wanting to touch him too, and you settle on his thigh. It feels so hard and muscular under his jeans, and you squeeze it gently. He presses his forehead against your temple, and your soft moans and whimpers all mixed in together.

One more stop.

You feel so feverish now. His free hand tilts your head so he can capture your mouth in a kiss. You part your lips for him, feeling so hungry for his taste. Your tongue slides into his mouth, licking his teeth, before you nip his bottom lip. Your chest is heaving, and you wonder if you can actually cum just from all this alone. Your body and mind are so worked up already, from the feeling of his body against you, as well as your own imagination of having him fucking you in public.

Your eyes snap open when you hear the announcement of your stop. He releases your body and you want to groan in protest at the loss of his touch. However he links his fingers with yours, and you get off the train, hand in hand, following the crowd along the platform and up to the concourse. You follow him blindly, your mind still delirious. Finding a less crowded corner in the station, he pulls you back into his arm, and you melt again in his kiss.

Sanity finally returns, and reluctantly, you let go of each other. You get to look at his cherubic face properly now as he rubs your lips with his thumb. You poke your tongue out and flick it against his finger.

“Tonight?” He asks breathlessly.

You shake your head. “Sorry, I won’t be free till Friday.”

“Friday works. After 9 though, is that OK?”

“Perfect.” You take your phone out and give it to him. He enters his contact details. “Your place? Or my hotel room?”

He tilts his head. “I have flatmates. I’ll have to figure out how to get rid of them. I don’t want you to hold back.”

You cover your face in embarrassment but he pulls your hands down, so that he can kiss you again.

“My hotel room then.” You decide after breaking the kiss.

He smiles. “Give me a missed call.” You do as asked, then tell him your name so he can save it in his phone.

“Nice to meet you, _______.” He winks. “Call me even before Friday, if you want.”

“Okay.” You breathe. God, this is so wild. “I’ll talk to you soon, Park Jimin.”

He smiles again, his eyes becoming crescents as he leans forward to give you a final peck. You watch him leave, your heart is still racing and your mind is still cloudy. Has it been all a dream? Did you just almost have an orgasm in a public transport? Did you just make a date for a fuck with a total stranger?

You tuck your hair behind your ears and straighten your clothes. Yes, yes you just did all that. And you have never felt sexier and more powerful in your life.

[pinkhairedlily]

Chapter 11 - Student Council President Sakura / Graduation Chapter

SCPS AO3 | PREVIOUS CHAPTER

Youtube playlist for your reading accompaniment

They held a run-through of the graduation ceremony on the last day of class and technically the last day of the trio’s high school life. Unlike their first general assembly, Uchiha Sasuke was to deliver the graduation speech but not without great sulking from Haruno Sakura who landed a close second despite ranking first in their final exams.

And obviously, not without Sasuke trying to give up his speech privileges by campaigning instead for Sakura.

In the end, all three of them were granted speech slots – one for Sasuke as valedictorian, Sakura as student representative, and Naruto as the school’s first national MVP. It was this debacle that led the three of them to brainstorm in an empty AVR after the dry run.

“Done!” Sakura yelled like the diligent student she was. “Let me look at yours!”

Sasuke presented her a blank paper while saying, “It’s all prepared in my head”, and Naruto showed her his baseball doodles.

“Oh God, you’re all so hopeless.”

Then the electricity suddenly got cut off in the AVR. Sakura expected the boys to screech in surprise and cling to each other, but she only heard silence in the dark. She jumped in her seat when the doors opened with a loud bang, a confetti splash, and the lights coming back to life.

Sasuke and Naruto were still in front of her, holding two bouquets of irises and yellow roses. Behind them were the old and new student council members with other students holding a large banner saying Thank you, Student Council President Sakura!

She started to leave her seat to come to them, but they gestured for her to stay on her seat. In front of the room, the large monitor beeped and showed a compilation of videos.

Sukehiro Aoi, an alumni and currently an intern in an animation studio. “Hello, Ms. Pres. You once asked the body to submit a publication material for an event of the student council, and I sent mine through a dummy email with no expectations of winning. I wasn’t comfortable with the public seeing my art. I was afraid of the unsolicited remarks so sending it anonymously gave me some relief. You chose it however, and you knew how big a credit was to an artist. I was really scared when you were able to hunt me down just by my watermark, but my name in the info blast caught the attention of a school board member and referred me to this animation studio. It was the littlest thing, but you handed me my dream.”

Watanabe Kota was a year below them. He has a small frame, round thick glasses, and battled with face acne. “Ms. Pres! People never had much confidence in my physical appearance, so I don’t know what you saw in me when you asked me to take over the school radio. But here we are – we’re airing daily and we even produce documentaries and radio programs. Thank you for seeing what I didn’t.”

Ito Amanaya, a typical jock in the football team, muscular and came across as intimidating, but he had the gentlest cadence. “I was bullied by the same group that bullied your dynamic duo. When you ran them off, you also saved my life. Thank you, Haruno.”

Kimura Shinze, a classmate in third year, beautiful, popular, and the captain of the cheering squad. “Hope you’re having a great day, Ms. Pres. Remember that time when the class was guessing who were our crushes and I blurted out that it was a girl, you told me thank you for telling us. That was…a big deal to me. Thank you for that gesture.”

Himurata Aoi, president of the koto club. “Sakura, I know you had many people come up and confessed to you so when I did try, I was glad that you didn’t give me a bullshit reason like you’re not into girls. You turned me down because you have someone you already love. I am thankful for your honesty.”

The biology teacher, Takahashi Kande. “Student council, thank you for your mental health program. As a single father to twins, I don’t have the luxury of time to sit in a couch and sort out my issues. To be able to do that in my workplace during breaks is a heaven-sent gift. You saved me and my family. Thank you.”

Many more messages came on, from a classmate she lent spare change to, from a staff she helped clean, from countless students who she wasn’t aware she gave kindness to.

“Why….” She asked breathlessly.

“You’ve been beating yourself lately. We thought you needed some reminding,” Sasuke muttered, under his breath, the bouquet still in his hands. “You left some pretty big footprints, Ms. Pres.

“You might not have noticed,” Naruto jested. “But this is always innate and natural to you, isn’t it?”

“Why did you bother so much?” She was reduced to tears.

“It was Naruto’s idea.”

“Huh? You did all the compiling though!”

“Shut up, it was me,” yelled the current president.

“Thank you, everyone.”

--------------------------------

It was a weekend, but Sasuke requested Sakura and Naruto to meet him at the school gates. He only gave the time and place, and he knew well enough that they would be there – no questions asked.

They stood there, minutes earlier than planned, a first but nothing more unusual than homebody Sasuke asking them to go out on a weekend. Sakura wore an oversized rust shirt over a pair of muted cotton blue trousers tied with a brown leather belt and tan fisherman sandals, her long hair kept in one single braid at the back. Naruto probably expected a fancy lunch with his outfit �� black silky long sleeves over gray pants and black loafers.

Sasuke, high on impulsive decisions, wore bright colors, a complete departure from his usual neutrals; mustard vest over a deep violet polo, baggy pants, off white converse, and a white fanny pack. “Well, we’re mostly dressed for comfort, except for that idiot beside you.”

“What do you mean dressed for comfort? I borrowed these loafers from my vice-captain and my feet aren’t used to them,” Naruto whined. “Besides, aren’t you taking us out to a five-star meal, Mr. Valedictorian?”

“Wow, what a way to show off.” Sakura pursed her lips in annoyance. “Don’t worry Naruto, I got your next café order.”

“Ah no. It was just something we heard from the grape vine.” Naruto scratched his head and carefully glanced at Sasuke. “Grumpy got his trust fund today.”

In bated breaths, they waited for him to respond with a scowl or a retort, but he just nodded. “Come on, we’ll miss the train.”

They traveled for three stations and disembarked on the fourth, Sasuke sandwiched in between the two, his shoulders pillows again to their heads and yet such burdens were light as cotton. The surfacing emotions since last week were taking hold of him, but he needed to pull through somehow because breaking down while commuting was one thing he did not really see doing.

“Word just got in. The house was turned over this morning,” Itachi told him over the phone.

“Impeccable timing when I’m also moving abroad next week.” Sasuke pulled out his Bleachers vinyl and anticipated another lonesome lull for the night.

“Do you miss the cream puffs?”

“Nothing comes close.”

“Hmm. I’ll pay for the rental fee of your car.”

In Itachi’s defense, while he was an afficionado of escapism, he also knew how to read between the lines. “Watch me get a Mercedes-Benz.”

“I have a good driving playlist.” This only meant math rock, and Sasuke wanted something to scream his lungs too.

“Don’t need one.”

“Treat your friends to dinner, okay? Gotta go.”

“We’re walking?!” Naruto almost limped out of the train. Sasuke took one look at his heels and saw that they were bruised red. He took off his converse and socks and gave them to him.

Sakura whipped out a small first-aid kit and covered the rash on Naruto’s heels. “Hey don’t look at me like that. Brought it just in case we’re going on a day survival tour. A camping would be nice too.”

“Did you scrub your feet, idiot?”

“You think so low of me grumpy. Of course – last week!”

With Naruto now comfortable, the three resumed walking on the unfamiliar residential area. Sasuke gestured for them to enter a bamboo forest on the far side of the main road. Hidden in the shadows of the clumped stalks were a small opening, the growth hampered and ground rid of grasses and weeds; many people have also chosen this shortcut, walked through the forest, did a little nature bathing, and emerged behind the bakery, still there, still standing, still operating.

Sasuke tapped on the large glass window cum counter on the front and bought three sets of cream puffs.

“Oh, it’s you,” the old baker greeted. “You brought your friends over? You always buy one set.”

Sasuke offered her a smile, briefly glancing to his periphery where Sakura was fussing with Naruto’s feet, and nodded as he accepted the paper bag. “It’s on the house, kid.”

“You brought us to stalk someone’s house?” Sakura dug in one paper bag, bit the puff in one bite, and with full mouth, she sighed. “This is heaven.”

“It’s our old family house, before the accident that is.” Sasuke also took out one puff and munched on it, ruminating on the sight before him, a two-story house with an imposing façade, his mom’s climbing hydrangea gone and cut by the new owners, beds of roses and daisies already withered, but the wisteria tree on the vacant lot beside continued to grow and shade what he supposed were the children’s rooms. It was in his third bite that he saw the tomato fruits he planted, alive and full with harvest. “Do you think my parents know?”

Naruto slid an arm across his shoulder and grinned sheepishly. “Then they would be happy ghosts or maybe they would voluntarily move away to give the new owners the opportunity to make it a happy a home like yours.

“What part are you gonna miss?” Sakura asked, halfway through her set of puffs.

“The sight of the wisteria before I sleep and after I wake up, and the sunlight in my parents’ room. My dad liked to make these suncatchers for my mom. The play of light was a good morning greeting, she said.”

“What’s your funniest memory?” Naruto sat on the grass, uncaring for the stains that would taint his good pair of pants.

“It was probably Christmas when I was seven, and Itachi had this big idea to bake a cake, but he swapped the sugar for the salt and we were wondering why it wouldn’t make a custard. Our parents still ate it, saying it was a very salty version of dark chocolate cake.”

“It was a good home,” Sakura patted the space between her and Naruto and Sasuke sat down cross-legged too, dipping his hand on the paper bag with the last cream puff.

“It was a good home,” Sasuke agreed as he bit into the last vestige of his family memory. He was suckling the powdered sugar off his fingers when he realized he was already crying, and the two were downright sobbing on his either side.

Such an embarrassing sight to see; he wondered what would the new owners feel if they looked out their windows this instant and saw three teenagers breaking down on the road across. It was honestly stupid and laughable to a point, considering how funny it was for grief to become lighter when someone else cried with him.

Naruto was sniffling so much that he had to offer his handkerchief to him. “I forgot to tell you guys. Hinata confessed to me during the cultural festival.”

“Oh my god. What did you say?” Sakura took a tissue out of her bag and dabbed her eyes. She flashed an apologetic look to Sasuke who already offered his hanky to Naruto’s fluids.

“Ah, what else? I had to reject her.” Naruto sneezed on Sasuke’s handkerchief again. “I told her I was in love with someone else.” He slyly glanced at his raven-haired friend and pursed his lips which Sakura quickly caught.

“Who is it?”

“Sasuke also likes someone.”

“Shut your mouth, blondie. Point is already moot. Besides, we’ve already been rejected.”

“Who are these people and why don’t I know them?” Sakura genuinely looked offended. “I could have vetted them!”

“Exactly why it was fortunate you didn’t meet them,” Sasuke said as an excuse though he pegged Sakura for not being that naïve. She, thankfully, let it go and gathered their trash. She dropped the bomb as she was brushing the grass blades from her trousers. “My parents are divorcing. Such a travesty not to have them show up on graduation day, and I thought I did a great job.”

The two, ever so sure, held onto her hands in case she was trembling again.

“Let’s get that five-star dinner,” Sasuke suggested, “and we need to rent a Mercedes-Benz.”

--------------------------------

Graduation Day

“Let’s welcome to the stage, class valedictorian, Uchiha Sasuke.” Kakashi was the officiating faculty today so she expected difficulty going through the event, but for some reason, he slipped into her mental back burner, no longer taking up room in her active consciousness. That was a good step, she smiled to herself. Her smile became wider as Sasuke got up the stage.

His fans club’s cheers were heard outside the auditorium, and the graduating class chuckled at the quick interruption. He cleared his throat and started his piece.

“Please get it on record that I was coerced to do this speech. Then again, I also had a hand on the turn of events that led me here today, in front of you. And it’s a little too on the nose, but I came to high school with a clear set of goals – have high grades and lead an uninteresting life. I accomplished the first one rather easily, and it’s a good metric for the future that’s upon us right now. Good grades land us good colleges. Good colleges land us good jobs. Good jobs land us good life.

But it’s not the sole benchmark as I have learned lately. You see, my second goal really missed the mark. Good life can also mean good friends, fun experiences, a caring environment, a complete family. If you ticked off each one, then that’s very notable. You have the four-leaf clover, and it’s a rare blessing. I only ticked off three, but that goes without any regret. If you only have one silver lining in your high school memory, then that makes us all the more human. And if there’s none, there is still is still a whole stretch of possibilities we can discover to find one. Thank you for your kind attention.”

Sakura was pretty sure she heard several sniffles across the student body. “The bastard delivered a good speech,” she muttered to herself.

“We would like to welcome our first national MVP, Uzumaki Naruto.”

Outside, the school band played the cheering anthem for his last national games. The cheerleaders also did a routine in tribute to him. That made him well up when he got to the podium.

“Wait oh my god, I’m tearing up so much.”

Sasuke grunted loudly and went back the stage to hand him a handkerchief which Naruto quickly used to wipe his snot.

“Thanks Sasuke. How can Kakashi-sensei let me follow after that rousing speech, and before Sakura too. It’s kinda evil.”

Laughter broke out.

“Well, this one’s a bare minimum. I didn’t have any goals or expectations, unlike genius grumpy over there. I just wanted to live my life like an ordinary boy. Someone said that how you spend your day is how you live your life so I did just that – ate ramen, slept in class because I am a growing kid, and played each arcade game until I won them. I also believe in serendipitous – thanks Sakura for this word, for the spelling and meaning – serendipitous coincidences. I just pitched and batted for former captain Haru one afternoon and now we landed in the national finals. I had loneliness for a friend, but now I’ve got all of you. And you know what else, the magic of working together. We wouldn’t have stepped foot in the nationals if it weren’t for your collective help. When we work towards a common goal, that also gives us common happiness, right? It’s infectious, a bouncing energy that gets thrown around and still makes it one piece. So wherever you will be after this, believe it!”

When Kakashi called her name next, she thought she was deaf, the noise around her collapsed in muted decibels. It took a minute before her fellow classmates shook her and motioned for her to quickly come up the stairs. Her silver-haired teacher looked so concerned in the shadows, but for what it was worth, she was civil and calm enough (at least in the matters concerning him) to nod at him in quiet exchange of assurance.

It was because she saw both of her parents at the side with a bouquet of roses. She struggled with the paper she brought with her although she had it memorized in her head; she even went through it flawlessly for three times last night. Tears blurred the words and the mere shock of the sight of their togetherness disabled her mental function to string coherent thoughts. She also started hyperventilating, her breaths coming faster than what her lungs could pump.

Then she felt Kakashi’s hand on her shoulder, a steady presence, and it reeled her back to reality. He tapped the mic and the feedback echoed. “Ah, Ms. Haruno had some technical issues. Again, let’s welcome former student council president, Sakura.”

Sasuke and Naruto in the front were almost standing, but she flashed them a smile as if to say she was okay now. “Hello, good day to our honorable guests and graduates. I think it’s safe to say that Sasuke and Naruto provided really good words of advice. So I have nothing more to offer, but to share my gratitude. Everyone was saying the student council did a good job in its programs, but it was actually the lot of you who made this possible – from your activity suggestions to participation and feedback. After all, you were the makers of your memories.

Earlier last week, my councilmates and friends reminded me how small actions go a long way – a smile, a wave across the hallway, a short exchange of good morning and see you soon, and I thought, aren’t we all just an accumulation of these small, little things? As such, it was what you think your insignificant moments were that pushed us to deliver you the best. It was the passing comment, the top-of-your-head tips, the interlude stories we hear during lunch breaks that allowed us to give you grand gestures and memories we hoped were worth keeping. And if we could start to use that perspective as well in our lives then maybe the uncertainties of a future wouldn’t be so heavy on us. We will face tomorrow with a lightness in being.

In behalf of the student council, thank you for allowing us to serve you.”

She bowed at a level where her torso was almost aligned at her hips, and she was confused with the lack of reaction. Sakura sighed, mulling over the deficiencies in her speech, but she straightened her back to a sight of a standing ovation and a thundering applause.

Then, she let her tears fall.

--------------------------------

“Why would you let Kakashi-sensei take the pic?” Sakura hissed at them.

“Just this one time, Sakura!” Naruto grinned.

“Sakura, you’re out of the frame,” Kakashi remarked. “Okay good. Say cheese.”

In spite of her recent heartbreak with him, she permitted herself to bask in fleeting cordiality. “Cheese.”

“Grumpyyyyyy.”

“Idiot blondie.”

Kakashi took three more shots and handed the camera to the trio. He almost turned away when Sakura caught his sleeve.

“Just one more,” she said. “With you.”

Sakura shifted to the front, almost kneeling with the camera angled for a selfie, her two friends beside her looking equally annoyed as the other, and Kakashi behind them, his hands on either head, smiling with his deceptively charming beauty mark.

It was the last picture of their high school life.

--------------------------------

The three were rushing through the airport crowd fifteen minutes before the immigration closes gates.

“Here!” Sakura slid a folder on the large pocket on Sasuke’s bag. “It includes your passport, your flight details, your valid IDs, your itinerary, and letters from us! Don’t forget our Friday video calls!”

“I can’t see. These tears are bullies,” Naruto said through tears. He was continuously wiping his eyes with his sleeve.

“And If I don’t get on my flight because you made us eat ramen for one last time and the orders took too long, I’m gonna have you cursed by a witch and a shaman!” Sasuke growled. The guards were starting to close the gates when a sobbing Naruto sprinted and basically tackled the guards on the floor.

“Sasuke come on, hurry up!”

“Drink your vitamins! And if you miss cream puffs, I’ll teach you how to make them.” Sakura was trying hard to keep pace with Sasuke’s brisk walking, but she ended up breathless anyway.

The three of them finally reached the immigration entrance, and Naruto was profusely apologizing to the guards for the interruption. Sasuke showed his documents, wheezing as they looked at it. They gave him a thumbs up and opened the gates.

The two were already slumped at the floor, waving without words, and exhausted from the clock race. Sasuke was almost through when he remembered something he forgot. He muttered a quick sorry, ran through the opening, and hugged his two friends.

“I’ll miss you.”

[anxiousnerdwritings]

Lights Out 

                                                  Prologue

It's a cold and cloudy, wintry Tuesday morning, the type of day you would rather be curled up in your home with something warm, then out in the freezing cold. The streets were calm and quiet than usual, which was odd regarding Gotham City. People were bustling about through the biting chill of the breeze to their destinations, not paying any mind to one another. Among the bustling crowd is a (h/c) girl making her way to the local cafe, where she works as a barista and baker. Briskly walking to get away from the cold, she weaves her way through the crowd with thoughts of warm coffee and fresh baked goods in mind. Walking up to the front doors of the cafe, she unlocks the door letting herself in, heading to the backroom. She opens her locker and puts her stuff inside before heading behind the front counter. Putting her apron on she starts baking the pastries for the day. While preparing the mornings stock of goods,  she hears the cafe door chime, she looks up seeing her coworker walk in. "Hey Y/n. Here early as always." she says groggily. "Hey Amelia. Yeah you know I have to be here early to start baking." Y/n laughs. "Right, we'd be out of business without your delicacies. I get that but how can you be up so early?" Amelia yawns, "Well I actually wasn't sleeping. I had a couple of papers due, so I stayed up to finish them," She admitted dusting off the remaining flour on her apron, finishing the pastries. "Alright, alright, but you better go home and get some sleep after your classes," she says with a hand on her hip and the other pointing in a scolding manner. "Yeah, yeah, yeah." 'Ameila, always the mother hen,' Y/n laughs to herself, getting back to work.

        After finally opening the cafe for the early morning rush of freezing commuters, Y/n gets to work taking customer's names and orders while Amelia gets the pastries ready. It's not long before the rush comes to slow, a few people sitting around taking in the warmth before beginning their day. It's almost time for Y/n to end her shift after she takes her last order of the day, a tired looking college aged guy walks through the door bundled up in an expensive looking winter jacket with a hoodie underneath and a pair of joggers. "Hey there, Tom. Here for the usual?" the cheery (h/c) girl asks, " Yes but I think I'll try one of your pastries today." He says with a tired smile,  " What would you recommend Y/n." "Sure thing Hun. I like most of the stuff here except the lemon tart, but that's mainly because I don't care for the bitterness so early in the morning, add your plain black coffee to the mix and you're in for one hell of an after taste." She laughs and he chuckles before she continues, "But my favorite is the apple and cinnamon muffin, especially for a cold morning like this." "Yeah the lemon and black coffee doesn't sound so good, but the apple cinnamon sounds like what I need. I'll take that," Tom chuckles, paying for his coffee and muffin.

      'She seems happy even for this early in the morning,' I think. 'But isn't she always.'  Smiling to myself as I walk to my usual table in the back, I sit down and pull out my laptop checking over a paper for my first class before thinking back to the barista. I come here every morning before class for my regular coffee, trying to keep my eyes open. I use to make the long trek a few blocks away from campus before this place opened up right by my apartment. I made the lazy decision to try the place out when I couldn't make myself trudge the extra few blocks. I thank my tired state of mind for that everyday since. My first time here, it was packed, I almost walked right out, but something stopped me. With my feet rooted to their spot in line, I patiently waited my turn. When I got to the counter with my beverage already in mind, a black coffee, can't go wrong with that. I lost my train of thought though once I was greeted by the barista. 'Hello, what can I get you this morning?' Came her sweet resounding voice. I could tell she was trying to hide the tiredness in it and she was doing a good job at it too. If I didn't know any better I'd think she was a natural morning person, but being a detective aided me with miniscule things like that. 'Uh, yeah. Could I get a black coffee?' 'Sure thing! What's the name?' 'Tom,' I reply not thinking clearly, being caught off guard by both her and my tiredness 'Okay, Tom, that'll be out in a few,' she says handing me my change. I walk off to the farthest table in the back and wait for my coffee. "Order for Tom! One black coffee and a cinnamon muffin!" I'm pulled from my musings by a familiar voice calling my "name". I mentally face palm every time I remember the encounter. If Dick, Jason, or even Damian were there, they'd give me so much hell for it. I get up from my spot to get my order. "Here you go. Hope you enjoy the muffin." She smiles as I take my coffee and muffin back to my table. Sitting down again, I can't help but note the same smile she always wears, looks more like an accessory than genuine at this point. But I don't think she's realized that herself yet. 'God, what am I thinking. I don't even know the girl and I'm already trying to wrap myself up in her' I sigh putting my laptop back in my bag and leaving. As I'm walking to campus, drinking my coffee and eating the apple and cinnamon muffin, I can't help but think about how the muffin melts in my mouth. Warm and soothing, with a sweet and crisp taste. It really is good, no wonder it's her favorite. Reminds me of the cute barista,"Y/n," I whisper her name. As much as I try, I can't help but smirk as the name rolls off my tongue.

            A few minutes after "Tom" left, Y/n ended her shift, heading to her first class of the day.  The only thing on her mind being the new murder mystery book she'd gotten from the bookstore a few days before. She just couldn't wait to continue reading it again. If it wasn't the book on her mind then it was the next episode of her other new obsession; Crime Time Mysteries. A new TV series about old and new cases some solved and some unsolved. Some of the cases even happened in Gotham. Not that that was a surprise. It's the one thing that keeps Y/n in town. As odd as it sounds, crimes have become a big part of her life, in regards to books, movies, and the media. Her father was a crime author. She grew up helping her father with his ideas. So it goes without say why she can't help but be pulled in by the enigma that is Gotham. Even at the cost of her own freedom. 

                                                             Accused

What's going on?  

Where am I?

      Why am I covered in blood?    

Amelia?

        Amelia, where are you?  

   Sitting up, you looked around trying to gain your bearings. Once your eyes focus on the room room around you, you can tell your on the bathroom floor in Amelia's apartment. 'What the fuck is going on...?'  Helping yourself up, you stagger out of the bathroom, you hold yourself up against the hall walls, your legs feeling like their jelly, you have to force yourself to stay leaning on the wall. Staggering to the living room, you drag yourself from the hall to the kitchen counter, using it as leverage to support your body weight. Getting to the entrance of the kitchen leading to the living room, you slip on something, falling on your ass. Laying on the guard, you can feel something sticky all over your arms and legs. Lifting yourself up on your knees, you look at your limbs and around you seeing some sort of dark liquid all over the floor in the dark apartment.    Registering the metallic smell of blood, your not fully comprehending what you've walked out on. Your head is pounding and your whole body is numb but hurts all the same. You try to get yourself up again but fall, laying on the ground, you just stay there trying to focus on gaining your senses back.  

   Your jolted out of nowhere, having blacked out, by the sound of banging on the apartment door and you hear yelling too. Having gained feeling back in your body, you sit up again, looking around and taking in your surroundings. Your completely horrified to find yourself covered in blood. Getting up you try to stand up but you trip over something, looking over your shoulder, your petrified to see Amelia's dull, blank eyes staring at you. Screaming you try to crawl away from your dead friends body. Too caught up in your own horror, you don't notice the apartment door being kicked open. Gotham City's police department is rushing into the apartment and surrounding you. Your so confused and frightened, you're being yelled at, accused of murder.  You don't know what's even going on. You're being pulled up harshly and thrown into a wall, having your Miranda rights shouted to you. You're so out of it, you don't register your body throwing and flailing around trying to get out of the officers hold. You can't even hear your own voice as you scream that you didn't do anything.

   Finally being able to weasel yourself away from the police officers, you run to the apartment window, throwing yourself through it. Rushing after you, the officers aren't able to grab you before you've thrown yourself through the window pane, and begin to fall along the side of the apartment complex. Landing in a dumpster, you lie their for the briefest moment, before launching yourself out of the dumpster. Hooked on pure adrenaline, you're barefoot, covered in blood, wearing sleeping shorts and a tank top running down the empty alley trying to look for somewhere to go.

   Coming across a hole in the side of a building, while wandering around an alley, you try squeezing yourself through the hole, being able to get yourself through. Pulling yourself into the building, you look around seeing the place is some warehouse that looked abandoned. Sighing to yourself, you walk around, wandering up a staircase leading to an office. You sit yourself under a window, trying to calm down from all the adrenaline, you take the time to really take in your appearance. You're covered in blood and dirt, with bits and pieces of glass in your skin. Your tank top and sleep shorts are ripped and torn, and your bare feet are caked with more dirt, blood. There are even some pieces of rocks, gravel, and glass in the bottom of your feet. Trying to figure out what the hell happened, you try to focus on remembering the last thing you did. But you can't think straight, your head is throbbing. Curling in on yourself from the intense pain, you let yourself fall into a heap on the ground, giving into the overwhelming pain, you let yourself drift off again. But there won't be any peaceful sleep from this day on, only the restless need to run. Run for your freedom, for your life.  

A/n: This is a story I’ve been working on my  wattpad account. I have a few other WIPs on there too, that I might post later on depending on the feedback I get on this one, This is the story regarding the mystery/thriller obsessed Reader who ends up being accused of her best friends murder. While on the run she meets a local hero who can already tell that Y/n is innocent. They offer to help her prove her innocence. With her knowledge of crime based media, the hero and Y/n compile all the evidence that’ll prove her innocence, once and for all. Along the way they’ll come across heroes and villains alike, who all have their own intentions for being involved. 

[undertalethingems]

Bark at the Moon, Chapter 1: Empty Spaces

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Or read on Ao3>

Rating, Setting: Gen, Pre-canon

Chapter Warnings: None

Chapter Summary: Sans notices something’s wrong.

Sans lounged against the counter, lazily trailing a finger through the condensation left by the glass of milk he’d ordered. It was the only beverage he ever ordered besides ketchup, a fact that amused the other patrons far more than it did he or Grillby himself; the long-time bartender wasn’t one to judge, something Sans appreciated about him. He looked up as his fiery friend placed another plate of fries before him and straightened, ready to dig in. As he reached for the ketchup, light caught his eye, and he couldn’t help glancing over as someone checked their phone and the time flickered by briefly.

Sans froze.

It was a full thirty minutes after when Papyrus always came in to interrupt his break. He lowered a brow and glanced over his shoulder to scan the restaurant and street outside, but there was no sign of someone who was always trying to be noticed. Sans shrugged off his unease and turned back to his meal slowly, and noticed Grillby giving him a look.

‘Is everything alright?’ he signed, his hands flickering as he chose to speak with them instead of his crackling, distorted voice. ‘Isn’t Papyrus usually here by now?’

The curse of being the most regular of regulars--Sans grumbled inwardly before replying. “yeah. maybe he finally realized keeping me out of here is never gonna work.”

The closest patrons chuckled, though Grillby didn’t seem amused.

‘I see. If you need anything else, let me know.’

“of course, pal. you know i always do.”

Sans would have happily stayed at Grillby’s all day—he preferred the bar’s lively atmosphere to being alone with his thoughts. Cheering other people up with his bad jokes and low-brow gags always made it worthwhile. But hours passed and the dog guard changed multiple times without a single remark on his brother. Grillby was giving him increasingly concerned looks, so Sans decided it was time to check on him. There was no way Papyrus could've gotten into too much trouble—they’d lived in Snowdin for years now, and there was no evidence the anomaly had become active again, so...

He left the restaurant with promises to return soon and headed out onto the road. His brother’s daily routine was always the same, so it was easy to guess what he might be up to. It was just after one, so by about this time it should be his fourth round of puzzle calibration. Sans didn’t know how Papyrus did it—he managed to be so thorough, so exacting, never once looking at something that hadn’t changed a bit since his last visit and thinking it didn’t need inspecting again. If it were up to him, well, he just didn’t have that kind of energy anymore. Even shuffling through the snow today was wearing him out. All that dedication... Man, Papyrus was really cool.

He crossed the randomized tile puzzle and had just set foot on the path beyond it when he paused. Slowly, he turned, eyes roving over the plastic squares and taking in every detail. There were thin traces of snow left on them in little arcs. Papyrus never let anything obscure his puzzles unless that was part of the puzzle. Someone had cleared this hastily and without much care--not Papyrus' style at all. Brows furrowed, Sans turned to study the trail ahead of him. The snow lay unbroken as far as he could see down the path.

Better do this the smart way. Sans took a step forward, and space-time snapped around him. His sentry station sat empty, just as he’d left it, the only footprints around it his own. Sans took another step, and walked into the next section. Still no footprints. He turned back, and entered a small clearing that until now had laid untouched. Wow, it looked like even the teenagers that messed around out here hadn’t gotten to it yet. Last night's snowstorm must've chased everyone indoors.

Sans made it back to the tile puzzle without seeing a single hint that anyone but him had traversed the forest beyond. Papyrus never left anything unfinished, especially not the favorite part of his day.... Maybe he'd gotten sick? It was unlikely, but... Sans was back home with a click, and found all the rooms empty. Okay, so he wasn’t home. Papyrus was his own person, he could change his habits if he wanted to… Maybe he’d gone to talk to Undyne again.

“Haven’t seen him at all,” Undyne replied when he’d caught up to her. She was practicing lunges at the edge of a waterfall, which looked both incredibly cool and extremely dangerous. “You mean to tell me neither of you have been at your stations all day?”

“guess not, but i can promise you this is weird for me too,” Sans answered dryly, “and i don’t make promises lightly. too much responsibility, y'know?”

Undyne drew back and faced him, planting one hand on her hip while the other still grasped her spear. “Well, I can’t divert the rest of the Snowdin unit to look for him if that’s what you want, but… I know! I’ll call him.”

She pulled out her phone and dialed, then listened to it ring once, twice… three times… four… and never pick up. She stared at the phone for a moment before hitting redial, and they listened to the tones chime again to arrive at the same result. Sans ignored the sense of dread starting to prickle in his soul.

“Your brother always picks up after two rings, right? He told me that, after he gave me his number. Why wouldn’t he answer?” Undyne uttered, her eye darting between the screen and him.

“dunno. same reason he didn’t finish his puzzle maintenance, same reason he didn’t come get me at grillby’s. he’s... busy.”

Undyne grunted. “Sure. Well, keep looking and let me know when you find him. He may not be a member of the Guard yet, but he’s still a citizen... and my friend, so… y’know?”

“i mean. he’s my brother, so. i do know,” Sans replied with a wink. “when i know, you’ll know, and then everyone’ll know, y’know?”

“Oh my GOD!” Undyne roared, hurling her spear into the depths of a distant garbage heap. “JUST GO FIND HIM ALREADY!!!”

Sans didn’t need any more permission than that—he’d planned on continuing his search regardless. He put up a lazy salute, then headed out. He surveyed Snowdin again, and asked his Hotland customers at the hot dog stand if they’d seen his brother as they commuted home. He was considering the logistics of milk carton-missing posters at his Waterfall station when Undyne marched up, her armor clanging its way into his thoughts.

“Any luck?” she asked wearily, and he shrugged.

“i won a game of cards against myself, does that count?”

She dragged a hand across her face. “No. You mean you found no evidence of him at all?"

"nope. guess i can only wait to see if something turns up."

"So you're just gonna give up on finding your brother then?”

Something twisted painfully in Sans’ chest. “... no. but if he hasn’t shown up by now i don’t see what else we can do. maybe he's planning an epic prank.”

Undyne's scowl twitched briefly into a smile. “… I guess. I mean, if nothing else, he’ll probably just come home tonight, right? Anyway, I actually came by to tell you to go home. Night shift’ll take it from here.”

“thanks. see ya bright and early tomorrow,” Sans said, rising from his seat and heading down the passage.

“Oh, and tell Papyrus to call me when he gets back! I have some words for him!” Undyne shouted, and he gave her a thumbs up before rounding the corner right into his living room.

Sans dozed off sometime that evening, and woke up disoriented to find he’d slept halfway through the next morning. So much for getting to work early, and... there was still no sign of his brother. He debated whether to slip back into sleep or to get up and look again, and languished on the couch for a while, waffling back and forth...

Sans shuffled through the snow, unease nestled firmly in his ribs as he passed other sentry stations and puzzles frosted by a new coat of snow. Pawprints indicated the other guards had been through on their rounds, and there were a few tracks he recognized from the various teenagers, but nothing that matched Papyrus' boots. He reached the randomized tile puzzle again, looked it over, and slowly sank down, legs folded under him. Reaching out, he took up some of the snow in his hand and sifted through it. It all seemed to pack like snow, and not dust.

Maybe Sans could have dealt with dust. At least he’d have an answer and could muddle through until a reset brought everything back, but the anomaly hadn’t been active lately so he couldn’t be sure how long he’d have to wait. He’d still have to check a couple other spots to be sure, but at least it seemed like Papyrus wasn’t dead. In either case he just had to wait, and he was pretty good at that.

He sifted through other locations on the puzzle deck but came up with snow every time, and with a weary sigh decided it was time to head to Grillby’s. He wasn’t sure what he’d tell the other regulars… surely news had spread by now, so there’d be talk. Maybe he'd tell them Papyrus was on vacation.

[atlafan]

Can you do an imagine where harry wants a family extremely bad and hes to scared to tell you so instead he drops hints (lookin at baby clothes, prob even talkin bout a room being for a baby, always wanting to babysit your nephew just some ideas😂) like crazy crying to get you to realize what hes wanting?? Thank you love ❤

a/n: UM OKAY SURE

Baby Fever

Things typically moved quickly between you and Harry. You had said I love you to each other about a month in to your relationship, and moved in together about five months after that. Now two years in, you both had wanted to get a bigger place. Not that the place you shared wasn’t large, but you had moved into his home, and it was time you bought one together. 

House hunting was a lot of fun with Harry. You weren’t about price because he could afford pretty much whatever the two of you wanted. You weren’t with him for his money or anything, but being 24 and in grad school, you didn’t exactly have the funds on your own to buy a house. 

You tried to stick to the Malibu area of California. That was where the two of you spent the majority of your time. He would still keep his London home, and the apartment in New York, but the Malibu home would be yours together. Your realtor was very nice too. She would let the two of you explore the homes by yourselves at first, and not be up your butts like a lot of other realtors. 

“Oh, Harry, this place is huge! What would we even do with six bedrooms? I mean there are already rooms set aside for an office, so we wouldn’t need to double up. And it’s not like we would have that many friends or family visiting at once.” You say, weaving in and out of each bedroom.

“Well...think of it as a place to grow into.” He said, not looking at you, walking with his hands in his pockets. “We might need the extra space eventually.”

“That could be years from now though, these would just sit here collecting dust.” You sigh. “I don’t know. I don’t love the layout downstairs either. It’s a little closed off in the kitchen area don’t you think?”

“That’s because there’s a formal dining area. I think it would be nice to have that.”

“But it’s just the two of us. And when we have friends for dinner, it’s more fun to gather in the kitchen.” 

Harry was trying not to get annoyed. He wanted to have a dining room so one day you could have family dinners. He saw the extra bedrooms as kids rooms, but you just weren’t picking up on his hints. Well, you sort of were, but you were being dismissive, and not understanding his urgency. Sure, you had only been together for two years, but he knew he wanted to have kids with you. He told himself as soon as you bought a home, he would go out and find the most beautiful ring he could, and pop the question. 

“Just keep this place in mind, hm? I happen to really like it.”

“Alright, I won’t say no just yet...give me some time to think more on it. The commute is actually pretty good from my work and to your studio, so that’s a plus.”

“See, silver linings.”

//

The next week you two went to the mall to buy some packing supplies and bins. You knew you’d be moving eventually, never a bad time to get a jump on packing up the things you didn’t use every day. Harry typically didn’t go shopping with you just because of fans and such, but today he had another attempt up his sleeve.

He wanted to talk to you about having kids, he really did, but he was scared. It was your body, how could he bring up the toughest thing you’ll ever have to put it through? 

You were walking through a Macy’s to get to the other part of the mall when he stopped short. You were near the children’s shoes.

“Love?” You ask. He turns around holding two tiny baby shoes.

“Look at how cute these are! Imagine little feet in these things?” He says with a big smile, he looks like he could cry. 

“Baby shoes are such a waste of money. You know how fast a baby’s foot grows?” You laugh. Harry’s face falls. “It’s true! Just look at my nephew. He’s a big baby, he couldn’t even wear any of his newborn stuff because he was too big. That’s why I’m glad I got them bibs and rags, stuff he can’t really grow out of.” Harry puts the shoes back, and looks at them with a pout. 

“They’re still cute.”

“Most tiny things are cute.” You give him a half smile. You take his hand and walk into the mall. “I think the packing supply store is just down on the left.”

“Speaking of your nephew, when’s the next time we get to babysit. I love seein’ that little bugger.” 

“I don’t know. I can text my brother to see if we can go over for a visit this weekend?”

“Yeah!” Harry perked up completely. 

//

That weekend you go to your brother’s house. You take your nephew in your arms immediately, snuggling him to you. 

“Wow, he’s starting to hug now!” You laugh. 

“Yeah, watch your hair, he’s got a grip on him.” Your sister in law says. 

Harry gazed at you adoringly as you rocked the baby gently. You were so good with him. You were good with babies and kids in general. He knew you’d make a great mum. 

“Harry, want a turn holding him?”

“Please.” You hand the baby over, and you think Harry is going to cry he’s so happy. Anytime Harry held a baby, it looked like he had been doing it for years, like he was a mother of ten or something. “He’s so good.”

“Yeah, he’s the best baby.” You kiss his small forehead.Harry looked at you. “What?” He goes to speak, but stops himself.

“Nothin’.” 

//

A couple of weeks go by. Harry continues to drop small hints about wanting a baby, but you continue to be oblivious. You were looking at homes on realtor when an alarm went off on your phone. You sighed and got up to go to the bathroom. Harry had grown to hate that alarm. It was your birth control pill reminder. You were just starting a fresh pack, so your hormones were on edge, and you felt sick. 

“Ugh, I’m about ready to be done with this shit, it’s not worth it.” You say sitting back down. 

“What do you mean?”

“I know you hate condoms babe, but we might have to consider that being our form of birth control. I’ve been taking these pills for years, and this first week after my period never gets easier. Plus, they make me snap at you from the hormones, and I always feel bad.”

“So...you want to stop taking the pill?”

“Maybe. I’ll have to talk to my doctor. Maybe I can get that shot or something and see how that feels once this pack is done.”

“Or, like you said, we could just use the condoms.” 

“That won’t last. I can hear it now, C’mon babe, just let me feel ya, I promise t’pull out.” You mimic his accent. “God, and then with our luck we’d end up in trouble.”

“In trouble?”

“Hello? Pregnant.” You scoff.

“And that’s not somethin’ you want?” You look at him with wide eyes. 

“Um...not right now. I mean, I’d like to finish school before any of that.”

“But at some point.”

“At some point, maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.” You shrug, turning your attention back to the computer. “Oh! Look at this one, and it’s only down the road from here. Want me to call P-”

“What do you mean you haven’t thought about it?!” Harry had officially lost it. “I think about it all the bloody time!” You set your laptop down slowly and look at him. He’s absolutely fume. 

“What exactly are we talking about here?”

“For fuck’s sake, Y/N, are you that oblivious? I’ve been droppin’ hints like crazy for like an entire month.”

“Hints?”

“A home to grow into, the baby clothes, seeing your nephew all the time? Duh.”

“Harry, I know you aren’t seriously suggesting that we have a baby right now.”

“It wouldn’t be right now, it would be nine months from now.” He says very seriously. You stand up slowly, and start to pace around a bit.

“And you’ve been feeling this way for over a month?”

“Yes.”

“We’ve barely talked about marriage, and you want to have a baby?” Harry’s eyes start to well up with tears. 

“I want a life with you. I want you to have my children. I haven’t found a way to bring any of this up. You’d be such a great mum, and I’d like to think I’d be a good dad. We both love kids.” He stands up to get closer to you, but you back away. “Don’t be scared.”

“I’m terrified! I can barely take care of myself, how am I supposed to take care of another human? And you! You would leave to go on tour or something, and I would be left alone. I can’t do that, the thought of that freaks me out. Having little to know help with a child.”

“I’d be around to help. Do you really think I would jet off to leave you with an infant? Besides, once you’re done with school you’d have time to come with me more.”

“Right, because my career is meaningless compared to yours.”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.” You grab your keys and slip your shoes on. 

“Where are you going?”

“I’m going for a drive, I need to get some air. This is all too much.”

“We’re literally about to buy a house together, where did you think all of this was going?”

“I don’t know! I figured we would take this one step at a time. I mean, you haven’t even proposed or anything. There’s zero security.”

“Buying a house together isn’t security?”

“I’m not buying it! You are! Because I’m not rich and famous, Harry! I’m just helping with the decision.” You take a deep breath. “I need to get outta here, I’ll be back later.” 

Before he could grab you, you were out the door and in your car, driving fast on the highway. You needed to think everything over. Harry would be a great dad. he looked so broken when you left. He really did want to have a baby with you. Would it be so bad? You only had one more semester of school, you could start trying once you finished this last pack of birth control. And that house you looked at would be perfect for raising kids in. It had a beautiful backyard, plenty of room for them to run around. You took a deep breath and turned around. 

You came back to Harry preparing dinner in the kitchen, eyes red from crying. 

“Hey.” You say quietly.

“Hi.” He says not looking at you. You sigh. 

“I think we should call Pam about that house we saw a couple weeks ago.” Harry’s eyes snap up to look at you.

“I thought it was too big.”

“Well, it was stupid of me to not be thinking ahead. It would be a perfect home to raise a family in.”

“Is that what you want?”

“Yes, I want a life with you too. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be doing this house thing with you. I’m sorry, I just got a little freaked out. I felt like my life flashed before my eyes. I’d need to finish up this last pack of birth control, and then go see my doctor...”

“We don’t have to start tryin’ right away.”

“I just need to get through this semester at school. Once I walk across that stage, and I have my diploma, we can start trying. But I can get off the pill next month to give us a better chance later.” 

He wraps his arms around you, and holds you tight to his chest. You put your hands on his narrow hips. You kiss each other tenderly. He starts laughing, breaking your kiss. 

“What’s so funny?”

“Nothin’, just, you realize this means you’ll have to start calling me daddy.” You break away from him and make a gagging noise.

“In your dreams.”

“C’mon, it’ll be great. C’mere, come give daddy a kiss.”

“Harry, I’m so serious stop it.” You start to run away from him, but he chases you around the kitchen playfully. 

“Don’t speak to daddy like that, s’not very nice.” You squeal when he catches you. You both laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m just kiddin’, I know ya don’t like that.”

//

You stayed true to your word. Once you walked across the stage at your graduation, you and Harry began trying for baby. You were all settled into your new place, and you loved it. You also loved Harry basically attacking you just about every day after you got home from work. You had never felt more wanted or sexy. You two already had a pretty active sex life, but there was something especially hot about him wanted to put a baby in you. 

Your first couple of goes at it, the tests came back negative. But you assured it was only because you had been on birth control for so long, your hormones were still adjusting. It just made Harry work harder at it. He would sweep you off on romantic weekends away. He’d get you while you were showering. Most mornings you were late to work because he couldn’t keep his hands off of you. 

You both cried tears of joy when the test eventually came back positive. You had your doctor confirm it as well. The first trimester absolutely sucked. You threw up all the time, but Harry was there to take care of you. You were starting to feel bloated and gross, but he never failed to tell you how beautiful you were. In fact, you were having more sex than you were having before, if that was even possible. 

Harry thought your growing stomach and all that came with it was sexy. He was amazed at the way your body transformed. You didn’t mind all the sex either. Your hormones were going crazy between food cravings and cravings for him. 

“I promise, you do not look fat. You’re not fat, you’re pregnant.”

“I look like a sausage casing.” You whine. “Maybe I should just stay home.” You were supposed to go with him to some award show. 

“You look stunning, as always. Please come with me. I promise, I’ll rub your feet when we get back.”

“Alright.” 

He was always doing nice things like that for you. He’d rub your feet, and lower back. He felt awful that you were in any sort of pain because of him. He would read to the baby inside your tummy, and talk to it. He would play music for it. He was already a doting father, and the baby hadn’t even come yet. He made things easier for you. You both had fun painting and decorating the nursery together, thankful you bought the house with the six bedrooms. 

You gave birth to a beautiful, healthy baby girl. Harry cried for what seemed like an hour after she was born, he was so happy. As the baby was resting, you two were chatting. Your body had been though a lot, but you were still under a lot of the pain meds. 

“I have a little something for you, by the way.” Harry reached into his pocket and took out a little box. “You said you didn’t want to be pregnant anymore when I did this, and technically you’re not pregnant anymore.” Tears welled up in your eyes. “I love you so much, Y/N, will you please marry me?” He opened the box and showed you the most beautiful, and elegant ring you had ever seen. 

“Oh, Harry, of course I will!” He slips the ring on your finger, and kisses you over and over. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too.” 

[aresaphrodites]

2 - bughead ❤️

this is definitely not spooky at all, but it’s cute and fun so i hope you like it <3

#2:  “ Who ate all my candy?!!”

.

.

.

“A Snickers, your majesty?” 

Betty Jones leans down and opens her mouth wide, allowing the small candy bar to fall onto her tongue. “Mmm,” she moans lightly. “My favorite!” She smacks her lips dramatically and watches as two pairs of matching blue eyes look at her in disgust. 

“Nasty, mommy,” Mia Jones says with a little squeal and shakes her head, causing her black curls to fly around wildly. 

Meanwhile Zeke Jones is grinning up at his mom, a pack of Skittles clutched in his hand tightly. “Mommy, mommy! Catch!” He doesn’t even give her time to react before he’s throwing a green Skittle at her face. It bounces off her nose and Betty watches as the twins go completely still, eyes wide and mouths dropped open as if they’re about to get scolded. 

“I missed that one on purpose,” Betty tells them, “I hate the green ones.” 

Zeke cackles and throws a red one at her, which she actually does catch this time. The twins cheer for their mom, so excited for her in a way that only six-year-olds can be. Their laughter and energy is so infectious though, that she finds herself laughing along with them.

“Mommy,” Mia says as they continue to sort through all their candy, “you look very pretty tonight.” 

“Aw,” Betty coos and presses a kiss to her daughter’s head. “Thank you, baby! I think you look very beautiful.” 

“Do I look like a princess?” She asks softly, playing with the ends of her Sleeping Beauty dress. “My hair doesn’t match.”

Betty frowns slightly. Mia has always been a little insecure about the color of her hair and Betty will never understand why. Unlike Zeke, who has golden blonde waves like Betty, Mia has her father’s hair, just a little more wild, and Betty has always loved it. It’s her favorite.

“That’s a dumb question,” Zeke says, mouth full of a Milky Way, taking Betty out of her thoughts. 

“Zeke Jones!” She scolds once she sees Mia’s frown deepen. “That’s not nice at all, young man. We don’t say things like that. What do I tell you?” 

Zeke sighs and rolls his eyes dramatically. God, he may be only six, but he has his father’s attitude. It’s adorable, but sometimes Betty wants to yell at Jughead for teaching their sweet son this. 

“There is no such thing as a dumb question,” Zeke recites. “But what if I ask you if it’ll hurt my eyes if I look at a picture of the sun?” 

Betty looks at her son, completely baffled, and then erupts into laughter. 

“What?” She wheezes. “Zekey, where do you come up with this stuff?” 

“Well?” He presses, placing his hands onto his hips. He accidentally knocks his lightsaber off his hip and Mia reaches over to pick it up before he can step on it. “Is that a dumb question?” 

“I’m going to take away all your candy if you keep giving me attitude,” she tells her son, refusing to admit that yes, that actually is a dumb question. His eyes go wide and she continues. “And you need to apologize to your sister right now, mister.” 

“No,” he whines, “Mommy, you never let me finish what I’m saying! You always do this!” 

“Excuse me?” She gasps, appalled. “I do not!” 

“You do too! You do it to daddy and you do it to me!” He looks down at his twin sister. “Right, Mia?” 

Mia, the little traitor, nods rapidly. “It’s true, mommy. I’m sorry.” 

“I can’t believe this,” Betty says softly, with a fake sadness. “My own kids… out to hurt me.” 

Zeke giggles, but he sits back down on the floor and wraps his arms around his sister tightly before pulling away and handing her a Twizzler. “It’s a dumb question because of course you look like a princess. Who cares if you don’t have hair like me and mommy? All the coolest princesses have dark hair.” 

“Oh yeah?” Mia asks, doubtful. “Like who?” 

“Snow White! She was really cool. She was so sweet and nice that all the animals loved her, just like the doggies love you. And Belle! She was awesome! She loved books and was super smart, just like you are. I bet she passed all her spelling tests like you do.” 

Mia smiles softly at her brother’s words and Betty’s heart clenches at the sight in front of her. Sure, there are days when the kids are at each other’s throats so badly that Betty questions how she hasn’t lost her mind yet, but underneath it all, they love each other so much and they’re always there for one another. It’s all she’s ever wanted for her children, and she’s so happy that they have each other. 

“Don’t forget Mulan,” a new voice rings out from the foyer. Mia immediately lights up at the sight of her favorite man making his way into the living room. “Mulan’s my favorite princess.” Mia jumps up from the floor and runs into her dad’s arms, squealing as he picks her up and twirls her around before placing her onto his hip. “So what’s this I hear about you not liking your hair?” 

Mia blushes and looks down. “I didn’t say that, daddy. I just said it wasn’t like a princess’ hair.” 

Jughead Jones gasps in shock. “What? Says who?” 

“Well… Sleeping Beauty didn’t have blonde hair,” she says sheepishly. 

“So?” Zeke snaps. “Kylo Ren didn’t have blonde hair, but I think I still look awesome.” 

“Of course you do, baby,” Betty says, ruffling her son's hair as he comes to sit in her lap. 

“See,” Jughead says, smiling down at his wife and son before looking back up to his daughter. “It doesn’t matter what color your hair is, dumpling. You’re a princess, just like your brother is the evil Supreme Leader of Riverdale.” 

“He was a good guy!” Zeke wails and Betty and Jughead have to stop themselves from bursting into laughter. Their son has taken to the Star Wars franchise lately, and even though Betty’s not sure how she feels about him watching it already, it’s nice to see him so passionate about something that isn’t bugs or tormenting his sister. 

“Daddy, why do you call me that?” Mia asks, ignoring her brother. “I hate dumplings!” 

“Well, I love dumplings,” Jughead tells her. He places a kiss to her nose, making her giggle. “And I love you! So you’re my little dumpling. In fact, next year I think you should be a dumpling for Halloween.” 

“You’re silly,” Mia tells him before resting her cheek on his shoulder. 

Jughead walks the two of them over to where Betty and Zeke are sitting, and then he sits down on the floor next to his wife. 

“Well, hello, Mother of Dragons.” His eyes rake over Betty’s body and she sends him a bemused look. “Did you miss me?” 

“You were gone for like, ten minutes,” she tells him as Mia and Zeke get up from their parent’s laps to go back to searching through their pumpkin baskets. “Why did your work call you so late? You’re not on call.”

Jughead smiles at her. Betty’s always been very big on their family time, especially because it’s a little hard with Jughead’s job as a neurosurgeon at the hospital in the city. It’s not that long of a commute, but when you add all the hours he has to work, it’s a lot more tiring than either of them would like. When he does have a day off, he’s usually so tired that he just wants to rest, so Betty cherishes these moments and it annoys her whenever they’re interrupted. 

“Nothing to worry about, Betts.” He leans over and kisses the side of her mouth. “One of the interns just mixed up a bit of the paperwork, so Harvey was calling me to confirm a couple of things. Don’t worry, I’m still yours for the next three days.” 

Betty just hums out. “Well, you were missed, Jon Snow.” She reaches up and brushes her hand against his cheek. “I still cannot believe you grew out your facial hair for this costume.” 

“I wanted to be season five Jon Snow,” he says, bringing his own hand up to capture his wife’s. “You don’t like it?” 

“I didn’t say that. It’s just a little different. Are you going to keep it?” 

He laces their fingers together and brings Betty’s hand up to his lips, kissing her wedding finger, right above where the gorgeous diamond ring sits. “What do you think, my queen?” 

Betty snorts and shoves him playfully. “I think you look very mature with it.” 

“Oh? So I don’t look like a highschooler anymore? Awesome. It’s only been like fifteen years.” 

“Daddy!” Zeke screeches. “Look, I saved this for you!” He runs over to his parents and hands Jughead a squished Baby Ruth. “It’s your favorite, so I didn’t eat it.” 

“Aw, thanks, bud!” He takes the candy and wraps his arm around Zeke, bringing him against his chest. “You could have eaten it, though. I’m sure I have some in my pumpkin.” 

At his words, Zeke makes a comically nervous face and Mia laughs lightly behind her hands. Jughead catches on immediately. 

“Okay,” he drags out, suspicious, “who has my pumpkin?” 

“I haven’t seen it,” Zeke says quickly. 

“Nope!” Mia agrees, shaking her head while still giggling. 

Jughead whirls around to look at Betty. “Babe? Where’s my pumpkin?” 

“I haven’t seen it,” she says quietly, cheeks red, “did you check the kitchen?” 

“We haven’t even been to the kitchen since we got home!” 

The quiet jingle of Luna’s--the family dog’s--name tags echoes throughout the room and Jughead watches in horror as she brings him a chewed up pumpkin basket. 

“Oh, my God! Luna ate my candy!” 

Mia cackles loudly and now even Zeke and Betty are laughing along. 

“Not her, daddy,” Zeke says through his laughter and Jughead looks at his family in shock. 

“Then who?” Jughead asks, astonished. “We all have our own pumpkins!” 

“It wasn’t me,” Zeke sings out. “You know I don’t like chocolate that much, daddy.” 

“I know,” Jughead says, patting Zeke’s blonde waves. “My sweet baby boy would never do this to me. It could only be your mom or sister!” 

“Hey,” Betty and Mia whine. 

“You two are the only ones who deceive me like this,” Jughead whines and Mia looks at him in confusion. “The only ones who trick me like this!” 

“Maybe you’re going crazy, Juggie,” Betty says, even though she’s grinning so hard that her cheeks hurt. “No one ate your candy.” 

“You’ll pay for this tonight,” Jughead tells her and she gasps softly, knowing exactly what he means. He grins, happy with the effect he has on her, and then puts on his game face. “Alright, so which one of you is going to confess.” 

“It wasn’t me,” Betty and Mia say at the same time, both laughing still. 

“Who ate all my candy?!!” He shrieks, distraught, and this time they all erupt into laughter. 

“It was mommy!” Mia admits and Betty gasps, looking at her daughter in horror. “I’m sorry, mommy! I feel bad!” 

“Don’t feel bad for him! Feel bad for me! Daddy ate all my candy last year!” 

“You said you didn’t want it!” Jughead defends. “How was I supposed to know you meant that you just didn’t want it at that moment!” 

“Whoopsie,” Betty says and Jughead scoffs. 

“You literally still have an entire bucket full of candy, Elizabeth. Why did you eat mine?” 

“Because yours looked better.” 

“We got the same things!” 

“Hmm, no, I don’t think so.” 

Jughead gives her a deadpan look and then rolls his eyes. “Oh, yeah. You’re definitely paying for this later on.” 

Betty just winks at him and he blows her a kiss. 

“Don’t be upset, daddy,” Mia says. “You can share my candy with me.” 

“Thank you, baby,” Jughead says with a pout. “You are the sweetest dumpling.” 

Mia smiles at him and gets up to hand over her basket to him. 

Betty laughs so hard that she can’t breathe whenever Jughead reaches his hand into the basket only to find out that their daughter has given him an empty one, having poured all her candy onto the floor earlier. 

After that, the house is filled with the sound of the twins’ laughter as Jughead chases them throughout the house, while Betty stands on the sidelines and protects her children from the “monster man”, the stolen candy long forgotten.

.

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Send me a sentence from this list of spooky prompts with a ship and I’ll write you a short lil fic. :) 

[forasecondtherewedwon]

Slow Mover

Pairing: Peter Parker x Michelle Jones (Spideychelle) Rating: E/NSFW Word count: 12k

Summary:

When Ned backed out on rooming with Peter during their first year of college, MJ felt like it was no big deal to take his place. Now that she's about to lose it, she's confronting the fact that she may have grown attached... and not to the apartment.

Monday, February 1st

I’m gonna pack my things and leave you behind/This feeing’s old and I know/That I’ve made up my mind ― “I Love You So” (The Walters)

MJ’s been thinking about moving out for awhile. As far as roommates go, Peter’s a slob, not that she has a frame of reference since they’re only in their first year of college and she declined student residence in favour of splitting a lease with her Academic Decathlon underling.

If the term ‘underling’ seems harsh, it’s not. Peter’s earned her disdain in more ways than there are Disney Dalmatians. He mashes down the nibs of her Faber-Castell markers making hasty grocery lists on the post-its that inevitably breeze off their fridge door. He falls through the window almost every time he gets in late from Spidey-patrol and the thud wakes her up. He has socks everywhere. She has never seen so many. Fucking. Socks.

This was supposed to be him and Ned, she knows―his actual best friend, not the friend reluctantly given the designation because... why, again? How she won Peter’s friendship isn’t immediately clear. Except Ned decided to commute from home in a last-minute fit of separation anxiety. This was after Peter signed a lease but before the online application for student residence opened. MJ shrugged and said she’d help them out because the little walk-up is close to campus and about on par with what the college charges for housing. For Peter, the draw is the privacy to sneak in and out in his superhero getup. For MJ, it’s the quiet of not sleeping within the same four walls as a noisy roommate, on a floor packed with students, in a building of eighteen-year-olds who’ve just left the nest and are ready to party.

But, like she’s noted, Peter’s the worst.

It’s the first of February, with only two full months plus exams left in the term, and she’s still telling herself she might just cut and run. Very likely, she and Peter have the last good landlord in New York City (or the woman knows how fast she could rent their apartment with so many students, tourists, and other career transients coming and going) because they were told upfront that they could move out at either the end of the month or right in the middle, provided they gave two weeks of notice. When the 1st and the 15th of every month roll around, MJ re-evaluates. Obviously, she hasn’t dropped Peter on his ass yet, but she could. She has options. She’s met a handful of people in her figure drawing and art history classes who are living together on two floors of a ramshackle historic house somewhere that’s basically turned into an artist’s colony and one more person would be nothing to them. MJ could absolutely move in. The socializing demands would be an adjustment, but it’s a short sprint to exam season and she’ll be burrowing into a library study room at that point anyway.

Today’s another first of the month, another chance to announce she’s jumping ship. After considering everything during her walk back to the apartment from her afternoon class, MJ’s decided she’ll probably stay. She never records the factors that inform her decision, preferring to leave no trace. Put it down to her love of mystery and conspiracy, or her five solid months of rooming with a guy who leads a double life. Either way, her vast internal ordering system that leaves no physical sign drives Peter nuts. That’s why she continues to use it.

“Hey, loser, I’m home!” she shouts, twisting her key out of the lock and closing the door behind her.

MJ doesn’t see him right away, but she knows he’s here. His class schedule is as familiar as her own and she knows he’s just as hesitant as she is to engage with people―even people he’s friendly with in class―outside of school. He’ll be here. No need to rush the encounter.

She kicks off her slushy boots, hangs her coat, shoves her hat down the sleeve, and heads to her room. A living space and kitchen that are practically one and the same was evidently the trade-off the boys were willing to make for two bedrooms when they chose this apartment. Whatever. MJ isn’t dying for any meal that requires more than a foot and a half of counter space. And the bedroom all to herself is nice. Peter got the one with the window for his nefarious late-night purposes (saving people and shit), so her room’s away from exterior walls and beside the bathroom. She nearly always gets to the shower first and when she doesn’t... at least being a slow showerer isn’t one of Peter’s faults.

Hefting her textbooks and notebooks from her bag one by one, MJ assesses which she’ll need for homework tonight. Yikes, maybe it should be an exclusively laptop evening; she has a midterm paper coming up and the task of assembling citable articles from scholarly journals beckons in a voice that’s been shredded through a cheese grater. Mmm, cheese. She touches her stomach. Snack first?

Once she’s let her hair down to straggle around her shoulders and swapped her jeans for pj bottoms, MJ plods back into communal territory. She can hear Peter talking in his room through his door, probably on the phone. Part of her wants to knock and tell him to say hi to his aunt for her. The more persuasive part of her wants cheese. She shuffles onward.

He comes sliding into the kitchen like a young Tom Cruise, but with pants―god, the mental comparison is so embarrassingly bad that it’s making her start to blush―as MJ’s arranging a slice of cheddar on a cracker. The fact that Peter so clearly wants to tell her something encourages her to bite down and, mouth full of crunching food, cut him off with, “’Sup?”

“I just got off the phone with Ned,” he informs her. His arms are dramatically apart like this news is in any way important or unusual.

Treating him with heavily sarcastic seriousness, she plants an elbow on the counter and leans towards him like she’s fascinated.

“And Lego’s teaming up with Tesla to build a driveable, electric Millennium Falcon that roars like Chewbacca when you hit the gas,” she predicts.

Peter’s mouth hangs open for a moment and it’s adora―it’s amusing. Like, she wants to laugh at him. Because he looks like a dork. This nerd is so easy to bait.

“Oh my god, I wish. Get out of my fantasies.”

Her elbow almost slips off the counter. She finishes chewing, chastened by how she could’ve just bit her tongue in a grisly household accident.

“Spit it out then,” she suggests, because now Peter’s grinning, waiting for her to ask. “I don’t have another guess.”

Her roommate takes a deep breath to ready himself for something and she narrows her eyes.

“Well, you know how you keep talking about those people you know and their big house and how they maybe have a room or part of a room or something?”

MJ rolls her eyes.

“I mentioned it once, Parker.”

“Oh, well, I remember you saying that. I―well,” he interrupts himself, “Ned and I wondered if that was something you were still considering.”

She has no idea where he’s going with this.

“I have no idea where you’re going with this.”

Peter comes close to vibrating for a minute before he just blurts it out.

“Ned’s moving in! Or, he could be, if you were moving out. Shit,” he mutters, expression falling. “We’re not trying to force you out. It’s just that you said you might want to, and Ned’s been thinking about moving closer to campus for exams and―”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” MJ agrees, nodding quickly. “You guys are idiots for not thinking of that sooner.”

Are they? Was it them being idiots that kept Ned at home? No, that was anxiety. Was it them being idiots that made Peter wholeheartedly welcome MJ as a roommate? No, that was... Ok, she doesn’t have an answer for that one, but she’s already said her thing about idiots, so she scoops her plate of cheese and crackers off the counter and slips past the confused face of her roommate, muttering about peer-reviewed academic sources.

It’s infuriating and unfair, as MJ numbly abandons her snack on her desk and sinks to the floor of her bedroom with her head in her hands, that the instant she agreed to move out was the same instant she noticed how cute her soon-to-be ex-roommate looks in sock-feet.

 Tuesday, February 2nd

Is there more to this urge that lies in me/’Cause it feels like there’s something I can’t see/But I don’t know what it means ― “Patience” (Hollow Coves)

“You have your key, right?” Peter checks. It’s twenty after seven in the morning and MJ’s hustling him out their apartment door ahead of her. Honestly, she’s trying to kick the back of his shoes to speed him up, but Spider-Roommate’s a little too agile.

“Right here,” she assures him, flashing him the key ring in her hand.

“I just didn’t want you to be―”

“I know, loser.”

She observes as he hefts his backpack onto his shoulder and reaches past her to pull the door shut after them. He locks up and drops his key into his backpack. The solo key. Right in there, with all the other crap Peter keeps crammed inside. Half the time, when he has class and she doesn’t, she hears him arrive home and gets up to let him in. (Has she been listening for him? Not consciously.) Otherwise, he’s fumbling through his bag for ages for that key. Hilarious that he thinks he needs to take care of her like this, when she’s the one who’s been doing that for him.

Caring in a loose sense. Not actual caring. Just, making something more convenient.

They walk down the stairs. MJ’s instinct is always to hang back―like she’s trailing him or trying not to be seen with him―but Peter always slows down to her pace, never making it a thing. By this point in the year, their steps are in sync. The rhythmic thumps are an excuse not to speak. For her, anyway.

It’s early and MJ doesn’t have class until tonight. The explanation she’s been going with since this little morning ritual started is that it gives her more time to get shit done and keeps her established sleep schedule from getting fucked up on days that she has to be on campus before noon. The number of steps they descend together has grown familiar beneath the soles of her sneakers, she knows every little gouge in the wall. With Ned moving in, the number of days left for MJ to do this is suddenly pretty small. She’s nervous about it; she’s never been one for countdowns. Pulling her wool cardigan closed, she crosses her arms over her chest like she’s holding herself in and tucks her hands into her armpits.

“Have a good morning,” Peter says, moving quickly across the cramped lobby to push the outer door open. “See ya.”

She feels him glance back at her, but she doesn’t return the look.

“Yep.”

Alone, MJ turns to their shared mailbox. Another benefit of a key ring: carrying multiple keys at one time without the risk of losing any of them. She opens it up, extracts their measly haul, and flips through as she climbs the stairs back to the apartment. The journey feels a lot farther when she’s heading up―could be the roommate that makes the difference, or only gravity.

Halfway up, she has to pause. It’s just junk mail, addressed to Peter, but she realizes she’s going to miss getting mail with his name on it.

 Wednesday, February 3rd

Maybe you and I could live together if we ever learn to ease the tension ― “You & I” (Colony House)

Ned’s over when MJ gets home. Today’s the longest day of her week―six hours of class back-to-back, followed by an hour and a half of the work study she signed up for because her scholarship doesn’t cover rent outside of student residence. It’s just papering bulletin boards with student council notices, and the mundanity of the work is nice, but she’s reached her quota for expending effort today; she accepts Ned’s high-five as she drags her feet past the couch and heads to her room, lying face-down on her bed until it feels like she’s whole again.

Gradually (very gradually), she rolls onto her side and grabs her warped copy of Moll Flanders off the bedside table. Something about a woman living an extremely precarious life calms her. MJ’s breathing becomes slow and silent, but she stops herself after 15 pages. If she keeps reading, she’ll fall asleep. Instead, she sits up and trades her socks for the cozier version wedged under her mattress. She has a secret fear that Peter will steal them. He’s gotten a covetous look in the past, so she’s taking precautions.

She pulls her laptop to her instead of going to her laptop and tidies up the Works Cited page on her in-progress paper. This task of thoughtless precision is the only school-related thing she feels like tackling for the rest of the day. All of today’s classes are either of the Monday-Wednesday variety or once a week, so MJ isn’t in a rush to get the readings done. She stops to think, pulling up the digital copy of her planner, and stares at the test she has marked down for next week. Hmm. It’s before her paper’s due, meaning studying for it won’t be taking priority, but the test format is a mix of multiple choice and short answer. The class―a sociology course―is graded on a curve and she’s in there with a bunch of students from non-writing programs who are consistently shit at short answer questions. As long as she refreshes her memory about the material being tested, the grading curve will push her competent written answers to the head of the class. It’s all about working the system.

During her time alone in the apartment yesterday, MJ hammered out a thesis and introductory paragraph. Now, she approaches them ruthlessly to see if she can streamline. This is the most critical part; actually writing the paper is just her hands flying across the keyboard, tossing in quotations like air-dropped care packages to her primary source-obsessed professor.

No, no, her brain is rejecting it. She’s done enough today. She doesn’t exactly want to socialize, but Peter and Ned are generally good about letting her quietly stew in their company without expecting much from her. MJ heads to the bathroom to wake herself up by washing her face, then out into the living room.

“What are you nerds doing?”

Half of the reason for her question is just to scare them (not that that’ll actually work on Mr. Super-senses over there) because she can see they’re about to put a movie on. Peter spins around to look at her while Ned rises from the couch. Privately, MJ thinks it’s kind of nice how Ned feels so at home here, where Peter is. Then again, it is about to become his home. Fuck, she needs to talk to the art people about that room.

“We were just gonna watch Alien,” Peter offers.

“Again? Didn’t you tell me you guys did an Alien marathon over winter break?”

He smiles like he’s been caught and it’s cu―funny.

“Yeah, and Ned’s making hot chocolate.”

“Oh yeah?” MJ watches Ned stride purposefully into their tiny kitchen. “Finally making yourself useful?”

He waves a dismissive hand at her and she snorts a laugh. They’ve gotten to this good friendship place of brotherly/sisterly teasing.

“You wanna watch?” Peter asks, calling her attention back to him. She weighs her looming essay against the full day behind her.

“Ok.”

“Hot chocolate, MJ?” Ned immediately asks.

“Well, since you’re determined to be such a good host.”

Ned grins and turns back to the kitchen. MJ leans against the wall, watching Peter put the movie in―not watching, just, like, observing―then glances at Ned. He hasn’t made much progress with their drinks. A mismatched trio of mugs is on the counter and... that’s it.

“You need a hand?” she asks, pushing off the wall.

“Where’s the kettle? Didn’t it used to be in this drawer?”

Ned points into the sliding drawer at their heap of assorted pots and pans.

“It did,” MJ explains. “But that one broke, so we bought a new one. A new one, WHICH WE’RE HOPING NOT TO BREAK BY DROPPING IT INTO THE DRAWER THIS TIME, RIGHT, PETER?”

Her roommate gives a sheepish laugh.

“Our new one’s tucked behind the toaster,” she tells Ned, directing him with a jerk of her chin.

“You guys are buying appliances together,” Ned chuckles. “That’s adorable.”

It’s a somnambulant walk to the couch, where MJ huddles in the corner and zones out for most of the movie.

 Thursday, February 4th

You burn through my mind, again and again, again/And again and again ― “Luna” (Bombay Bicycle Club)

Feeling a burst of resolve before the weekend, possibly in rebellion against Wednesday evening’s confusing feelings, MJ decides to text one of her art classmates re: the spare room. Somehow, what she ends up texting is a question about their prof’s office hours. Which MJ already knows the answer to.

Another thing she does is read the same page of her art history textbook over and over and over and over.

 Friday, February 5th

You’re the only one worth seeing/The only place worth being ― “Cold Cold Man” (Saint Motel)

Peter’s class finishes an hour before MJ’s, yet he always dithers with his packing, so they end up leaving the apartment for their trip back to Queens (courtesy of public transit) at the same time. Traveling with him is one of the less flawed aspects of a friendship with Peter Parker. He won’t glare manspreaders out of their prime seats like MJ would, but he knows the shortest routes and, while train and bus timetables never line up well for her, Peter’s memorized and mastered the schedule. They never wait around.

Also, there’s, like, a bubble of chill around him. No one in their vicinity behaves like a violent asshole―not verbally, not physically. Is it some kind of Spider-Man thing? Is Peter’s skin emitting a sedative to keep the other passengers relaxed? MJ isn’t relaxed. She sways into him multiple times, their overstuffed backpacks knocking together, and he smiles at her, unbothered, as her heart revs ineffectually like a remote-control car someone’s trying to urge up a steep slope.

They walk the last two blocks to the spot where their paths diverge. There’s enough sunshine that the light snow that fell overnight has already been transformed into the slimy grit crunched beneath their boots. Her bag’s beyond heavy at this point, but she knows, at any sign of lag, he’ll offer to carry it for her and she just can’t deal with that shit right now. ‘That shit’ being Peter’s thoughtfulness. MJ just... she needs a day, two days, to remember that she knows how to live without Peter always in the next room. Without joint ownership of a fucking kettle.

“So, text me when you wanna head back on Sunday and we’ll go together?”

MJ frowns. It isn’t clear if the question is the timing for the return trip or if they’ll be making it as a party of two. She shrugs.

“If that works for you.”

“Ok, awesome.”

She nods though it doesn’t feel like a situation where the word ‘awesome’ is called for.

“Later, nerd,” MJ says, aiming for her mom’s as she marches away.

“Hey, MJ?”

She glances back. Peter’s still standing there, plaintive look on his face, hands clutching the straps of his backpack. He never wears gloves. She keeps telling him to wear gloves. Is she supposed to be responsible for Spider-Man’s frostbite? What a pain in the ass this guy is.

Her attention’s enough to get him to continue.

“It’s ok, right? It’s ok about Ned moving in? It’s just, you were kind of quiet during the movie the other night and we didn’t talk much yesterday either...”

With a deep breath, MJ walks back to him.

“I’m just busy,” she says, meeting his eye, then letting her gaze drift off. “Big essay coming up.”

“...And about Ned?”

“Oh yeah, that makes sense, like I said. Did you forget?” It’s maybe the shittiest attempt at teasing someone ever made, but MJ doesn’t really tease Peter.

“But it’s not, like, bothering you or anything, is it? I mean, you don’t regret agreeing?”

Do you? she wants to ask and doesn’t.

“I’m fine, Parker, stop worrying about it,” she says instead. “If you bring this up again after Ned moves in with you, I’m going to have to come back to the apartment and booby-trap it, Home Alone-style.”

He smiles.

“Harsh.”

“Alright,” MJ concedes, “Parent Trap-style, like they did to the cabin. No swinging paint cans, just buckets of molasses.”

“Deal. Consider my silence bought.”

“I didn’t buy your silence, nerd, I ensured it through coercion. Aren’t you supposed to have experience dealing with bad guys? Yikes.”

Peter starts laughing and, incredibly, she does too, the two of them stalled on the corner.

“Ned’ll keep me out of trouble.”

“Yeah, well, he better,” she says easily. Too easily. Jesus, what the hell is she saying? “Because, uh, I need you alive long enough to pull off the Parent Trap thing.”

Shit, she made an offhanded reference to the possibility of his being murdered. Nice. Really great stuff. He won’t want her out on the 15th now―he’ll never want her back in the apartment with him again.

“Of course.”

Peter glances down, but when his face tilts back up, he’s smiling at her. Why the fuck does it feel like they’re saying goodbye forever? MJ nods an awkward farewell to end this strangeness. That’s when Peter moves towards her and she freezes. What’s he doing? They don’t have a secret handshake like he and Ned do. He catches himself when his arms start to lift and looks horrified.

“Sorry,” Peter blurts. “I don’t know what... I was going to hug you.” He laughs self-consciously. “That’d be weird, right?”

“And it’s managing to get weirder without even happening.”

He takes a step back, but MJ surges forward impulsively. She tucks her chin over his shoulder, her hands squeezing his sides because the backpack makes a full embrace impossible―Peter’s backpack is helping her make wiser choices than her own brain.

“Bye,” she says, soft and fast, and turns, jogging to catch the light.

 Saturday, February 6th

The longing never ends/Letting go of ways that we changed, still I pretend ― “Fire Flower” (Summer Salt)

Her gram comes over for dinner. Or, more like MJ and her mom pick her gram up from the apartment she shares with her sister and bring her back for dinner. Ever since Gram’s wife (they never made it official, but that doesn’t change who these women were to each other) died, she’s been living with her sister, but MJ’s great-aunt, 79 years old as she is, has a hot date tonight, so Gram has made time for them in her busy schedule. She’s a real jokester about that in the car, about how she’s missing Westworld for them. When MJ shoots back that she can and has watched Westworld any time she wants (she’s pretty sure Gram’s on her third rewatch of season one), her mom shoots her a look from the driver’s seat. When she adds that Gram only watches because she has a crush on Thandie Newton, they have to roll down the windows to let a little of the laughter out.

Her mom won’t let her wash dishes during her first visit home for over a month, but she has nothing against MJ drying them. As they work, Gram sits at the kitchen table and asks her all about school. Asks if she’s still drawing naked people (yes, Gram, the figure-drawing class runs all year), asks if Financial Aid’s trying to snatch her scholarship back (no, Gram, but I’ll call you if they try anything).

“And are you still living with that boy?”

Normally, MJ would laugh this question off, same as the others. Normally. Her hands still, holding a mug wrapped in a dampening tea towel.

“What’d you say, honey?”

Gram’s a little deaf and not used to MJ not firing an answer back immediately. She assumed she didn’t hear the response, not that MJ didn’t give one. MJ thinks for a second. Probably better not to alarm her gram with news of her upcoming change of living situation. She doesn’t want to be worried about and, technically, she is still living with ‘that boy’ for another eight days.

“Yes, Gram. Peter.”

“His name is not one of the things I need to know about him. I just need to know that he’s not getting in the way of your ascent to greatness.”

MJ smiles and finishes drying the mug.

“Nobody’s going to do that.”

“Good girl. And you feel safe there?”

“Gram, he’s an Avenger.”

Yeah, maybe that’s top-secret information. Whatever. Who’s her gram going to tell?

“I don’t mean do you think he’d pull you out if the building fell down―”

“Nice image, Mom,” MJ’s mother contributes with a roll of her eyes.

“―I mean how are you handling sharing a space with a boy who’s in love with you?”

MJ’s drying a fistful of silverware and it spills out of her grip, scattering across the counter. A lone spoon plops back into the sink’s soapy water. She clears her throat and reaches for the cutlery. Reaches even farther for her composure.

“He’s not, and what would that have to do with safety?”

“Let me tell you, he most certainly is.” Apparently, Gram’s rejecting the question. She never wastes her own time on words she can’t be bothered to speak.

“A boy and a girl can room together without there being... feelings,” MJ points out. It’s irritation that’s making her blush. Irritation at herself for being wrong-footed by her gram over Peter freaking Parker.

“Yes, they can, but I’m not talking about ‘a boy and a girl,’ I’m talking about Peter and yourself.”

“I think getting a Netflix account has made you suspicious,” MJ gently accuses. “What’ve you been watching on there?”

“None of your business.”

Gram changes the subject, letting her off the hook, but the next time MJ turns to look at her, Gram gives her a wink.

Well, she can think what she likes, even theorize aloud. Doesn’t make her right. If it’s between Peter and MJ, her own feelings are the ones that make her feel unsafe, unbalanced, unprepared. Maybe he’s considerate with her, maybe he’s kind to the point of being sweet (when she lets him be), but that’s Peter. That’s just Peter.

 Sunday, February 7th

You know I like you a lot, but/It still hits me like a rock ― “Hits Me Like a Rock” (CSS)

MJ’s breaking her promise to stay for lunch, bailing right after breakfast. She tells her mom she’d rather get back into school mode. Plus, she’ll be home for the week-long study break before midterms; only a week away. What she won’t think about is the possibility that she’ll be using her studying time for learning-to-cope-without-Peter-in-the-next-room time instead.

She doesn’t text him, by the way. Why cut his weekend short? True, escorting her home isn’t his responsibility, but he’d find some way to feel obligated. Definitely a Spider-Man thing. If only his overdeveloped sense of responsibility carried over into the putting his socks away department. Which is what she comes home to: Peter’s socks just inside the door of their apartment. On the floor, peeking out of every pair of his shoes like a grubby Beatrix Potter scene. MJ has no memory of things looking so dire when she left (they left―together). Must’ve been distracted by trying to remember if she had her transit pass, or whether her mom had asked her to bring anything home for dinner.

The sidewalks have become slushy again and, based on the wet spot near the toe of her left sock, she needs to re-waterproof her boots. For now, she troops straight to her bedroom, holding her dripping boots in one hand and a paper towel beneath them with her other. MJ settles them over the heat vent in her room. As she switches to dry socks, she eyes the boots like they should’ve known better.

It’s a cozy, forgetful few hours of solitude. Her paper’s due Thursday and the body of it isn’t exactly taking shape; she’s straining against the traditional essay format and finding it messy going, even though it feels like she’s on the right track. High school has underprepared her for this and overprepared her for things like... robotics. It’s amazing how few people give a fuck about robotics when she’s sitting in a lecture on the Dutch masters.

Peter never remembers to shut his bedroom door and, without trying to look, MJ gets a glimpse from the hall, right through his room and out the window, of snow lazily starting to fall when she rises to get a glass of water. The call of hot water is strong, but she showered his morning before breakfast. The best she can do is snuggle into bed and languidly run a highlighter over some readings for Tuesday.

MJ finds out she fell asleep when she wakes up to Peter’s disbelieving shriek. The sound isn’t loud, but it has her up and fighting her way out of her blankets to stumble into the hallway at the same time her roommate comes sliding into it from the kitchen. He sighs in relief. Spins, clutching his hair. That’s a little much, she thinks. What a fucking dork.

“What’s wrong with you?” she asks, ignoring how good it feels to see him again. Again? They were apart a day.

“You never texted me and then, and then―” He gestures behind him. “―your boots weren’t at the door.”

“They were soaked,” MJ explains slowly. “They’re drying in my room.”

Peter’s still getting over... whatever this is that’s happening to him.

“Your boots are always at the door.”

She looks at him carefully, surprised to discover he seems to be coming down from genuine panic.

“Are you ok?”

He does an odd shrugging motion and approaches her.

“I’m ok.”

“Do you need a―”

Peter claps his arms around her and MJ goes immobile.

“Yeah, I did,” he agrees.

She’s trying to figure out when she should tell him she planned to end that sentence with ‘doctor.’ Or something else, even. Something that would calm him. Only... he does seem calm. Feel calm. His hands are spread on her back. His body’s sturdy enough to pull her in and push her back out again with his every breath when he’s hugging her like this, but at least they’re slow breaths. It’s actually kind of ok. Nice. Warm. Confusing.

Before MJ can wrap her arms around his neck, caught up in this intermission from the Parker and Jones: Roommates and Nothing More sitcom, Peter puts his hands firmly on her waist and steps away from her. Then glances down to see where his hands are and drops them.

“S-sorry. I... I was... I overreacted.”

“I’m fine,” she says with what’s supposed to be a shrug but manifests as a twitch. “I’m good. Nobody murdered me on my way home. So...” Idiotically, MJ chucks him on the shoulder in a mortifyingly fatherly manner. “Thanks for keeping the streets safe, Spider-Man.”

“Uh, yeah, you’re welcome. Glad you’re safe.”

Peter’s red-faced, swinging his arms, looking at her and then not looking at her, as she retreats back into her room and closes the door.

Not safe. MJ is not safe.

 Monday, February 8th

I’ll speak a little louder, I’ll even shout/You know that I’m proud and I can’t get the words out ― “Everywhere” (Fleetwood Mac)

She’s wasting the one-hour gap she has between classes. It’s supposed to be for eating lunch and, these days, either studying for tomorrow’s test or adding something brilliant to her paper. It isn’t supposed to be for eating lunch with a couple of nerds who’ve braved the art building to join her. Ned’s awe of the building makes MJ start to smile before he changes topics to the reason he and Peter are actually barging into her schedule―discussion of Ned’s move-in.

Based on their landlord’s 1st and 15th rule, Ned will be an official renter seven days from now. To the boys, it therefore makes sense for Ned to be taking over that day. And to MJ too, of course. It totally makes sense to MJ. The 15th is also the first day of their break week, so there won’t be classes to plan around. Nothing could be more straightforward! MJ can get her stuff packed up this weekend (the 13th-14th) and have her mom pick her up in the car the next day to relocate her to her new living space. Which―fuck―she’s definitely going to text her classmate about. When asked about her living plans directly, she smiles and spoons hot soup into her mouth.

She’s good with it. Ned’s good with it. Peter’s... holding things up. He claims he’s only wondering if they need more time before Ned moves in because he doesn’t want anyone’s boxes to get mixed up. Ned pipes up with information on his thorough labelling technique. MJ just watches Peter. His eyes flick to her more than once, like she’s going to protest, maybe? She wouldn’t. She doesn’t want to screw this up for them. Rooming together is what these two losers wanted from the start. The only thing she has to do is step aside. Fine, she can manage that.

“And we’ll just... see each other around,” Peter says as the three of them are finishing lunch.

But he doesn’t say it to Ned, obviously. Not to Ned, who will be living across the narrow hallway from him in a week. He’s looking right at MJ. Damn his gentle, baby-animal eyes. She hadn’t really thought about this. When would she see Peter? They’re in different programs with classes in different buildings. Their schedules overlap in a way that was convenient for eating dinner together most nights, not in a way that means they’ll bump into each other on campus during their downtime. They’re overachievers who haven’t been able to sustain friendships outside of school. Except for with Ned. Except for with each other.

When Peter does this incomprehensible motion that, in another universe, might look like he was reaching for her hand, MJ nods in agreement. Then, as her eyes start to well without her permission, pretends to have burnt the roof of her mouth on her final spoonful of soup.

It’s been cold for half an hour.

 Tuesday, February 9th

Bless your body, bless your soul/Pray for peace and self-control ― “The World We Live In” (The Killers)

MJ isn’t sweating because she’s retroactively stressed about the test. The test went fine. She prepared; in fact, she overprepared―devoting her entire morning and too much of the afternoon to revision when she should’ve been working on her fucking paper. That’s why she hurried back. That’s why she’s sweaty and ready for a hot shower. It’ll refresh and refocus her and she’ll bang out a few paragraphs of the paper tonight, a few tomorrow (even though it’s the longest day of her week; she’s putting the nightmarish reality out of her mind for now), and have time to proofread the whole thing Thursday morning before she turns it in.

It’s a plan and she loves it. MJ heads to her room, vaguely noticing that Peter’s bedroom door is shut. Huh, maybe he’s hunkered down to do some studying of his own. She dumps her backpack and flings off her sweatshirt and, you know what, her t-shirt too when it wants to cling to the sweatshirt and be removed at the same time. The bathroom’s right next to her room.

MJ darts over in her bra and the sweatpants she wore to take her test and opens the door.

Just as Peter flips the bathroom light on.

She twists away and slams her back into the hallway wall. Jesus Christ. Blinking won’t wipe away the sight of Peter standing there with a towel tucked around his hips. Just the towel. Just that one towel. Fuck, she has to handle this somehow. The situation, that is.

“Sorry,” MJ blurts. “The light was off and, and I didn’t think and―”

“I like to shower in the dark. It kinda lets my senses rest and―”

“I finished my test early so you probably weren’t expecting me home and―”

“―then I needed the light on to shave because I cut myself enough with it on to have zero desire to attempt shaving my face in the dark and―”

Her heart’s pounding so loudly that between that sound and her own words, she’s barely catching any of what Peter’s saying.

“Such an invasion of privacy,” she sighs out in conclusion. He falls silent too. The bathroom door’s still open and a warm radiance stretches the width of the hall; MJ wants to reach her fingertips out and let them glow.

“So,” Peter says, urgency draining into timidity, “your test went well?”

“Yeah.” Looking down at her bare feet on the carpet of the hallway they still share, MJ smiles. “You cut yourself shaving?”

“You can laugh if you want.”

His tone isn’t offended and she knows he wouldn’t mind if she did laugh. Probably wouldn’t be surprised. She isn’t... she isn’t soft with him.

“I was just wondering why I’ve never noticed.”

“Oh, well, the cuts heal up pretty fast. They’re small cuts. I’m not that bad at shaving.” Peter clears his throat and she’s standing there yet, listening. “Plus, we don’t get close.”

A terrible, awkward, one-note laugh rips out of MJ.

“True.”

But her roommate doesn’t join in.

“We’re never close,” he says quietly. She shivers.

MJ’s back in her bedroom with the door shut―leaning against it―in a second. Maybe Peter started to move when she moved. Maybe he stepped out into the hallway with his raggedy towel and his squeaky-clean skin and the flush on his face from the steam because he heard her and thought she might be coming his way instead of hiding like a coward. She can’t know without witnessing it. His footsteps never make a sound.

 Wednesday, February 10th

It’s hard to know which way to go/Come and find me, come and find me ― “Between Days” (Far Caspian)

Clearly, despite her best intentions, MJ is giving off a vibe. Not her regular approach with caution vibe. No, no. She doesn’t know where that withering aura of distance has gone, but she’s lost it and the atmosphere around her has changed as smoothly as the colours in a mood ring. It must have, because Peter hugs her for the second time this week, pulling her into an abrupt embrace before she heads off to campus in the morning.

This is supposed to be the thing about roommates, right? Always invading your space. Only, through the decaying brick wall of her denial, she sees that this isn’t the same thing. He’s not rummaging through her search history or eating her groceries (besides―fuck―they’re kind of their groceries, like the whole kettle situation); he’s initiating moments of physical affection. MJ knows the hugs are affectionate and not perfunctory. If it were otherwise, if they were the kind of automatic hugs that happen in less established friendships upon every meeting and farewell, Peter and MJ would always have done them and it wouldn’t feel so momentous that, suddenly, he’s electing to hold her.

He doesn’t try it when she gets home. That’s a good thing. She’s tired and not so much cooking dinner as microwaving an assortment of shit from the fridge for the sloppy meal that will sustain her through wrapping up the final section of her midterm paper and writing the conclusion. Peter’s sitting on the couch with a textbook in his lap when she gives him a sharp wave and goes to her bedroom, closing the door firmly behind her.

The final section is an uphill (if the hill’s a ski slope slicked over by ice rain―and also there’s an avalanche rumbling down from the submit) battle that takes until nearly 10pm to complete. MJ’s focus is hanging by a thread and she’s rerouting all of her energy to keeping her brain on task. That means no getting up to hunt up a chocolate bar or make a cup of coffee. She can do this. She just has to force herself through to the end. It’s one more paragraph, or maybe a big one and a small final final one of a line or two, to bring home her argument with a little more flair.

MJ pushes ahead, but apparently, the scale of her determination hasn’t left enough space for her memory to function, because she’s mixing up the order of her sub-points, and she’s missing the first part of her thesis entirely. She keeps scrolling―up-down, up-down―to refer to the part she’s already written. It’s coherent, and that should be helping her now, but fucking stress or something is making her concentration worse the harder she tries.

She lives lightly in the apartment. She’s tidy and contained and quiet. The sound of frustration she makes as it feels like this whole assignment is unraveling (has she fucked it up from the beginning? Should she start over completely? Oh god, it’s eleven o’clock! How is it eleven?!) is hellish. MJ’s head slumps to her desk and she starts weeping. Why is this so hard? She’s tired.

It’s possible that she doesn’t hear his knock, but Peter barges into her room. She gets herself to sit up and wipe her fingers under her eyes, her palms over her wet cheeks.

“It’s not―” Coming together, she wants to say. Fair, she wants to say.

“I know,” Peter interrupts, walking over to her chair. “How ‘bout you step away from that for a minute?”

He puts his hand out to her and MJ sniffles as she stares at it. She slaps her palm to his and he holds on, pulling her up. Probably to guide her towards the TV or the kitchen for a hot drink, but MJ steps into him instead, her head on his shoulder, her nose against his neck.

It’s the smell she’s smelt when she hangs her coat on the hook next to his, when she sits on the couch and can tell he’s recently sat in the same spot. Normally, this is a following smell―the scent of coming upon him after he’s gone. Shock that it’s become a now smell makes MJ jerk back, realizing what she’s doing. She’s never practiced friendly hugs. She doesn’t know how to do them. Peter, on the other hand, hugs people all the time―mainly Ned and his aunt―and yet his failings are equal to hers. There’s nothing pal-like in how he puts his hands on her or flexes his arms around her or gently gathers her closer. When he lets her step back, she sort of wishes he hadn’t. But she’s not thinking. Fucking paper.

MJ swivels and sits on the edge of her mattress.

“I can’t end it,” she tells him bluntly.

Peter’s eyebrows raise... hopefully?

“No?”

She shakes her head.

“My introduction’s solid, but I’m getting lost somewhere in the middle trying to recap it.”

“Oh. Oh. Well, you could maybe― Is it ok if I sit down?” She nods. He continues, glancing sideways at her, a foot of space between them. “You could read it out loud? To me?”

“The whole essay?”

“If that’s what you need.”

MJ narrows her eyes at him.

“Parker, don’t you have your own work to do?”

He shrugs.

“I handed in a report today and I have a quiz on Friday. The grading for that class is, like, fifty percent quizzes. Pretty sure my prof just didn’t want to have to make up an exam.”

“Then my real question is, why do you want to do this?”

Why is she pushing him? MJ doesn’t know. Honestly, she’d prefer if it she shut up right about now and quit trying to get rid of her roommate. Her handsome, academically-capable roommate, sitting next to her on her bed. The only other time he’s touched her bed was when he helped her move it in here in September.

“Because it’s too soon to rewatch Alien?” She catches Peter’s eye and grants him a smirk as he laughs at his own joke. “Go,” he encourages, nodding towards her laptop. “Read it.”

With an indulgent sign, MJ lifts her computer from her desk to her lap. She mumbles a little at first; even if it’s a stupid paper rather than creative writing, they’re her words and she’s speaking them aloud for him to hear. But three paragraphs in, she glances over and Peter’s leaning back on his hands with his eyes closed. MJ almost snaps at him for not listening―incredible how fast the stress will flare up and demand an outlet―until she realizes he’s concentrating, eyebrows pulling together as she continues. Immediately after that, she stumbles over a full fucking sentence, but she comes out the other side with a steadier, louder voice.

When she reaches the end of what she has written, Peter nods and opens his eyes.

“I think―” he starts, but MJ shushes him.

Frantically, her hands trip and clack across her keyboard. The conclusion pours out, word after word after word. One big paragraph and a small final final one for flair. The second she’s done typing, MJ saves the document, puts her laptop back on her desk, and falls backwards onto her bed.

She takes three deep breaths, then says, “Now I just have to edit it.”

“Don’t I get to hear your conclusion?”

“In a minute.”

Peter drops onto his back beside her and sighs like he’s being denied something he really wanted. She rolls her eyes at him. What a nerd.

Their arms brush. He bounces his foot. Her back cracks when she pushes her shoulder into the mattress. She looks at him and gets the feeling that she just missed him looking at her.

“I’m waiting,” he whispers, and MJ laughs.

“Let it breathe, Parker. I just finished it.”

“Can you pass me that blanket then? I’m getting cold.”

“It’s like a hundred degrees in here,” she argues, but she thumps the blanket folded across her bed onto her roommate’s stomach.

After a minute of watching him get cozy, MJ’s jealous.

“Give me some of that.”

He lets her tug it over. The blanket’s big (Gram made it that way), but she’s pretty sure Peter moves closer with it.

She tucks her legs up and catches site of his watch as she arranges herself. A bit after midnight. Quarter-after. At quarter-after, she’ll get up, evict the dork from her room, and edit. MJ closes her eyes.

 Thursday, February 11th

I had a dream that I kissed your lips and it felt so true/Then I woke up as a nervous wreck and I fell for you ― “Fell for You” (Green Day)

They’ve made up for three years of nearly hug-less friendship in one night; MJ wakes up slowly to find her arms around Peter, and his around her. She keeps her eyes half-open. Evidently, they clung in their sleep, facing each other, and she’s never been so comfortable. But things are going to get uncomfortable any second when Peter stirs. She almost doesn’t want him to. Then, he shifts and she feels his erection against her thigh where it’s slotted between his. MJ tries to cautiously extract her leg―heart pounding in her ears―and Peter lifts his bowed head. His bleary brown eyes meet hers.

“Hi.” His voice is like rug burn.

“I have to edit my paper,” she remembers.

She’s waking up more now, noticing the light in her room. Not the lamp she left on last night, but the morning light that generally brightens the space, coming from Peter’s window across the hall. She puts her hand down to push herself up to a sitting position and it lands on his upper arm. In a blink, his hand’s gripping her arm, preventing a topple. Wow, those reflexes are something. MJ glances shyly down into her roommate’s face.

“Paper,” she says again.

“Right.”

He sits up quickly beside her―hair all sticking up at the back of his head―and she pretends not to notice him notice his erection.

“I’ll, uh, maybe I’ll see you for breakfast?”

MJ nods without looking at him and hears Peter stumble backwards out of her room, kicking away the blanket that’s tangled around his foot. He closes the door behind him and she does not see him at breakfast. The awkward energy from the situation that she doesn’t really take time to process sends her headlong into edits. When she does make it to the kitchen, it’s with her paper tucked inside a presentation folder and her hand snatching a store-bought muffin off the counter. She can hear the shower running and is grateful that she won’t have to face Peter yet.

No, that doesn’t happen until she’s on campus, between classes; she’s handed in her assignment without incident and it’s a huge relief. Not only does Peter know her schedule as well she knows his, apparently, but he also knows exactly where she’ll be on her break. She almost bumps into him coming around the corner of a building.

It feels like she’s seeing a one-night stand in the light of day―except they didn’t sleep together and MJ already saw him in the light of day. It’s just such a contrast between this morning and now. For one thing, they’re upright. For another, they’re both fully awake.

She offers an uncertain, close-lipped smile as they exchange ‘hi’s.

“Um,” MJ starts, “what’re you doing here, Peter?”

“Oh, I just wanted to find out how it went. With your essay.”

“Well, I turned it in and I can’t really tell you more than that until I get it back.”

They stare at each other for a minute before Peter goes, “Right. Right, right, right.”

“You wanna... walk with me?”

“Sure. I have class in twenty minutes, and I have to get over to the other end of campus, but―”

“Go!”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Go, you moron. What are you doing here?”

“I was gonna bring you...” He pats his pockets and she knows it’ll be fruitless before he tells her. If whatever Peter needs isn’t already in his hand, he’s forgotten it somewhere. This is a Rule of Peter. “A chocolate bar. I forgot it.”

She smiles.

“That’s ok.”

“I thought you might need the energy since it was a pretty late night.”

The girl walking past them darts an interested glance in their direction. MJ glares at her, but Peter really could’ve phrased that to sound more innocent. Because it was innocent. Wasn’t it? A couple of students collapse from the exhaustion of midterm assignments. That’s not a clever romantic setup, it’s overwork thanks to a system designed to crank them through the academia factory and spit them out at the end with a degree.

“Yeah. Um, I’ll survive,” she promises. “You better get to class.”

Peter takes a few steps and turns back like he’s struggling with something, wanting to speak.

“Seriously, Parker,” MJ insists. “If you’re late, I’ll almost feel bad.”

This is supposed to be the part where he laughs, but her roommate just looks conflicted as he walks away from her.

He almost brought her a chocolate bar. God, she is so fucked.

 Friday, February 12th

That’s not just friendship, that’s romance too/You like music we can dance to ― “I’ll Try Anything Once” (The Strokes)

“Have you been waiting long?” MJ asks when she leaves class and Peter’s standing right outside, hands in his pockets.

He scrunches his face up and turns to fall into step with her as they leave the building, then campus.

“It sounds better if I say, ‘no,’ right?”

She laughs and looks over at him.

“If you do, I’m going to assume that, on top of finishing class an hour before I do, you were also let out early.”

“It’s that obvious I’m trying that hard?” he asks with a sheepish smile.

What. MJ can’t respond.

After a minute, Peter sighs.

“I might as well tell you that my prof said we didn’t have to come today.”

“You didn’t actually have to be on campus at all?”

“No.”

“So, you’re just here...”

He nods at her implied ‘for me.’

“We’re on break now,” Peter reminds her. “Let me walk home with my roommate.”

“Might as well. Last chance.”

She feels him staring at her, but MJ does her best to look straight ahead as they walk back to their apartment.

He’s on the phone with Ned later, sitting on the arm of the couch in their living room. MJ starts putting her things together, neat piles of books and folded clothes that’ll be easier to pack tomorrow and Sunday. She leaves her door open. It used to annoy her (or she lied to herself that it did), how often Peter and Ned talk on the phone―don’t they know their generation isn’t supposed to do that anymore?―and the fact that her roommate’s soft voice carries so well through their apartment. Ok, fine, it doesn’t carry that well, she just listens for it. She can admit it now, in her bedroom, standing near the doorway to hear his happy voice.

Peter’s flopped backwards, off the arm and onto the couch and still talking animatedly to his best friend, when MJ emerges from her room. She walks directly to the couch and drops her balled-up cozy socks onto his stomach, fleeing before he can attempt to catch her eye.

 Saturday, February 13th

This is not a test, welcome to the party/I’ve been on my best behaviour, but I think it’s time/ You saw the other side ― “Best of Me” (Amanda Marshall)

MJ ruthlessly scours the apartment for every article of her clothing that could possibly be dirty. It’s not a tough job; unlike Peter, she mostly keeps her stuff in her bedroom. She has a sack for carrying her laundry to their building’s first-floor machines (because an actual laundry basket takes up too much space with its defined corners) and she stuffs it, lugging everything down there before breakfast. Waiting around is kind of nice because none of the other tenants have shown up yet. Plus, like always, MJ has a book. She transfers her load from the washer to the dryer and leans back against the wall, flipping through a yellowed, soft-paged copy of The Joy Luck Club.

Since she’s been doing laundry down here all year (except for when she goes home for the weekends and winter break), MJ knows the ways of these machines. Which is why it’s so disturbing when the dryer halts five minutes before its cycle should be ending. Unwatched, she jabs at the settings, but the machine’s completely crapped out, so MJ starts hauling her laundry back into the sack. The small stuff―socks, underwear, t-shirts―has dried, but her sweatshirts are still damp. Unfortunately, with the stress of assignments, the sweatshirts are what she’s primarily lived in the past few weeks, meaning all four of them were in there at once, and all four of them are too damp to put on.

She laughs bitterly at herself; at the last second, she’d even taken off the sweatshirt she had on over her tank top.

To stay warm and keep herself from running into anyone, MJ pounds up the stairs and slips into her apartment. She can pack up the dry clothes and hang the sweatshirts off her doorframe, her chair, wherever else seems suitable, until they dry. She’s flinging one over the shower rod when Peter comes walking down the hall and pokes his head in.

“The dryer...” she starts to explain, positioning her sweatshirt, but Peter disappears. MJ rolls her eyes.

In a minute, though, he’s back. When she turns to leave the bathroom, her roommate thrusts one of his own sweatshirts at her.

“Peter,” she sighs, “stop trying to take care of me.”

“Ok, I will after this.” He shakes the sweatshirt at her. “Put it on.”

“What are you trying to do, nerd? Mark me as your territory? Quit being such a Neanderthal.”

With a smirk, MJ brushes by him, but Peter tries to lay the sweatshirt over her shoulder. She shrieks a laugh, ducking to escape it, and suddenly her roommate has his arms around her waist, picking her up with her back to his chest.

“You’re gonna be cold,” he huffs, leaning backward as she squirms.

“I’ll get a blanket!”

“A blanket will get in the way while you’re packing!”

“I’ll cope! Let me go pack!”

“Just wear! My! Sweatshirt!”

She goes limp and he sets her on her feet.

“I surrender,” MJ declares.

“Good.”

Peter bends to pick up the sweatshirt she’s shaken off with all their goofing around, breaking his hold on her, and she bolts for the living room yelling, “Sike!”

Logically, she’s aware that she can’t outrun Spider-Man, but a giddy mania pushes her to attempt it. He tackles her into the back of their couch before she can clamber over. Well, it’s sort of a tackle. Actually, Peter’s barely touching her, but he’s behind her with his hands gripping the back of the couch to either side of her hips.

“There,” she says, feeling him at her back, “you saved me from being cold.” MJ turns with a prepared smile; as the silliness fades away, the way his exhalations hit her back felt too much like tension. She meets his eye, straightening up because he’s so close. What did he say? They’re never close? “I’ll just jog up and down the hall every so―”

Peter kisses her mouth.

Just as she begins to lean into it, brain swirling and spiking with confusion, he steps back. Then again. Again, again, again. He spins at the hall and goes right to his bedroom.

MJ doesn’t know what to do, so she stands there a few minutes, face working its way through a series of expressions dictated by the imaginary conversation she and her roommate are having in her head. The one they have because he stays put two goddamn seconds after planting one on her. His sweatshirt’s on the floor near the kitchen. MJ walks over and yanks it on, feeling vulnerable and bewildered.

Eventually, she plods back to her room.

It’s a shock when Peter knocks on her door a while later. She left it open, which was terrifying. She just figured, with this being the end, truly the end, she would allow whatever was going to happen to happen. If the kiss was an awkward misunderstanding, MJ will be leaving that behind with all the rest of her conflicted feelings two days from now.

“What’s up, Parker?” she asks, not turning around to face him. She’s packing up her printer, stuffing it back into the box it came in and taping it closed.

“Do you need any help?”

“Not really. You can help carry my mattress out of here when my mom comes on Monday though.”

She’s anticipating a quip rather than an evasion. Peter Parker is the kind of friend who will voluntarily carry your shit when you move. But he doesn’t give her either.

“You’re really going.”

Slightly annoyed, MJ turns to stare at him.

“Yeah, I’m really going. Hence the packing. It was your idea, remember?”

“It was easier when I thought you didn’t want to be here.”

She laughs the fakest laugh of her life.

“I don’t want to be here. You make loud phone calls and, and you come in late at night and you have socks everywhere. I think you might actually own every sock every human being has ever lost.”

He frowns at her.

“You never mentioned any of that. In the five months we’ve lived together, you never asked me to speak more quietly or put more effort into containing my clothes to my room.”

“Well,” MJ shoots back in exasperation, “now you know!”

“Are you mad at me for offering your room to Ned?”

“Peter...” She gives him a desperate look. It’s too late for this. Doesn’t he fucking get that? MJ exhales a sharp breath. “Peter, I’m moving out on Monday.”

“What if you didn’t?”

He’s being such an idiot. Everything is arranged. She can’t stay now that Ned’s about to come bounding in with his Lego and his best-friendship to be a better match for Peter’s roommate that she ever was.

“I texted my classmate on Monday about the room. It’s mine. I’m moving out of here, Ned’s moving in. Everything’s settled.”

“Could we unsettle it?”

Peter walks into her room, right up to her. His eyes are pleading and she doesn’t want him to see that this little trick of his works just as well on her as on anyone else. That she’s susceptible to him. That’s not who they are to each other; she’s made a very good career of being his sarcastic, distant friend.

“You just don’t like change,” MJ tells him. “You didn’t mean it.” The kiss. “It was just a misguided attempt to keep me here. Nothing more.” She crosses her arms.

“You’re gonna hate hearing this, but you’re wrong.”

“Maybe I’m right and you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Peter shakes his head.

“It can’t be just me who’s felt different since I told you Ned’s moving in. Something’s changed.”

She rolls her eyes.

“You think you’re an expert on my feelings because you saw me cry in a moment of stress.”

“And you saw me half-naked!”

MJ glances away in frustration and because she doesn’t want him to see her reliving that memory.

“Being first year roommates,” she starts after a long pause, “is a condition. It’s a state of being that’s meant to change.”

“Good! I want to change it! I want us to be more than roommates. MJ, why can’t this be easy?”

“Because you noticed me last week and I’ve had a crush on you since we were fifteen!” she blurts out. “And don’t goddamn ask me why I didn’t say anything because not everyone’s brave like you, Peter. Ok? Not everyone’s Spider-Man. Some of us are just the roommate across the hall. Let me fucking get over this in peace!”

“Sure,” he says, looking down. “Got it.”

Peter nods definitively and twists away. Reaching her doorway, he turns his head slightly.

“Just so you know, you only have me beat by a year.”

 Sunday, February 14th

By tomorrow I’ll be leaving/By tomorrow I’ll be gone/If you want to tell me something/You had better make it strong ― “Coming Down” (Dum Dum Girls)

On one hand, her mind knows the late-night assignment-finishing sessions are over for a while. On the other, it won’t let her sleep. MJ tosses and turns until almost four in the morning before she gets out of bed. In the dark, the only thing she can find to throw on over her pajama top is Peter’s sweatshirt, so she does.

Her thoughts felt so clear while she was lying down, but now that she’s up, things are hazy again. Did Peter really confess that he’s been interested in her since they were sixteen? Does that piece of information make her feel as mixed-up and, somehow, cheated as it did when he said it? Two morons in one apartment. Ned’s got a lot to live up to.

MJ leaves her room and crosses the hall to where Peter’s door is ajar, letting out a sliver of blue-white light. He’s probably sleeping. He won’t hear her coming if he’s sleeping. If he’s sleeping, she bargains with herself, she’ll turn right around and go back to bed. She eases the door open. Peter’s bedding rustles as he rolls over to face her.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she mumbles. Fuck. Worst possible icebreaker in this situation.

“If I invite you in,” he wonders, voice groggy with insomnia, “are you going to push me away again?”

“No.”

“So do you believe what I said?”

MJ sighs.

“I’m trying to.”

Peter waits a minute, then pushes himself up in bed to sit with his back against the wall.

“You can come over here if you want.”

She hesitates for less time than her reluctant nature wants her to. Putting her hand out low, MJ feels for the end of the bed and sits down. It’s miles from him. We’re never close, he said.

“You’re wearing my sweatshirt,” he notes when she doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t start with that again,” she warns, but it’s light. This time, he waits her out until MJ’s compelled to speak into their silence. She begins at a whisper. “Caring about you is really hard. When we were in high school, I sort of felt my role was the unnecessary third wheel to you and Ned, and it still feels like that. Like, I think about you and I worry when I don’t hear you come home at night and, yeah, Peter, I was hurt when you sprung the Ned’s-moving-in thing on me.”

“To be fair,” Peter chimes in, “I never thought there was a reason that shouldn’t happen. I thought this whole living together thing was just a favour you were doing me. So, when Ned brought it up, I thought, finally, I can give MJ a way out.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Yeah, well, so are you.”

MJ smiles down at her lap.

“I have to tell you all of it, ok?” Peter asks softly.

Her heart’s pounding too hard. The light in the room isn’t moonlight, just the glow of someone in the next build over’s TV through the curtains. MJ only looks at him when the mattress shifts; he’s getting out of bed, wearing a dorky shirt and plaid bottoms.

“Tell me all of it,” she prompts when he stops in front of her, looking like he’s forgotten his lines.

“MJ, I love you.”

It sounds so right, but at the same time, she’s so scared. It’s a painful thing, looking up at Peter’s face. One half aglow.

“So, that’s all of it,” she says, trying to digest his confession without being too distracted by the depth of his expression.

He laughs shortly at himself.

“Not quite.”

And he kneels.

“What the fuck, Peter,” she gasps, jolting backwards.

“I don’t have a ring because I really haven’t thought this part out,” Peter says. MJ can’t say anything. Her throat, tongue, and lips are all broken. “I just know that I can’t let you go. You promised your new roommates you were coming, and I promised Ned he was moving in here, and that’s fine. It doesn’t matter where you’re living, I’m going to love you. I can wait to get married, or even engaged for real, but I couldn’t wait any longer for you to know how I feel. That’s all of it.”

She’s stunned. He looks exposed and terrified, like he’s holding his skin open, waiting for her to snap his ribs one by one before ripping his heart out. It takes long seconds, many of them, for MJ to shift forward until she slides off the bed to sit in front of her roommate. She takes his hand.

“We are engaged for real.”

With a relieved burst of laughter, Peter grabs the back of her head and kisses her hard. Oh, she’ll put stipulations on later―no ring before graduation, no wedding until they’re both employed full-time―but right now, she’s following Spider-Man’s example and reacting on instinct.

“Oh, and I love you too,” she adds between kisses.

His hands slide down her back. Everything about the way he’s touching her says: finally. Maybe they’re skipping a step, the one where one of them asks the other out and they go on dates and meet each other’s families. But they kind of have done those things. They’ve been living together since the fall, eating dinner together most nights, easing each other’s tiny stresses most days. They know each other’s secrets and coffee orders. They know, period.

MJ loops her arms behind his neck to hold him against her while they kiss, but when they start to lean sideways, it’s Peter who mutters, “bed.”

He repeats it as a question and she nods, hands clasped in his as they help each other to their feet. It’s so simple, this part. Peter draws back the covers and they tumble and rearrange. Murmured admissions of inexperience and the way he blushes when she asks about protection―not because he hasn’t bought any, but because he has.

“You know we’re fucked if this part’s no good, right?” she checks. She’s only partly joking. “We’ve staked everything on this.”

“This is just you and me,” he replies. “Same as everything else.”

MJ has this vague plan to leave his sweatshirt on if he doesn’t say anything about it, but by the time they’ve shimmied each other out of their pajama bottoms, she’s ten thousand degrees. So she wriggles free of the sweatshirt and the t-shirt she sleeps in and Peter hugs her tight to him. He can’t be real. She puts her arms tentatively around his back, expecting her hands to pass right through him. But he’s solid and warm and on top of her, shaking slightly when MJ runs her fingers through his hair.

She keeps it up, smoothing his hair and stroking the back of his neck, as Peter’s mouth finds her collarbone, as his hand runs down her stomach to tuck between her legs. The hitch in her breathing makes him groan and bite down on her nipple. When she lifts her hips, he rubs her more fiercely. She orgasms digging her fingers into his chest―the other hand clammy against his hair line, maybe from her palm, maybe from his skin.

Chest heaving, he tells her they don’t have to do any more if she doesn’t want to. MJ reaches between their panting bodies and takes hold of his erection. Looks into his eyes as she moves her grip up and down. Convinced, Peter rolls off of her to bang open the drawer of his bedside table. She stacks his pillows, shuffling up higher, and when he returns to her, she raises her knees to cage him in. They both watch his hands put the condom on.

The next few minutes are measured in the evolving rhythms of their breathing. Peter works himself in and out of her incrementally, so much tension in his arms and back where her needy hands grasp. She needs him―it’s a miraculous revelation. That he’s been an essential part of her life, piece of her existence, and that it’s ok for her to need him, not just dispassionately or critically observe the best and worst of him. She holds him tighter and he clutches her thigh, pushing in all the way. This feeling is as much of a stranger to her as she’s been to herself.

Peter’s still for a minute. Quietly, he says, “We actually did this.”

“Yeah,” MJ agrees, tracing his spine.

Suddenly moving together takes priority over the disbelieving laughter they began to volley back and forth. She rocks her hips with and against his thrusts and it’s like they’re fighting to push the same swing from opposite sides―the movements don’t match up at first, but eventually, an instinctive force takes over and the swing swings. Peter breathes hard into her neck; MJ hooks her legs up around his hips. Single-mindedly, they grope for just the right speed, just the right pressure. He kisses her neck and her eyes roll back as she holds his face there.

When he drags against her, catching her clit, MJ uses her legs to make sure those electrifying passes continue. But Peter can tell from the sounds she’s making too, she thinks. Though brief and disconnected, her cries are climbing in pitch. He picks up the pace when she asks him to. Soon, soon, soon, there. MJ pulls him down to her, arms around his neck, and climaxes with her forehead pressed to his shoulder. Her roommate, boyfriend, fiancé, swears and speeds up even more; it’s a few seconds of a sensation that buzzes more than thumps or thrums and then he’s curling his arms under her, grabbing the back of her neck.

Peter shifts off of her and, when she doesn’t immediately come with him, gathers her to him. Of course, then he remembers about the condom and gets up anyway. MJ snuggles into the warmth he leaves. After a minute, he pulls back the covers to join her again and they share a shy reintroduction, slipping back into their pajamas. It’s when he reaches first for her hand that she realizes she’s safe.

Across the street, someone shuts off the TV. Peter’s room goes dark. They fall asleep.

 Monday, February 15th

Seven miles below me/I can see the world and it ain’t so big at all ― “This Time Tomorrow” (The Kinks)

“I’m seeing you for lunch tomorrow,” MJ reminds Peter, tugging her hand out of his. The final box of her possessions is in her arms. Downstairs, her mom’s car is at the curb.

He groans in complaint and follows her down the hall, past the kitchen, to the front door. Ned should be here within the hour; they staggered her move-out and his move-in to prevent collisions. And to give Peter more time with her. He admitted to that motive this morning, cooking them an omelette while MJ leaned her forehead against his back, smiling into his t-shirt.

“Ned’s key,” she says at the threshold. She holds it out to Peter and he pockets it.

“Thanks.”

MJ takes backward steps, moving away from him. He looks like he’s barely keeping himself from springing after her. She sighs.

“Come on,” she says, smiling. “Walk me down.”

[spine-buster]

Alone, Together | Chapter 29 | Morgan Rielly

A/N: So we are entering into the summer break months with the next chunk of chapters.  I’ve painstakingly tried to write down every major event and signing this summer and I’ve basically got it all under control, but as you can imagine some liberties will be taken in terms of scheduling Toronto/Vancouver time.  In any case, I hope you guys enjoy! 

I feel like there might be a lot of canon questions about what happens in this chapter, so if you do want clarification, send me an ask!  You guys know I love answering them.

The two and a half weeks Morgan was back in Vancouver were long.  They spoke everyday, FaceTiming most days, but the important part was that he was relaxing.  She could see it in his eyes and the way the bags were getting less heavy, and she could hear it in his voice whenever he spoke to her, telling her about his day or how well he’d done on the last round of golf.  After the stress of the season, she was sure he was appreciating doing nothing.  He went to work out everyday (“I have to, Bumblebee, because if I don’t I’d get a dad bod real quick.”) but besides that, he didn’t have much going on with hockey.  It was good for him, Bee thought.  

They didn’t even talk about the playoffs.  She couldn’t bring herself to watch any Boston games to see how they were doing.  She hoped they lost every single one of them, if she was being honest.  On a particularly restless night, she was flipping through the channels and saw a game from the western conference on, but she couldn’t bring herself to watch even that, despite having no emotional attachment to any team whatsoever.  

Alannah’s bachelorette party had happened last weekend and Bee didn’t think she’d ever had such a good time.  Between Alannah’s friends and the girls from the team, there were about twenty girls in total, and the festivities began Saturday morning with a trip to the Four Seasons spa for some massages and pampering.  By the time they were done the daylong pampering session, the girls went back to their rooms at the Four Seasons and prettied themselves for a fancy dinner at STK.  Drinks followed, as they always did, and barhopping to some of the hottest places in the city where they danced until last call.  The next morning, everybody filed into Alannah’s executive suite and ordered room service for brunch.  After Aryne drove Bee home, she collapsed onto the bed, smiling from ear to ear.

Bee was keeping busy and having fun in the city despite missing Morgan.  Angie and Mason came over quite a bit, usually to have dinner or hang out, and she’d meet up for lunch with some of the girls who stayed in town even during the off-season, like Aryne and Ashley.  Work always kept her occupied during the day, and she was trying to make a habit of hanging out with her co-workers more, whether it was at lunch, running to get coffees, or for happy hour drinks.  It was at night, alone in their apartment, when Bee felt the weight of Morgan not being there.  When she had to make dinner for only herself.  When she crawled into the bed and didn’t feel his arms wrap around her.  When she saw something that reminded her of him during her morning commute and she’d text him, only to remember he was three hours behind and still sleeping.  

But that was no longer.  He was on his way home.  Well, his second home.

Bee was jittery after she got home from work, knowing that Morgan would text her any minute to tell her he had landed.  She was preparing a nice meal for him – the Cuban food they had learned to cook together at Dish – and she kept glancing over at her phone, looking to see if he’d sent anything.  His plane was supposed to be landing at 5:30.  He hadn’t texted yet.  

But then, without word or warning, the front door clicked to unlock.  In a heartbeat, she noticed Morgan make his way through the door, a grin plastered on his face.  She was going to kill him.  She was actually going to kill him.  Completely forgetting the food on the stove and in the oven, she ran over to him and jumped on him, making him stumble back slightly before he locked his arms around hers and began kissing her feverishly.  No ‘hello’, no ‘I miss you’, no ‘how was your flight’ – nothing.  There were no words.  Only the physical.  

Morgan eventually pushed Bee up against the back of the door as she tugged at the hem of his pants desperately, undoing the button and pushing down the zipper.  He did the same to her, only he just had to shove her leggings down so they pooled at her calves.  She stepped out of them and as soon as she did, he picked her up, her legs wrapping around his waist, and pinned her against the door.  After shoving her panties to the side and grabbing his member from his own boxers, he entered her in one quick thrust.  No patience.  No waiting.

“Oh shit,” Bee huffed out, the first words said in an otherwise quick, primal, raw tryst that she wasn’t expecting two minutes ago.  Two minutes ago she was looking at her phone to see if he had texted her; two minutes later he was in her, fucking her against the door of their apartment.

“Missed you so fuckin’ much,” he grunted, pumping in and out of her as he looked her in the eye.

“Missed you too baby,” she mewled out, tugging at his hair.  

“God, you feel so fuckin good,” he said.  He knew this wasn’t going to last long.  It wasn’t meant to.  They were both so desperate and had waited so long there was no way it could.  “You okay?”

Bee nodded her head, closing her eyes.  She dug her nails into his shoulders through the fabric of his shirt.  “Always feels so good, baby.”

Morgan continued to pound into her, and soon enough he felt her walls clench around him as she clutched at him and dug her nails into his shoulders even harder.  With a few more thrusts he exploded into her, gasping into the crook of her neck.  He held her in his arms against the door, her legs still wrapped around him, as they calmed down from their highs, and he eventually set her down slowly, carefully, her legs threatening to give way at any given moment.  

“Holy fuck Morgan,” she breathed out, a slight giggle in her voice.  She looked down at her leggings pooled on the floor.  “That was quite a way to make an entrance.”

“I missed you,” he said simply, as if that explained everything, giving her another kiss.  “What smells so good?”

“I’m making Cuban food for you.”

“Mmm…” he said.  Another kiss.  “Can I take a quick shower?  It’s been a long day.”

“Of course,” she said.  “Don’t be long though!  It’s almost ready and I don’t want us eating a cold dinner.”

When Morgan came back from his shower, he was wearing only an old t-shirt and boxers, apparently not caring about his appearance.  Not that he needed to – they were going to be alone all night.  It was probably a surprise to him that she hadn’t put her leggings back on.  “Oh?” he said, watching her as she plated the meal.  He went up behind her and slapped her ass, garnering a yelp from her.  “No pants, Briony McTavish?”

“You want me to put them on?” she asked rhetorically, wiggling her butt slightly.

“No,” he deadpanned.  “Just surprised me is all.”

“Well, seems like we’re both full of surprises,” Bee giggled, putting the pan down back on the stove.  

“I’ve got one more,” he said, wrapping his arms around her waist.  He placed a kiss on her shoulder before moving up to her ear.  “Pack your bags.”

Bee hesitated.  “Pack my bags?”

“Mhm.  I’m taking you somewhere.”

“Where?”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Morgan.”

“Briony.”

She spun around to face him.  “Morgan Rielly.”

“Briony McTavish, it’s a surprise,” he stressed, a grin on his face.  “What good is a surprise if I tell you?”

“Morgan, I work tomorrow,” she said.  “I can’t just take the day off.”

Morgan leaned in to kiss the tip of her nose.  “I know, silly.  I’m gonna pick you up from work and we’re gonna go for the long weekend.”

“Go where?”

“Stop asking or else I’m gonna throw you over my shoulder and body slam you onto the bed,” he warned.  

“You say that like it’s a threat,” she wiggled her eyebrows.  Morgan snorted, shaking his head at her before kissing her quickly.  “Okay, fine.  What do I need?”

“Clothes.”

“Thank you captain obvious,” she rolled her eyes.

“And bathing suits.”

“Bathing suits?” she asked.  He nodded his head before kissing her again.  “I…I only have the one I got for Vancouver.”

“So go out during your lunch tomorrow and buy some more.  I’ll give you my card,” he said like it was the easiest thing in the world.

“Morgan.”

“Get whatever you want.  Anything that shows off these curves,” he said, grabbing handfuls of her ass and squeezing them in his hands.  “Don’t care about colour.  Just wanna see these curves,” he bit down on the skin of her neck again, dragging his lips up to her ear.  He let his hands run down the curve of her ass, taking her panties down along with them.  Then, in one swift movement, he picked her up again, placing her on the counter.

“Morgan,” she breathed out, watching as he kneeled and pulled her panties off, throwing them across the kitchen.

“Ready for round two?  We gotta make up for lost time.”

Maybe they would be eating a cold dinner.

***

“Oooooh, Morgan,” Bee cooed as she walked in the door, leaving her suitcase behind her as she took in the sight before her.  

True to his word, Morgan had picked her up at 5pm sharp that day.  He’d driven them two hours north to surprise her with a weekend at a cottage on Lake Muskoka.  It was small and cozy – nothing grand like the multi-million dollar compounds that populated the lake nowadays – and it was perfect.  It was what a cottage should be, Bee thought.  And as she walked further inside, she gasped.  In the windows of the giant A-frame, she saw the lake.  The sun was just setting, making the sky a very light pink.  “Oooooh, Morgan,” she repeated, her eyes wide at the sight.

“Looks great, eh?” Morgan asked, hauling in his bags.  

“Look how beautiful it is outside!” Bee exclaimed, a giant smile on her face.  “I can’t believe we made it for the sunset!  God, you must have been speeding up that highway, Morgan.”

He giggled, giving her a kiss on her temple.  “Go put on your sweats.  I’ll go light some citronella torches and we’ll go out on the dock to watch the sunset.”

Bee scurried into the bedroom, grabbing the small carry-on luggage she was using for the weekend and throwing it on the bed before opening it.  Morgan watched her for a few seconds, letting out another giggle before making his way outside and towards the dock.  As he lit the torches and moved around the dock furniture so that only one muskoka chair was facing the lake and the sunset, he heard the screen door from the house bang shut.  He looked up to see Bee making her way to the dock, a wine bottle and two glasses in her hands.  

“Morgan, this is stunning,” she said as she approached the dock, not bothering to look at him but looking out onto Lake Muskoka instead.  “What gave you the idea to come here?”

“We just needed to get away from the city for a bit.  You needed to get away from the city a bit,” he said.  “You trying to get me drunk?” he asked, nodding his head towards the wine bottle in her hand.  

She smirked.  “Maybe I just want to enjoy a nice glass of wine on a dock overlooking Lake Muskoka with my boyfriend,” she said.  “It’s not like I’ve ever been here before.”

“Well get over here then,” he said, sitting in the seat and patting his lap.  

Bee did as she was told, snuggling into him in the large muskoka chair as she opened the bottle of wine and poured them each a glass.  Morgan held his in one hand and wrapped his other arm around Bee’s waist.  She snuggled into his chest, looking out onto the lake.  Much like the boat ride to watch the sunrise over the Sunshine Coast, Morgan and Bee talked about anything and everything as they sat with their glasses of wine, sipping on them and kissing each other intermittently as the sky turned more vibrant shades of pink, orange, and red.  

“Thank you for bringing me here,” Bee whispered, kissing Morgan lightly just as the sun was about to disappear behind the trees.  “You know I appreciate everything that you do for me, right?”

“I know baby,” he cooed, kissing her again.  “Can I ask you a question?”

“Of course.”

He tried to make it seem like he wasn’t taking a deep breath.  “These trips…Vancouver, and here, and wherever we go in the future…and your clothes and bags.  Can I still buy you nice things without making you feel uncomfortable?”

Bee hesitated.  It wasn’t that she was uncomfortable with the question.  She was more uncomfortable with what she was willing to answer with.  By now, she knew the subtleties of Morgan’s speech.  She set her wine glass down on the dock before facing him again.  “Do you remember what you said to me the night you came home from Boston?”

“What did I say?”

“You said you wanted to take care of me.  Give me so much that I can quit my job,” Bee reiterated his words.  

Morgan paused for a moment.  It was clear to Bee he was recollecting the memory, however vague – or however clear – it was.  “I remember,” he finally admitted.

“You know…” she hesitated.  “You know I can’t do that right?”

“I know you can’t.  Because you want to want to feel like you’re always contributing too,” Morgan said automatically.  

Bee nodded her head.  “Because I’m not giving up everything I’ve ever worked for.”

“I know baby.  I know,” Morgan nodded his head.  “That was just my subconscious talking because I let you down.  And I don’t ever want to let you down.”

“But you didn’t let me down,” Bee said.

“We didn’t win,” he said, so quiet she almost couldn’t hear him.  

“I don’t care that you didn’t win,” Bee stressed, pain in her voice.  “Morgan, you have to know that by now.”

Morgan let out a deep breath.  “I guess I let myself down and by extension I thought I let you down.  I just… I’m not asking you to quit your job or whatever.  I’d never ask that of you, ever.  I know I sound like a broken record by now but you deserve nice things and I don’t want you to keep thinking that you don’t deserve it or shouldn’t have it.  I just want to be the one able to give you the things you want and need in life without you being uncomfortable about it.”

Bee couldn’t help but smile, cupping Morgan’s face in her hand.  She kissed him gently.  “You already do.  You give me everything I’ve ever wanted and needed in life.”

“I do?”

She couldn’t help but giggle at the ridiculousness of him questioning what he had given her since they met, since even before the beginning of their relationship.  “Of course you do.  You give me the most love I’ve ever known,” she said, kissing him gently, “you give me affection,” another kiss, “you give me the feeling that I can do anything and be anyone,” another kiss.  “I know it’s hard to see because they’re not material things but that stuff matters more to me than anything else.  And all the material stuff is nice, don’t get me wrong.  But I came from nothing and I can go back to nothing, Morgan.  So long as you’re with me.”

He gave her a long, lingering kiss, his fingertips grazing the skin at the small of her back.  “I don’t want you to worry about anything ever again in your life.  Will you please let me at least do that for you?” he asked.  

She could tell how much this meant to him.  How important it was for him.  “Okay,” she said gently.  “Okay.”

Morgan leaned up to kiss her again, except this time, he didn’t stop.  Neither stopped.  They continued kissing, Morgan feeling up Bee and Bee tugging on Morgan’s hair, until she kissed along his jawline, making her way towards his ear, and said, “Make love to me Morgan.”

In one swift movement, Morgan picked her up and began carrying her back to the cottage, ready to do just that.  

***

“C’mon baby, give me a pose!” Morgan yelled in the worst Austin Powers impression Bee had ever heard.  She couldn’t help but snort at his antics as they were out on Lake Muskoka on the boat that had come with the cottage for the weekend.  They had traveled a bit throughout the lake to see all the different cottages that lined the water, and she had wanted to stop to take some pictures in her new bathing suit.

“Morgan!” she giggled, sitting on the edge of the boat while he posed dramatically with her phone in his hand, pretending to be a professional photographer.  She had taken off her life jacket and didn’t want it to be off for too long.  

“Yes!  Beautiful!  Feeling it!  It’s all in the smiles, baby!” he continued in the ridiculous accent.  “Okay, you’re an animal!  Yes!  You’re a toooiiiiiigaarrr!  You’re Tony the Tiger!”

“Morgan, please!” she cackled.

“Smashing, baby!  You got your mojo working overtime darling.”

“Morgan!”

“And I’m spent,” he threw his hands up dramatically.  

“Can you stop being Austin Powers and take a nice picture of your girlfriend?” she asked.  

“I am taking beautiful pictures of my girlfriend,” he countered, holding up the phone again.  “You smiling and laughing is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Stop being corny,” she joked.  “I’m trying to build my Instagram model career and these pictures are going to make or break it!”

“Instagram model, huh?” Morgan smirked.  “You’re hotter than all those girls put together.”

“Sure, Morgan.”

“I’m being serious!  Especially in that bathing suit,” he said, licking his lips.

“Well, I do listen to what you say when you put in special requests,” Bee winked.  

***

“Do you feel comfortable?” Morgan asked, looking over at Bee in the driver’s seat of the Porsche as they were pulled off on the side of an empty road.  She nodded her head.  “Is your foot touching the pedals comfortably?” he asked again.  Another nod.  “Okay, so you’re gonna push down the brake and then put the gear into drive,” he said gently.  Bee did as she was told.  “Now, you have to signal that you’re going to re-join the traffic, so put your turn signal on and approach the road slowly.”

Bee put the turn signal on, and her foot released the brake.  She put a bit too much pressure on the gas pedal and they jerked forward.  “Sloooowly.  Slowly baby,” Morgan cautioned, trying to mimic what she was supposed to do with her foot with his hand.  “Gentle.  If you put too much pressure we’re gonna go through the window.”

“Sorry,” she said in a worried tone.  

“It’s okay.  It’s okay,” he assured her.  “Just go gentle.  I made the same mistakes too.”

“You did?”

“Of course,” he nodded his head.  “I was a fucking disaster.  But I practiced and I learned.  And so will you.  Try again.”

She put her foot on the gas pedal, much gentler this time, and the car began moving forward.  Her eyes were wide as they moved down the road.  “Theeeeere we go,” Morgan smiled beside her.  “You’re driving, Briony!”

“Should I go faster?” she asked.

“Go whatever pace you want,” he said, checking the side mirror to make sure there weren’t any cars.  “We’re the only ones on this road.  You can go faster when you feel comfortable.”

Bee looked in her rear-view mirror.  She gulped a bit before increasing her speed slightly.  “I’m going thirty kilometres right now,” she said, glancing at the speedometer.  

“That’s good!  That’s the speed you’ll go if you’re ever on the 401,” Morgan joked.  He saw she still had a death grip on the steering wheel, so much so that her knuckles were white.  “You can loosen your grip baby.”

“I’m comfortable like this,” she said, not taking her eyes off the road.  

“Okay,” he said, smiling slightly.  “You’re doing great.”

“I am?”

“Mhm,” he nodded his head.  “Pretty soon you’ll be parallel parking.”

***

“Look over your shoulder, Bee,” Morgan called out as he stayed a few steps behind her, appreciating the new romper she was wearing and how it made her butt look so good as they walked through the streets of Port Carling.  They decided to take a stop in the quintessential Muskoka town and grab some ice cream cones before heading back home.

“Huh?” she asked, looking back at him.  She saw him with his phone in his hand, snapping pictures, even going so far as to crouch down to get a better angle.  “Oh my God, are you being serious right now?”

“C’mon baby,” he smiled, continuing to snap shots of her.  She had admitted to him the series of pictures he took on the boat acting like Austin Powers were actually good, mostly because she was laughing and not posing in at least half of them, and he’d taken it to heart.  He wouldn’t stop taking pictures of her all weekend.  

“Morgan…” she giggled, shaking her head.  “Is this just a ploy so you can take pictures of my ass?”

“You got me,” he said.  “Just pose, beautiful.  Instagram modelling requires pictures at every moment of the day, doesn’t it?”

She couldn’t help but giggle as she tried to pose naturally, though soon enough, she couldn’t help but break out into dumb poses, sticking her butt out and dramatically licking her ice cream cone.  Morgan took as many as he could before bursting out into a fit of giggles himself, getting up from his crouched position and walking over to her.  

“I think you’ll knock Instagram modelling out of the park,” he said as he approached her.  “Especially in this one.”

She looked down at his phone to see a picture of her with an ice cream moustache as she stuck her tongue out and kicked up her foot behind her.  She let out a scream over how ridiculous she looked.  “Delete that!” she screamed, trying to grab the phone from him.  

“Never!”

***

Morgan should have known better.  When Bee said “Why don’t you let me choose where you get to take me,” he should have insisted it be Gucci.

“It’s the cats’ playtime, so we have some potential new parents and some volunteers in the room right now,” Mrs. Sommers, a very lovely and friendly employee of the Toronto Humane Society said, leading him and Bee down the hallway towards what he could only assume was a room full of cats waiting to be adopted.  “Our volunteers and caretakers know all about the cats, so you can just ask one of them any information.”

“There must be a lot of them,” Bee commented.  “I’ve been researching on your website.  There seemed to be so many cats this season.”

“Well, yes.  There always is,” she said.  “We had our annual kitten drive last weekend and this past weekend.  The kittens always go fast.  It’s the more mature cats that we always have trouble with adopting out.”

“That’s so sad,” Morgan said.  He didn’t want to ask what happened to them if they couldn’t be adopted.  

“Well, here we are,” Mrs. Sommers smiled, opening a door and ushering them in quickly to a room where, Morgan guessed, at least twenty-five cats were roaming about.  He’d never been in a room with so many cats before.  He looked towards Bee and she had an excited look on her face as she tried to take in everything before her.  There were at least five or six other couples in the room as well, playing with the cats or petting them as they relaxed on their jungle gyms.  

Bee looked up at Morgan.  “I’m gonna look around, okay?”

Morgan nodded his head.  “You do you.”

Bee wandered throughout the room, Mrs. Sommers by her side as she crouched down to pet the cats she saw.  Mrs. Sommers was ready with names (most of them made Bee laugh – Garth, Queen, Snicklefritz) and information at any given moment, and seemed to know everything about every cat in the room.  Bee listened attentively at some of the more unfortunate cases, about this cat having diabetes (it was wholly and easily treatable, apparently) or that cat coming in with an infection.  The more Mrs. Sommers spoke, the more Bee’s heart broke, wishing she could adopt every cat in the room.

Then Bee noticed a cat curled in the corner, alone and away from all the other cats, looking like he was just about to fall asleep.  He had a beautiful coat, brown and white and slightly beige, with white paws making it look like he was wearing socks.  “Who’s this little guy?”

“Oh, this is our little baby Chub,” Mrs. Sommers smiled.  “He’s a Snowshoe.  We were very, very surprised to see he was a Snowshoe when we brought him back.  He’s about seven months old.  Just neutered which is why he’s a bit sleepy.”

“Where did he come from?”

“We found him and his brothers and sisters in a house downtown.  There were many cats living there.  Too many.  There were multiple people living there and nobody, nobody was taking care of the cats,” Mrs. Sommers explained, the anger evident in her voice.  It was clear she wasn’t saying exactly what she wanted to say.  “All his brothers and sisters have already been adopted out.  Same with the twelve or so other cats we found at the property.”

“Why hasn’t Chub?” Bee asked worriedly.

“Well, if you’ll look…” Mrs. Sommers guided her to approach him slowly.  As Bee did, Chub turned his face towards her, and she could see.  One big beautiful blue eye looking at her, the other missing, his socket sewn completely shut with nothing left but a very faint line.  “Chub lost his left eye.  It was infected when we found him and it was too late for saving.  Poor boy was in a lot of pain.  Our vet had to perform surgery when he was well enough, and now…well, he’s a one eyed-cat.  And people don’t seem to want one-eyed cats.”

Bee was heartbroken.  As she stretched out her hand, Chub rubbed against it, and Bee began to scratch behind his ears.  When she did that, he got up and made his way over to her, meowing contently.  “He’s such a sweet boy,” she cooed.

“Oh yes, yes he is,” Mrs. Sommers smiled.  “He has no residual damage from the loss either.  Some depth perception problems, as to be expected, but other than that he’s a very healthy boy.  Even the scar healed perfectly.  He’s good with other animals, too.  Whoever adopts him will need to keep him indoors, but there is no reason why he shouldn’t live the standard age for an indoor cat…you know, thirteen to seventeen years.”

“Mrs. Sommers!  Apologies but can we steal you for a second?” another employee called from the door, interrupting their conversation.  Bee didn’t take her eyes off of Chub as he kept meowing and began rubbing his face and body onto her knees.

“I’ll be right back Ms. McTavish, you feel free to hold and snuggle any cat here,” she said, leaving the room.  

“Come here, pretty boy,” Bee cooed, picking up Chub and cradling him against her chest.  He meowed contently again and began smelling her face, his wet nose tickling her.  “You’re a sweet little boy, aren’t you?” she spoke to him, and he began purring.  She felt the vibrations against her hand.  “You’re such a sweet little boy, Chub.  Do you want to come home with me?  I have a nice big place where we can play and you can sleep all day and it will be so comfy for you.”  Chub rested his head on her chest, purring loudly as his eye drooped down to fall asleep again.  She could have cried right there.  

As she turned around, she saw Morgan staring at her with a smile on his face, his hands stuffed into his pockets.  “We’re taking the one-eyed cat, aren’t we,” he said as more of a statement than a question.  

“Morgan, we have to,” Bee begged as Chub stayed cradled in her arms.  “Look at him.  He’s already sleeping in my arms, Mo.  He’s home.”

“Are we going to have to do anything about the eye?”

Bee shook her head.  “She said he’s healthy.  It healed perfectly.  He’s going to have depth perception problems but that’s it.  He can live as long as any other indoor cat.”

“When Mrs. Sommers comes back we’ll let her know,” Morgan nodded his head.  “He’s a cutie pie, Bee.  Seems like this was destined right from the start.”

“Morgan, can we adopt them all?”

Morgan snorted, looking down at his girlfriend.  “Briony McTavish, don’t give me that face.  You know I can’t say no to you.”

“Oh!  Would you look at that!” Mrs. Sommers exclaimed, smiling from ear to ear as she noticed Chub sleeping in Bee’s arms.  “How cute is that?”

“We’re taking Chub,” Bee smiled, petting his paw gently with her thumb.  

Mrs. Sommers nodded her head.  “Follow me, dears.  We’ll go into the office to finalize the adoption and fill out some paperwork.”

Morgan didn’t grasp how much Bee had wanted this until he saw and heard how prepared she was.  She had an answer for literally every question they asked her, down to who their veterinarian would be (Alannah’s sister Rachael, naturally, because why would Bee adopt a cat without a vet?).  She told them their schedules, how much she’d play with the cat, where the litter box would be in the apartment, what kind of food she’d feed the cat and how much.  Everything was researched and well thought out.  Morgan just sat there nodding his head.  And by the end of it, they’d received their first box of litter, a small bag of food to start them off, a string toy Chub apparently really liked, and Chub inside a basic pet taxi, meowing loudly at his less-than-ideal new surroundings.

Morgan loaded everything into the car and Bee made herself comfortable with the pet taxi on her lap in the passenger’s seat.  When he started the car, he heard Bee, still cooing and trying to calm down a frightened Chub.  “What’s his name gonna be?  We can’t keep it as Chub.”

Without even looking at him, she revealed, “It’s gonna be Bruce.”

Morgan looked at her.  “Are you really going to name the cat after Bruce Springsteen?”

“Did you expect anything less from me?” she asked rhetorically, giving him a smirk.

He couldn’t help but chuckle, reversing the car out of the spot.  “No, I guess I didn’t.”

***

@brionymctavish: Welcome to the family, Bruce 💙 #adoptdontshop

@jazzykadri: OMG! My new BFF! ❤️❤️❤️ can’t wait to meet you Brucey!

@lucygardiner_: BRUCE!  What a cutie pie!  Welcome to the family Bruce!

@enzosauce: I’m coming over

@masonbennett: when are you guys adopting the e street band?!

@angiefavs: sarah jessica barker is gonna get a run for her money

@frederikandersen31: oh boy

@marner_93: can I come over to visit the kitty? @morganrielly                        @morganrielly: no.

@stephlachancee: OMG he is soooooo cute!  @morganrielly can I come over to visit the kitty?                        @morganrielly: yes.

@kasperikapanen1: missed the opportunity to call him captain jack sparrow but bruce is cool I guess

@williamnylander: wow.  so soft.                        @brionymctavish: soft boy.

@auston_matthews: you named your cat after the fat kid who ate the chocolate cake in Matilda?!                        @brionymctavish: IT’S AFTER BRUCE SPRINGSTEEN YOU UNCULTURED SWINE

__________________________________________________________________

[mypassionfortrash]

Do More of What Scares You (Part 12)

After you leave, things go from bad to worse for Roger over the rest of the tour as his bandmates distance themselves from him. Back home, your best friend comes up with a plan to take your mind off Roger. 💡Catch up: 1&2 ~ 3&4 ~ 5&6 ~ 7&8&9 ~ 10&11💡

Notes: Thank you so much for reading! I’m going to be posting the final two parts over the weekend! Get ready!

Things got worse for Roger as the tour progressed. 

He stumbled through each show, barely registering which city he found himself in; trashed kits, broken bottles and spending a fortune on thrills of every kind had become ingrained in his daily routine. He threw himself back into the rock and roll lifestyle with gusto.

Every night, the parties grew with wild, unchecked opulence. Cocaine did the rounds. It never agreed with him, but he took it by the bucketload these days. Strippers were a staple. He loved those. He especially enjoyed the ‘extra services’ they offered to select (read: rich) clients. He’d tip them handsomely, too - more out of self pity than gratitude.

Each member of his band slowly distanced themselves from him. 

Roger couldn’t see past the inciting incident that led to the demise of his relationship. And the blame for that he placed squarely on Freddie. He was as twisted as Roger, and he had other, better and more important distractions to attend to. Any time Roger and Freddie ended up in the same room together, it would always end in Roger reminding Freddie that he left his girlfriend for dead; then Freddie’s assistant, Paul, would drag him away to the nearest sordid club to make him forget about that day’s argument. Roger loved holding grudges, though. There was no way of breaking that cycle, so Freddie made sure to keep his distance for the rest of the tour.

Then Deacy grew tired of his hostility. Roger was like a petulant child, whining about how much he missed his girlfriend, and how it was all Freddie’s fault she left him. There was only so much Deacy could listen to, so much he could watch. Not wanting to be dragged into Roger’s mission for self destruction, Deacy quietly gave up spending time with him. Roger would swing by Deacy’s hotel room after every other gig, looking for another buddy to get wrecked with. But Deacy knew how to fob people off - it wasn’t hard when it was a drunk and emotional Roger. “I’m busy,” “I’m washing my hair,” “Sorry, Veronica’s going to call and put the kids on the phone.” All lies. He spent more time sampling local bars - and local women - with the crew than with his bandmates.

Brian stuck by Roger the longest. He was always the one to try to make Roger see sense when he was deep in the throes of another rough night. But when Roger almost suffocated in a pile of white powder and his own vomit, Brian just couldn’t bring himself to watch as his best friend ruined himself so stubbornly. There was no talking to Roger.

And so, on the morning that Queen were due to fly home, Roger had to be woken up by his assistant, Crystal.

He lay, spaced out of his dainty blonde head, in the centre of a kingsized bed with a greasy looking prostitute on each arm. A peaceful scene, that Crystal took great pleasure in ruining by throwing no less than six icy glasses of water over. 

“The fuck did you do that for?” Roger whined, sitting bolt upright.

“You’re supposed to be on a flight home in two hours,” Crystal responded with a jab of his finger. “Get them out of here and get in the shower. You fucking stink.”

Roger groaned, throwing himself back down into his pillow, while his company frantically retrieved their scant clothing from the previous night.

Crystal gave it an hour, standing guard outside Roger’s room. He had even taken the liberty of dragging Roger’s belongings down to the car outside. But when Roger failed to show, he took matters into his own hands. He teamed up with Ratty, one of Freddie’s roadies, to haul the drummer outside by any means necessary. He was like a dead weight - the pair swore they nearly put their back out, carting him out of the hotel.

When the deed was done, and Mr Taylor was safely stowed in First (with enough champagne and cocaine to last him the flight back to Heathrow), they took their places in Coach with a sigh and a toast of cheap lager. Homeward bound.

—————————————

The weeks you spent away from Roger were hard. There was no denying it. The smallest things would remind you of him. Something one of your friends said or a Mercedes zooming past you on the street - even the shape of your coworker’s glasses transported you back to misty forests, open waters and skinny dipping. 

But life continued to deal you blows you couldn’t avoid.

Alex meant well. They all did. And you were certain they were growing tired of your musings about where Roger was, or what he was getting up to. And with whom.

It was a Friday night. You and Alex had parked yourselves in front of the telly for the night, sinking Prosecco like it was going out of fashion, and committed yourselves to cheering you up. Temporarily, at least.

Fat lot of good it did you. All Alex was good for was babbling on about how lovely Jake - her ‘oh so perfect’ other half - was. He bought her flowers when she had the flu. He always did the dishes after she cooked him dinner - like that was an achievement in itself. Apparently he was a catch. She was in love. Besotted. And it only made you think of Roger. 

Eventually, the conversation turned to you. She couldn’t resist. 

But her own sparkling brand of brass blonde narcissism shone through. 

“I could have told you Roger was no good for you when you told me about him,” she grumbled, necking the dregs in her glass. “I could have chosen someone better for you. You know, Jake’s brother, Michael’s a dish. Maybe he’d be interested in you.” She reached her slender hand out to brush your hair behind your ear, getting a good look at you with those murky, serpentine eyes of her’s. “Of course, we’re going to have to do something about all of this, aren’t we? You just don’t make the best of yourself.”

Your stomach lurched. “What’s wrong with the way I look? Freddie-”

“But Freddie’s not your friend, remember? From what you told me, it sounds like Freddie left you for dead!” she scoffed, widening her eyes. She looked manic, rocking toward you to hammer home her point.  “Tell me you’ll come to dinner with us - a double date!”

“What?”

“Oh come off it! It’s time you got back in the dating game!”

“The dating game?”

“Yes! Me, you, Michael and Jake! It’ll be fun.”

“Which night was it you wanted to…” You trailed off, twirling a strand of your hair around your finger. Your brain clawed for any excuse not to go.

“Next Friday. Jake and I are going to that new Greek place near Covent Garden. Halloumi, it’s called.”

“I-I… I don’t even like halloumi!” You thought that was a good enough reason. Evidently not.

Alex drummed her hand against the sofa, annunciating every single word. “They. Do. More. Than. Halloumi.”

You huffed, sinking back into the sofa. The rushing in your ears was never far away; you could predict how awful that double date was going to be and how noisy your brain would get. But Alex was like a dog with a bone. And you were tiring of this conversation. “I don’t know if I’m up to this.”

Alex rolled her eyes and poured herself another glass of wine. “Always so dramatic. It’s not even going to be half as bad as you think it’ll be. It’s just your… anxiety… thing,” she shrugged.

“If I say yes, will you stop pestering me?”

———

Seven days later, you were crammed like sardines around a table inside Halloumi. The room was packed to the rafters, like they had made every effort to cram as many bodies into one room as they could. Mugginess hung in the air like a noose around your neck, reminding you of stressful summer commutes, or how you felt on your first date with Roger. 

Oh god, there he was again.

All those conscious efforts you made to make him leave you alone weren’t exactly working the way you hoped. 

It didn’t help matters that you could barely read Jake or Alex or Michael’s lips over the bustle as they indulged in mindless chatter. Unable to join in, you zoned out. 

Not that you wanted to be there, or join in, for that matter.

Michael wasn’t even your type. His plaid suit didn’t fit him and his shoes looked like they belonged to a clown. His laugh was so abrasive that it made you recoil whenever he erupted into a fit of it, bashing the table for good measure. Alex said he was a dish, but it looked like he was wearing tonight’s dish - shards of spinach sandwiched between his teeth. He was no Roger.

Another joke and another round of laughs brought you back to your senses for a moment. Just long enough for you to noticed that you had stewed through one of your favourite red dresses while your brain did its hamster-wheel thing and your ears went off to sea. 

Had you worn this one for Roger? Fuck, you did. On your first fucking date. Typical.

The realisation forced you to your feet, driving a wedge through the niceties being exchanged around the table. Alex, Jake and Michael put down their cutlery in unison to gawp at you. No words fell from their lips. A first this evening. 

You welcomed it. They were insufferable. Three of the most grotesque human beings you had ever met, actually.

“I’m…” you trailed off, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the bathroom.

Alex rolled her eyes. “Go on! Do a runner!” she mocked, with the brothers echoing her cruel laughter.

Your legs couldn’t have carried you through the rickety wooden door in the corner of the room any faster if they tried. When it slammed closed, your surroundings began to cave in on you. Like a victorian outhouse, the stench of faeces burned in your nostrils and settled in your lungs, shaking  up the acid in your gut. There was no holding back. Hunched over a hole on an elevated plinth, you let it all go. Heaving and squirming and sweating. The sweat etched blotches underneath the arms of your dress and all down your back. The damp material felt constrictive as it clung to your skin; there was no way you could go back out there. Absolutely not, you thought, straightening your back.

You turned towards the sink and eyed yourself in the mirror. The buzzing and flickering of the lights could turn even the most beautiful woman into a gargoyle. But the signs of your mental state showed everywhere. Trails of vomit tracked down from the corners of your mouth, and your mascara had run a mile. You just looked like a sad clown. Huffing, you puffed out your cheeks and looked up at the ceiling, bracing yourself on the edge of the sink. God, those lights were harsh on your eyes. You scrunched them shut isolating yourself in just one way. 

The rushing was still there.

The longer you stayed rooted on the spot, the more unstable your feet in your four-inch heels became. Turning back to the rudimentary throne, your eyes searching the room for an escape route.

A tiny, open window behind the loo caught your attention.

Your heart pounded as you scrambled for freedom. It never occurred to you that your body might not fit through the slender gap. Rational thought didn’t rank highly on your list of priorities in that moment.

You stood up straight on the wooden plinth, sizing up the window. You sucked in your stomach and patted down your breasts (it did nothing to make them smaller, just a cursory comfort ahead of your disappearing act). And then you went for it. 

You grabbed the ledge, hauled yourself up and burst headfirst out into the street above.

It was raining. It was dark. But at least you were out of there.

——————————————————————————————————

You couldn’t remember how or when you got home the night before, but you woke up the next morning fully clothed. Complete with your heels still on. Tossing on to your back, you recoiled in horror as a dreamy orange sunrise seeped through your bedroom curtains. You groaned. Life wasn’t going to get better by itself. You had to make an effort. Something. Anything.

So you resolved to make time for yourself; going where you wanted, doing things you loved and trying to make sense of where your life had got to.

That first hour was torture. You were still groggy from the night before; coffee burned more than it usually did and showering felt akin to having millions of ice shards fired at you for a whole five minutes. Even picking out something to wear was a chore.

But when you finally pulled a comfy sweater and your favourite jeans, and fixed your hair and did your makeup, a small sliver of hope shot through your brain. You could do this. You could go a whole day without thinking about Roger. None of your friends’ futile efforts at finding you love, or Roger Meddows Taylor’s sleights could get to you now, you thought, flouncing towards your door and shoving on your coat.

You opened your door, ready to go. But the figure loitering in your hallway stopped you in your tracks. 

“Jim?”

He turned to face you, raising his eyebrows in surprise. “I thought I had the wrong block for a moment there,” he laughed quietly. “You’re just the person I wanted to see.”

You crossed your arms. “So Roger’s got you doing his dirty work for him now, has he?”

“No, but he’s the reason I needed to see you.” His brow furrowed, finding the words to say to you. “I haven’t heard from him in three weeks.”

“That’s not my problem.”

“We’ve tried everything. He’s not answering the door, or his phone. None of us have heard from him. We’re not even sure if he’s home. We’re off to Munich tomorrow. To record another album.”

“If this is about money-”

“Please. The label can sing for it for all I care. God knows, we have enough of it to buy our way out,” Jim rambled, scratching the back of his head. “I’m just worried what Freddie, Brian and John will do if anything has happened to Roger. They’re a family.”

“With all due respect, I’m not in the right frame of mind to see him right now.”

“But he’ll listen to you.”

You shouldered past Jim and hurried down the first flight of stairs. “I still don’t care.”

“Please,” Jim pleaded, his words preventing you from taking another step. “Just go and see him.”

Determined to maintain your steely resolve, you clenched your jaw. “That’s not my problem, Jim. I’ll see you around.”

That sadistic streak reared its ugly head within you. Wandering aimlessly through the city, you took pleasure in the thought of Roger sitting in his flat, or at his mansion, pining for you. It proved to be just the tonic for your broken heart. Knowing that he was hurting so badly that he couldn’t even bear to be around his own bandmates had you smiling to yourself at regular intervals. The crowds at Kensington Market were like a warm hug, blanketing you as you threaded your way between the bodies and the stalls, picking up trinkets and treats every so often until your arms were full and your belly ached from hunger. Home time.

You wearily plonked yourself down on a rare, free seat on the tube, settling in for the ride back to Brixton. Your eyes felt heavy. Your head lolled back, allowing the carriage window to judder against your skull. It felt strangely therapeutic, beating your brain to sleep.

The feverish knock of a fist on fine oak rattled you to your senses. Drowsy from the tube ride, it didn’t even register that it was your own hand stretched out in front of you, rapping on a towering auburn coloured door. And then it clicked.

You had never been here before.

But you just knew.

Your stomach dropped.

But you couldn’t stop your hand from battering the door.

You glanced around at the quiet street; the pristine row of white townhouses, the river of crisp orange leaves on the pavement, the expensive cars. Your heart pounded against your ribcage. Your ears rushed. Your hand quickened.

Until…

[cchellacat]

It’s Just A Little Crush

Anon ask.  Prompt, no rush.  “My cock is prettier than that.”  Comparatively.  

I’m assuming for any Seb Character and I had the perfect idea for a short wintershock for it. Enjoy.

Bucky/Darcy 18+  A little smutty, very fluffy.

 Bucky rummaged through the drawers, moving things about, cursing under his breath.  He was sure she must have a hair tie somewhere. Usually he’d find them lying about the apartment, on tables, under cushions, dropped in the cat bowl my Mr Floofypants. 

Today though, it seemed there wasn’t one to be had.  It’s why he’s here, in her room searching, he’s meant to be going over to the compound for some additional training of the new recruits. 

Ever since Darcy had moved in he’d not needed to buy any of his own which had been a godsend because he was always loosing them.

Having Darcy as a roommate had worked out pretty well.  The last six months had been the happiest in years.  She was certainly a better roommate than Steve, if only for the fact that she could actually cook.  They swapped nights for cooking and clean up, it was a good arrangement.  

He’d never have imagined that he’d be comfortable with someone else in the apartment, but when Steve moved out to move in with Natasha he’d realised that the rent on this place was going to take a chunk out of his pay check.  He’d eventually resorted to putting a note on the board in the break room at the compound.  He’d never expected a single girl like Darcy to want to move in, he figured it would be one of the guys from the security teams or another agent. 

The apartment was too good to give up though, perfect access to the city and a reasonable commute to the compound.  He loved the place.  

The day he put the notice up she’d hunted him down twenty minutes later, waving the note like a victory flag.  He’d been too stunned at the bouncing chattering bombshell to tell her no.  She’d ran him over with a mixture of charm and sass.

Honestly, at the time he thought she was crazy.  He was at least twice her size and had a foot on her, but she just bustled around him and bossed him about without a care.  He loved it.  He’d never tell her, but she made him feel normal again.  Somehow, she didn’t see a monster when she looked at him, she just saw him, Bucky.  

He moved to the next drawer and tugged at it, finally getting it open he stopped in surprise. He could feel a flush rising in his cheeks at the contents and slammed the drawer shut on instinct.  He really shouldn’t be in here, going through her things, what the hell had he been thinking?  

His mind however wouldn’t let him move away, he was froze in place.  Listening intently to make sure he was alone, he tugged open the drawer again and bit his lip.  Under a gauzy piece of lace he could see the outline a red star.  Pushing the panties aside he saw it.  A vibrator, silver with a red star at the top.  He didn’t know whether to feel embarrassed or smug.  He’d known she had one, their rooms might be on opposite sides of the apartment but he had excellent hearing. 

He was half hard just thinking about it, about the noises she made while getting herself off.  He’d lain awake in agony the first few times, trying to ignore it, the breathy little moans she made, but it was impossible not to picture her, legs spread wide, her dainty hands working into her pussy.  Eventually he’d give in to the urge and he’d palmed himself, stoking his cock to the sound of her pleasure, coming with her with a muffled moan of his own into a pillow.  

The only downside to living with Darcy was sporting a hard on at the most inopportune times.  The dame was handful, she didn’t seem to register him as any type of threat and would waltz through the living room in nothing but panties and a t shirt that barely skimmed her bottom.  She had no problem barging into the bathroom while he showered to brush her teeth or hurry through the kitchen in nothing but a towel.  If it had been any other woman, he’d have thought she was doing it on purpose, but she seemed completely oblivious to the effect she had on him.  

He lifted the vibrator and turned it in his hand.  The red star seemed to be mocking him.  It couldn’t be a coincidence though, surely?  He looked around the room, really looked and started to notice things he must have been overlooking before.  There were at least three of his t shirts, two on the floor and one over a chair, she’d been wearing them to bed lately.  Then there was the cork board on one wall.  Pictures of the two of them. 

The day they’d went to the zoo in central park.

A selfie taken at a little coffee shop in Soho she’d insisted had the best espresso in the city.

A snap he didn’t realise had been taken in the communal area at the compound during am movie night.  The same night there hadn’t been enough seats for everyone.  He’d hauled her up into his lap when she’d been about to sit on the floor.  It had been a good night, he’s enjoyed every second, having her nestled into him, her had resting on his chest as they watched the movie, it had been all he could do not to let her feel the hard on he’d had for the majority of the night with all the squirming she’d seemed to be doing. 

Now he looks back on all those moments and reassesses.    Breakfasts and dinners together, he always drove her to work, she always packed him lunch… they had been doing everything together except sleeping together.  How the hell had all this slipped past him?

He’d been so busy ruminating that he failed to notice the front door opening, so when Darcy suddenly appeared in the doorway of her bedroom, her mouth open in shock and a bright blush spreading quickly over her cheeks, he’d dropped the fuckin vibrator to the floor. The subsequent buzzing that issued from it had Darcy make some inarticulate sound of rage and horror and had her running from the room, the front door slamming loudly in her wake as she took off.  

Bucky swore colourfully and grabbed the damned vibrator, switching it off after a brief fumble and then went after her. 

 Darcy nearly tripped twice trying to get as far from Bucky and the apartment as possible.  Her whole body was shaking with a mixture of mortification and anger.  Part of her wants to turn around and storm back in there, give him a piece of her mind for going through her things, the other half of her brain is screaming with embarrassed fury, urging her to run.  

Oh god, why did he do that? She’s been so fucking good about not giving her super massive crush on him away.   She liked the apartment, she liked him and the strange little routine they’d made.  She loved spending time with him.   Fuck, what on earth possessed him to go pawing through her knicker drawer?

She only made it a few blocks before she heard him behind her, shouting her name.  She keeps going, ignoring him, trying to compose herself before he inevitably caught up with her.  The sound of heavy foot falls had her scrubbing at her eyes with her sleeve, her feet still moving her along.

The feel of a large hand catching her elbow to stop her had her freeze, stopping abruptly, she let out a surprised oomph as he stumbled into her, his arm catching around her waist to stop her toppling forward.  

“Darcy….”  She didn’t move, her back pressed to his chest, eyes squeezed shut, breathing hard.  He trailed off and she kept her eyes shut, wondering when he would let go of her, instead, he sighed behind her and his other arm came around her waist.

“Darcy, I’m sorry.  I was just looking for a hair tie, I swear I wasn’t snoopin through your things for anything…   fuck.  This really isn’t coming out right.  Please just say something Darce, shout, tell me off…  just don’t stop talking to me doll.”

“I am so fucking embarrassed right now Barnes.”

“Don’t be, this is my fault, I wasn’t thinking and…   I’m sorry sweetheart.  I am really fucking sorry.”

“Can we pretend it never happened?”  She asks in a small voice.

Bucky turns her in his arms.

“Darce…”  she doesn’t look up at him, her eyes now firmly fixed on the avengers logo on his tight black t-shirt.

“Just…   I just want to go home.”  she says quickly, hoping to stave off any more discussion of the incident.

“Alright.  Lets go home.”  He sighs and lets her step back from him, but instead of walking beside her on the way back, he throws an arm round her shoulder and pulls her into his side.

All the touching is going to her head.  She doesn’t get it.  He’s never this touchy feely with her.  I mean sure, she is with him, all the time, but he hardly ever reciprocates.  She’s thankful for his continued silence right up until they reach the apartment and then she’s nearly shaking with nerves.  She knows he doesn’t want to drop the subject, she almost dreads stepping through the door.

As soon as they’re through she hurries off to her room, closing the door tightly behind her.  The silver vibrator lies mockingly on the bed and she feels her face heat again with embarrassment.  She grabs it and angrily stuffs it back in the drawer.  She is going to kill Jane for buying the damn thing as a gag birthday gift for her.  As her best friend she was the only one to know about Darcy’s crush on Bucky.  For a stuffy scientist, Jane sure did have a pretty dirty sense of humour.  

She can’t face going back out into the apartment proper, so she undresses quickly and pulls on a t-shirt. It’s not until she curled up in bed that she realises it’s one of him.  She is so done, what on earth must he think of her now?  

It’s a few hours later that she’s startled by a knock at her door.

“Darcy, can I come in?”

She pulls the covers round her and debates on it, but ultimately, if he was going to bring it up, it was better to get it out of the way now, rather then draw it out.  

“Come in.”

The door opens and he stands in the doorway.  He’s changed too.  Soft sweat pants and a tank top.  Fuck, she loved him in a tank top, it showed off everything. Every toned muscles and line. Was it her fault she found him so attractive?  No, she’s pretty sure anyone who spent a half hour in his company would feel the effects. He’s got a charm about him that draws you in whether you want it to or not.  

He only hesitates for a moment before coming to sit on the bed beside her.

“What do you want?” she asks, far too aware of how close he was to her.  

“I wanted to make sure we were okay and…  Look, Darcy, I…”  

She can see he’s struggling to say something.

“Just spit out, okay?”

Instead of saying anything he seems to come to some decision and leans forward, his eyes locked on hers. She can feel her own eyes grow wide in shock. 

She’s pretty sure he’s about to kiss her.  Unconsciously she leans into him, unspoken permission given and then his lips are on her and she can’t think of anything other than the delicious rasp of his beard tickling her face and the softness of his mouth as he draws her closer.  It’s soft and sweet, the kind of kiss that has her wondering if it was a dream, it felt so perfect.  When he pulls away from her she’s stunned silent and somehow she’s ended up sitting on his lap.

“Wish I’d figured out before now that you liked me, we coulda been doing this for months.”  The flickering amusement in his eyes has her tummy doing flips.

“God you’re sure of yourself Barnes.”

He just grins at her and nudges her nose with his, places tiny soft kisses along the edge of her mouth, teasing her mercilessly.  She can’t help but grn right back, returning the kisses with some of her own. 

He’s going slow with her, afraid if he comes on too strong she might run again.  It’s a struggle not to tumble them both over so he can have her under him, but he restrains himself and seduces her kiss by kiss. 

He lets her set the pace but once she’s over her shock things progress quickly,  clothes are quickly discarded, scattered around the room as the urgency between then ignites.

it’s like fire in her veins, the kisses he presses to her skin feel like they are inked into her soul.  When he finally enters her she wants to stay in that moment, never leave it.  He feels so good inside her, hot and hard and stretching her, his hands ad mouth wandering, kissing her everywhere, tracing her skin reverently with calloused fingertips.  Darcy babbles out all her thoughts aloud between cursing and whimpering his name.  It’s like a dance, bodies moving in slow motion as skin presses into skin, the feel of him pinning her down so gently has her canting her hips sharply, encouraging him to be less careful, silently telling him that she’s not made of glass.  She comes with a wail of his name ghosting over her lips and then he has her on her knees, taking her from behind, his large body pressed to her back, kissing into her neck, one arm tucked under her, fingers wandering south. 

in the aftermath, Darcy just wants to sleep.  She feels so warm and satisfied, curled up on his chest, his heart beating in her ear.   She risks a glace at his face and her smile widens at his hum of approval.

“You know.”  He begins, stroking his hand through her hair.  “My cock is prettier than that.”   He gestures vaguely towards the chest of drawers where the vibrator was in hiding and she giggles into his skin.  

“You are so full of it Barnes.”

“I think you got that mixed up doll, pretty sure you were full of me!”

When they finally stop giggling like a couple of teenagers, he pulls her in close and kisses her again.  She snuggles up and closes her eyes. 

Maybe she’ll buy Jane a gift basket instead.

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Three

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 3/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @theheartofpenelope @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @wolfsmom1

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER THREE

 A sharp wind whipped down the florescent lit tunnel, sending a sudden shiver down his spine. Tom pulled the blanket he’d been handed tighter around him, stifling a yawn. It had been an early morning and despite several cups of coffee, with more espresso shots than he’d care to admit to, he still felt the pull of sleep dragging on him. The excitement, however, was winning by leaps and bounds. He had been intrigued when the idea was pitched to him, of making a teaser for Betrayal and posting it as-is before formally announcing the show the following day. It was a creative and fun way of drawing attention to the production and getting buzz going around it.

 The teaser’s premise was simple, Tom would come into focus walking down the aforementioned tunnel, something out of the camera’s range would catch his eye, and the viewer would watch his reaction unfold. Watch the shock, pain, anger, and finally defeat play across his features. No dialogue, no real explanation; just him and music. Beautiful in its simplicity.

 He stood to the side, watching as the days’ crew reset the shot and fiddled with the lighting. It was their third, and hopefully last, take; the lighting have gone a touch fuzzy during the last set up. It was a bustle of controlled chaos and something he’d always found fascinating. The way in which the crew flittered around each other was almost an elaborate dance.

 “Alright, places everyone!”  The director called once things had been set to rights. Tom nodded, took a deep breath and stepped onto his mark.  

 The rest of the shoot passed with little issue. The fourth take had been the one Tom was certain he’d nailed. He’d watched the final footage with the director and found himself pleased with the initial result. The days’ footage, Tom was told, would be edited that evening and should be ready to go up the day after. With a warm smile, Tom bid farewell and headed out into the bustle of the now busy streets.

 He’d taken the tube that morning, enjoying being able to sit and people watch. It helped keep him grounded, just doing the everyday tasks that so many seemed to take for granted. He could usually take the tube with little fuss or fanfare. That was one of the wonderful things about London, very few people seemed to care who or what he was. True, there would be the occasional fan who would approach him or the rare ‘sneaky’ photograph (which he never really understood the point of) but for the most part he was left to his own devices.

 He’d fired off a quick text to Luke before he’d entered the station, letting him know all had gone well and that he was off home. Luke responded quickly, reminding him that his phone meeting with Marvel regarding updates for the Loki limited series had been pushed back until following afternoon. Which meant for the time being, Tom had the rest of the day to himself and he was greatly looking forward to the lack of demand. He made his way through the ticket barrier and followed commuters down the escalators and onto the platform. The train rumbled into the station a few minutes later and he joined the mass of people making their way into various carriages.

 Tom quickly settled into the first available seat, letting his mind wander as he watched the eclectic mix of people filling the carriage. It was something he’d always enjoyed about the city; the mix of cultures and people that had always made it uniquely London. The carriage was busy but not packed, it was still early enough in the day that most commuters were still at work. Tom enjoyed the relative peace as the carriage jostled along, silently counting the stops until his own.

 He made his way from the train onto the platform once the train had pulled into his station. A flash of dark hair and a familiar laugh caught his attention as he made his way through the busy station to the ticketing barrier. Tom turned his head in reflex and a jolt of recognition shot through him. Cath. The name materialized in his head without conscious thought. But she was gone before he could make a move, disappeared into the crowd heading towards the platforms.

 Tom shook himself back into the present and carried on through the gate and then out onto the street. It was just as well she’d gone, he reasoned, pulling his coat tighter around himself as a swift breeze raced down the pavements. He didn’t actually know her, had no reason to approach her other than his own, admittedly overabundant, curiosity.  And that had often caused more trouble than it was worth.

 Silently, he carried on down the pavements and back towards home. Bobby, none too pleased with being shut in the back room in his crate, barked repeatedly as Tom unlocked and pushed open the front door. “Alright, alright,” he called. “I’m coming.”

 He shrugged out of his woolen coat, hanging it on the rack near the door, and jogged through the house towards the back room. Bobby, finally free of his confinement, let his displeasure be known with several more loud and growly barks. Tom rolled his eyes and let the spaniel out through the door into the back garden to do his business and terrorize the local wildlife.

 The following day’s teaser release and subsequent play announcement were well received, which had been a major relief. The response on social media had been overwhelmingly positive and Tom was more than pleased. Zawe had begun talks to secure her involvement in the show and from what Tom had been able to gather, Charlie Cox was in talks to join as well. Nothing had been set in stone and probably wouldn’t until closer to the New Year, but Tom couldn’t have been happier. He’d known Charlie for years and was glad to at least have the chance of potentially working with him.

 His phone had been ringing off and on throughout the day following the official announcement; friends and family sharing their well wishes and excitement. His mother had been particularly thrilled as she could talk more openly about the play now that had it been announced publically. His mother and her enthusiasm had become the stuff of legend in and around Suffolk.

 “So someone actually took pity on you and hired your sorry face. I must send them flowers…and my condolences as well,” Benedict laughed. His call had come just after Tom had finished an impromptu afternoon run. He was in desperate need of a shower but hadn’t the heart to tell his friend to buzz off.

 “Well,” Tom quipped back. “If they actually hire you on occasion, I figured I would be a shoe-in this time round. And,” he added as an afterthought, “there is a much better chance they can actually pronounce my name.” Ben snorted laughter at the comment which pulled Tom into a laughing fit of his own. “But in all seriousness,” Tom continued once he’d managed to calm himself, “I am ridiculously excited to be able to be doing this. It’s going to be a challenging role and I am looking forward to it.”

 “So who are you playing? Robert or Jerry?”

 “Robert.”

 Ben laughed in delight. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. And they’ve cast Emma and Jerry?”

 “Not officially no,” Tom answered, laughing as well.

 “Unofficially?” Ben goaded.

 “Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, pending availability.”

 “Very nice indeed, Mr. Hiddleston. You’re moving up in the world.” He paused, taking a breath. “Hopefully Sophie and I will be able to make it during the run.”

 “Don’t feel obligated,” Tom admonished. “I know things are going to be a bit mad with the little one coming.” He had been beyond thrilled, and quietly jealous, when Ben had told him that he and Sophie were expecting again. The baby was due in late January and Tom was well aware that their lives would be chaotic for a least the first few months while their family settled into its new routine. The play would be the absolute least of their priorities. “If you make it, that will be amazing but don’t feel like you must. Honestly.”

 Ben laughed. “I have a feeling that by the time your show opens we’ll both be ready for a break and grown up company.”

 Tom laughed as well. “I can only imagine.”

 A loud scream echoed from Ben’s side of the line. “I’m terribly sorry to cut this short but I need to make sure my sons aren’t killing one another. Sophie will be awfully cross if any damage comes to them in my care.”

 “Yes. Yes. Go on, take care of your offspring. Talk to you later.” Tom ended the call and stretched his back, it having started to get a bit stiff. He really needed to make sure he stretched pre and post run now. God, I’m getting old, he thought with a grimace. Tom toed out of his running shoes and took the stairs two at a time, more eager than ever for a hot shower.

 —

 The rest of November passed in a blur of various appointments and meetings cumulating in an appearance at Tokyo Comic Con. Tom always thoroughly enjoyed being able to attend Asian events, especially fan ones. The welcome he received was always warm and the fan base vocal and tremendously supportive. It made the long flight and horrendous jetlag worth it. And this time had been no exception. He’d thoroughly enjoyed talking with fans and participating in numerous panels. But he had to admit, he was grateful to be going home. He’d joked with Luke about the real possibility of him sleeping for at least a week on the way to the airport.

 “Good,” Luke deadpanned back. “Please do. Less chance of you causing me headache.”

 The flight home had been a long one, with just enough layover to make his usual jetlag feel a hundred times worse. He’d practically fallen into the car awaiting him at Heathrow and slept all the way home. It certainly wouldn’t do his re-acclimation to British Standard Time any good, but he’d been far too tired to care. How he’d made his way from the car and into the house, he still didn’t know. Nor how he’d fumbled his way from the entry way, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He’d woken late the following afternoon still in his clothes and momentarily unaware of just where he was.

 Tom blinked around the room several times before the familiar shapes of his dresser and the door to the ensuite came into focus. Home. He pushed himself upright, a jaw cracking yawn escaping him. He was still tired, still a bit fuzzy-headed, but now that he was conscious he could sense the grime of several hours confined in a small space with far too many people all over him. With a fair amount of effort, he pulled himself to his feet and padded into the bathroom, stripping as he went.

 Freshly showered and feeling much more like himself, Tom climbed downstairs nearly twenty minutes later and set about fixing both coffee and food. Plate of egg and toast in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee doctored to his liking in the other, Tom padded into the living room and settled himself on the couch. He let himself revel, selfishly, in the silence of the house.

 Bobby was still at Emma’s; she and her husband had volunteered to watch the little devil while he’d been out of the country. Why they’d agreed, Tom still wasn’t entirely sure. And while he’d missed the little bugger, it was nice to be able to eat a meal without having to face those large, pleading eyes. He’d never been able to completely resist them, and he knew Bobby knew.

 Tom took his time eating, he had nowhere in particular he needed to be and fully intended to laze about for as long as possible. He pondered actually taking on his ever-growing ‘to-be-read’ pile. It had been ages since he’d allowed himself the luxury of just sitting and reading a book. Yes, he still read as often as was possible, but it was usually during filming breaks when he wasn’t going over lines or blocking or a few moments before falling asleep. Actually sitting about and just reading, that was a true rarity. Possibilities.

 Once he’d finished the last of his meal and drained the very last of his coffee, Tom pushed himself to his feet and padded to the kitchen. He contemplated simply leaving his used plate and mug in the sink for later, after all it wasn’t as if he won’t have the time later. But the impulse was quickly abated; his mother would box his ears, metaphorically speaking, for doing such a thing even now. He shook his head and laughed at himself, washing and drying them quickly before heading out of the kitchen and into the main hall.

 As Tom made his way down the hall his suitcase and backpack, left carelessly by the door the night before, caught his eye and he groaned. He should take his clothing out and get a load of washing started, knowing if he put it off it wouldn’t get done. With a muffled curse, he lugged the case towards the laundry room, setting it on the floor and sorting through his clothing. He’d gotten a load in the wash and started the sorting of the next when the sharp ring of his mobile echoed from the front of the house.

 Tom sighed and padded back into the hall, finding this mobile vibrating and ringing away on the table; Emma’s number flashing across the screen. He had to have pulled it from his pocket by reflex the night before as tended to keep in beside him the majority of the time unless he purposefully needed a break from the outside world.

 “Yes, little sister?” he said as way of greeting after he’d grabbed the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.

 Emma snorted a laugh. “He lives! I was wondering if you’d be conscious and functional yet or not.”

 “I do live, the conscious and functional part is debatable. Now what can I do for you?”

 A loud, piercing cry echoed through the line and Emma sighed, wearily. “Take my child off my hands for the next…I don’t know…Eighteen or so years?”

 “Somehow I think Jack might have a few objections to that idea.” Tom chuckled, padding back into the living room and dropping onto the couch.

 “He’ll live,” Emma grumbled. “I’ve got to dash. Just give us a call when you’re ready to swing by for Bobby. And if you want to take Allie with you, feel free.”

 “I think I’m good. One adorable yet demanding creature is more than enough for me at this juncture,” he reasoned adding, “And Bobby doesn’t scream” as an afterthought.

 “Oh ha bloody ha. See if I agree to help you with anything in future….Allie no, put that down…Alice Marie…Sorry, Tom, I’ve got to go.” The line clicked and Tom let his phone drop beside him on the couch. He scrubbed his face with his hands before standing and heading back into the laundry room. He’d finish sorting his laundry and then call her back, letting her know he was on the way.

 The drive across town wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared it would be; London traffic being what it was. He pulled his car to a stop in the drive leading to the house forty minutes later, almost reluctant to turn the engine off and lose the heating.  Emma had the door open, his niece on her hip, before he’d climbed out of the car.

 “She’s calmed I see,” he called, reaching out to take the little girl from her mother’s arms. She smiled in delight and clung to her uncle, babbling excitedly. “Hello there, angel.” He kissed the top of her head before returning his attention to his sister. “And how has my boy been?”

 Emma laughed and shook her head, ushering Tom inside. “He’s been his usual self. Luckily he hasn’t dug up the back garden…again. Only because it’s been so bloody cold.”

 Tom threw back his head and laughed. “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”  The aforementioned spaniel, upon hearing his master’s voice, came sprinting out into the hallway, barking. Alice let out a squeal, clapping her hands together and reaching for the excited dog jumping at her uncle’s feet. Tom bent down and gave Bobby an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Alice reached out and grabbed at Bobby’s ears. “No, sweetie. We need to be gentle with the doggy.” He demonstrated by petting Bobby softly on the head. Alice mimicked his motions and Bobby tossed his head up, licking her face. She squealed in delight and wriggled out of Tom’s arms.

 Behind him, Tom could hear Emma laughing. “You are a natural, you know?” He turned around, blinking at her in puzzlement. “With kids,” she continued, “have been for years.”

 He shrugged, turning his attention back towards his niece and his dog to ensure neither was misbehaving. Alice was contentedly patting Bobby on the head and babbling at him. “So are lots of people.”

 “I’m just saying…You are great as Uncle Tommy and I think you’d made quite a good father in your own right.”

 “Em.”

 “I know you want that, Tom. It’s plain as day to anyone who knows you,” she pressed, giving him a knowing look.

 “Of course I want that, Em. I just…Sometimes we can’t get what we want.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want and we’ve no one to blame but ourselves. I’ve come to terms with it.”

 Emma folded her arms over chest, “You and I both know that’s a boldfaced lie.”

 Tom pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his sister, frustration clear in his eyes. “Just let it go, Em. Seriously.” His tone brooked no argument. “Do you have the rest of his things gathered or do I need to go into the back and fetch them?”

 “Tom…” It was clear though that Tom was no longer willing to entertain the conversation at hand. “All his stuff is gathered in the back room.” He gave her a nod and headed down the hallway towards the room in question. Alice who had until that point been contentedly patting Bobby on the head, raised her attention to her mother and inquired, in her own fashion, after her missing uncle. Her mother sighed, “Uncle Tommy’s gone to get Bobby’s things then they are going bye-byes. But we’ll see them again soon.”

 Alice pouted at this, “No bye-byes!”

 “It’s alright Allie,” Tom spoke, dropping the bundle of Bobby’s things carefully by the door and settling on his knees beside her. “Bobby and I will come back soon. But I think right now mummy and daddy want a little time with just you.” Alice sniffled and grabbed at Tom who pulled the toddler into his arms. “I know, I know.” He kissed her head, and standing, handed the girl to her mother. “You be good for your mummy and daddy okay?”

 Emma looked at him over the head of her still sniffling daughter. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

 Tom nodded and mouthed, “It’s alright.” Picking up the bundle once more, Tom leant down and hooked Bobby’s lead to his collar. “Come on, boy.” He pushed open the front door and led them out into the dark and cold December evening. Bobby had hopped into the backseat of the car willingly enough but throughout the drive home insisted on sticking his nose further and further between the two front seats, nudging at his master’s arm.

 “You, my lad, are a menace,” Tom laughed as he pulled back onto the main road and into traffic. The drive home took twice as long as the initial trip. Tom hadn’t been surprised; London traffic was a nightmare, regardless of the time of day. As they sat, Tom’s mind wandered back to Emma’s earlier words. She’d meant well and he’d known it. And he’d hated being so short with her. But they’d had the conversation far too many times over the last few years and he was tired.

 There were things he wanted; someone to come home to, a family of his own, the things he saw in the lives of his sisters and friends. And yet here he was inching ever closer to forty and still, more or less, alone. Most days it hadn’t bothered him. He had more than enough to fill his life. He had friends, nieces and honorary nephews aplenty. He had a rewarding and engaging career that he still loved, despite its pitfalls and stresses. But somedays…Somedays that nagging voice inside his head reminding him that he was alone grew loud and became difficult to ignore.

 He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road before him. Behind him, Tom could hear Bobby’s incessant whining. “Fine, come on up.” He patted the seat beside him and Bobby let out an excited bark and quickly leapt into the front seat where he sat, watching the traffic around him.

                                                             —

 Christmas, as always, came far too quickly. Tom had spent the week before scrambling to make sure he found the bits and bobs he’d purchased throughout the year and hidden away ‘for safe keeping’. Why he never bothered to use the same spot twice, he’d never understand. Though, if pushed, he could admit it most likely came from a lifelong habit of trying to hide his things from nosey and inquisitive sisters and later from intrusive school mates.

 But he’d found them all in the end, and the evening before he’d been set to drive to his mother’s, Tom sat in his living room surrounded by wrapping paper and sellotape, wondering just what he’d been thinking. Despite his ability to master almost anything thrown his way, Tom had always been rubbish at wrapping and practice, he’d found, made little difference.

 Cursing and muttering under his breath, he fumbled his way through. The end results were far from perfect, but they were wrapped. Bobby had taken great pleasure in chasing the loose paper, gleefully tearing it to shreds. Watching this, Tom wisely made the decision to pack the gifts away where the spaniel could not reach. He didn’t think Bobby would actually go after them but experience had taught him that trusting the playful spaniel in that regard was not a risk worth taking.

 With a jaw cracking yawn, Tom pushed himself up to his feet. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it had just gone one in the morning. Much later than he’d intended. “Bed,” he murmured to himself. Bobby fast on his heels, Tom climbed the stairs and, after a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, fell into bed.

 He set out for his mother’s at a little before noon the following day. Traffic wasn’t nearly as hectic as he’d thought it would be, especially for the day before Christmas. Bobby sat contentedly in the front seat, every so often barking at passing motorists. He had tried, and failed, to keep the spaniel in the backseat and as they left the city limits, he’d relented and allowed Bobby what the spaniel firmly believed was his spot. Christmas music rang out of the speakers, Tom had always had a soft spot for these songs, and found himself humming along quietly as he drove.

 It hadn’t snowed yet, which was a blessing. But darkening skies loomed low and threateningly. Tom only hoped it would hold out until he was safely in Suffolk and inside with the hot beverage of his choosing before they broke. His luck, and the weather, held and he pulled into the drive only half an hour later than he’d planned. Bobby barked excitedly as Tom killed the engine, his tail a blur of motion. “Alright, alright. I know you’re dying for a walk.”

 Once he was certain Bobby’s lead was tightly fastened, Tom climbed out of the car and darted to the passenger side. Bobby hopped out and took three laps around the front garden before Tom led him back to the car. Pulling his backpack and the bag of gifts from the trunk, Tom headed up the walk and to the front door, the spaniel following closely behind.

 The door opened and a chorus of warm welcomes and a loud and enthusiastic “Uncle Tommy!” from his eldest niece, Cora, greeted him.

 He was pulled into a tight hug by his mother as he crossed the threshold. “So glad you made it before the weather turned. The thought of you out in the snow in that car…” Diana had made her dislike of Tom’s Jaguar plain from the moment he’d received it as a perk for his appearance in one of their marketing campaigns years ago.

 “Mum,” he groaned, unable to mask his annoyance, “It’s a perfectly safe car and you know fair well that I’m a good driver.”

 Diana huffed and shut the door behind him. “I’m still not a fan.”

 Settling in hadn’t taken long, he’d been placed in his old bedroom and had wasted no time in jogging up the stairs (Diana’s voice echoing after him with an admonishing “no running in the house!”) and dropping his bag on the recently made bed. The room hadn’t changed overmuch in the years since he’d lived in it; a new bedspread had been laid out but otherwise it was still very much the room of his teenaged years. Tom found an odd comfort in that. He returned downstairs and quickly found himself pulled into rolling around the floor with Alice and Cora while they laughed and screamed in delight. He could hear Emma and Sarah behind him, laughing hysterically at his antics.

 Dinner was a causal affair that evening, eaten mostly in the living room while everyone chatted and the children played with Bobby, occasionally sneaking him bits of food much to the spaniel’s delight. At quarter of nine the children were tucked into bed with the promise of a visit from Santa if they settled to sleep. He’d been roped into reading several bedtime stories because, according to Cora, “you do all the best voices”. The girls’ parents were quick to agree and so Tom settled on the floor between the two beds and read from the collection of bedtime stories that had been in the house for as long as he could remember.

 Once both girls were fast asleep, Tom rejoined the adults downstairs. He took the proffered glass of whiskey from his brother-in-law and settled on the couch. It was wonderful, getting to spend time with his family. He hadn’t seen Sarah nor her family since Emma’s wedding, something he promised himself to rectify in future. They sat up talking until well into the early hours of the morning, though Diana had turned in shorty before ten, and as they finally climbed the stairs to bed he heard Sarah grumble, “Cora will be up at first light and demand everyone join her.” And her husband grunt in response.

 Cora was in fact up at just before six Christmas morning. After waking her parents, she’d darted into Tom’s room and woke him as well by jumping repeatedly on the bed yelling “it’s Christmas, Uncle Tommy! It’s Christmas!”

 Startled into consciousness, Tom swallowed his heart and grumbled a “that’s lovely” while patting Cora on the back. He heard Sarah snort in amusement from the doorway and shot her an evil look, which only made her laugh harder.  He sat up in time to watch Cora dash from the room, grabbing her mother by the hand and dragging her towards the stairs. Tom chuckled to himself, stretched, and slowly climbed out of bed. God, it was far too early. He pulled on a jumper, as his mother tended to keep the house on the cooler side even in winter, and padded downstairs in search of coffee.

 Diana stood in the kitchen when he stumbled in, a steaming mug outstretched towards him which he took gratefully. It was a strong roast, rich and bitter. He drank it slowly, feeling the comforting rush of caffeine through his bloodstream. Gods above, he loved coffee. Excited cries soon echoed in from the living room, beckoning his attention. He made his way into the living room behind his mother and settled into one of the open arm chairs, watching as Alice and Cora were settled before their respective pile of gifts.

 The actual present opening portion of the morning lasted all of twenty minutes in Cora’s case. Alice took longer due to the fact she became easily distracted by the shiny paper. But all in all, they had their presents opened in well less than an hour. They saved the adult gift giving for later, once both girls were sufficiently distracted enough by toys to allow them a moment’s peace.

 Breakfast and lunch, much like dinner the night before, were eaten in the living room surrounded by bin bags full of wrapping paper. Tom had been drafted into throwing out said bags, very much without his consent he’d pointed out. No one, however, took his protests seriously. After he’d finished lunch and could put off the inevitable no longer, Tom threw on his coat with a grumble and grabbed the bags. Bobby was quick on his heels, sensing walkies afoot. The spaniel was hooked into his lead and headed out into the cold alongside Tom. Once the bin bags were tossed in the bins at the side of the house, they took a quick lap around the front garden then up and down the drive before heading back inside.

 He unhooked Bobby from his lead once he’d had the front door firmly shut and the spaniel had shot off back in the direction of the living room where moments later he heard the delighted cries of his nieces. Tom padded towards the kitchen in search of another mug of coffee, or if he was truly lucky, hot chocolate. He found his mother pacing around the kitchen, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder as she puttered around making hot chocolate. Bless her, he thought.

 “Oh, dear heart that is fine…Honestly, I know it’s a long drive and a short stop is perfectly fine. I just want to meet that little man of yours…Yes…Alright…Speak soon.” She turned to hang the phone back into its base and jumped when she caught sight of Tom in the doorway. “Goodness, Thomas! You gave me quite a fright.”

 “Sorry, Mum.”

 “No matter. Now that you’re here you can help me finish these up…And I mean get them ready not sample the lot, young man.” She wagged a reproachful finger at him and he laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. How was it his fault that her hot chocolate was so amazing that he couldn’t help himself? Chocolate was a weakness of his, surely she knew that by now.

 Diana shook her head and began passing him the mugs she had started and the various toppings they required. Tom worked dutifully at his task though temptation to sample was strong. “Mum…”

 “No, Tom, you may not test them out.” She answered automatically.

 Tom laughed. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

 Diana chuckled. “Anytime, my boy. Anytime.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “So what was your question then?”

 “Who was on the phone earlier?”

 “Amy,” Diana answered simply, offering Tom a look of understanding. “They can’t stay for lunch tomorrow, but are going to stop by on their drive home.”

 Tom smiled back. “I’m glad they can make it. I know you’ve been dying to meet Henry.” Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Tom let out a sigh. “Mum, honestly its fine. What happened between Amy and I is in the past. She’s moved on and so have I. Honestly.”

 Diana’s eyes studied his face, an unreadable expression in her eyes. It felt like an age before she spoke, “Then why, my boy, do you look so sad?” Tom opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “Don’t, Thomas. You forget I’ve known you all of your life. I see you. You might have accepted what happened between you and Amy, that I do believe, but I don’t know if you have truly moved on.” She shot him a knowing look. “You haven’t had a steady nor serious relationship since…And what happened that summer doesn’t count.” Diana came to stand beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You are my boy and I just want you to be happy.”

 Tom blinked up at her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “I am…I mean, yes, there are times I wish for things that I don’t have. But doesn’t everyone?” He let out a sigh. “I made some spectacularly bad choices and I’ve learned from them. Things aren’t…Perfect. But they are good. I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

 Diana shook her head, “Oh my boy, that’s one thing you still don’t quite understand. I am your mother, I am always going to worry about you.” She leaned down and kissed his head. “No let’s get this drinks out there before the rest of the family starts to riot.”

 Both laughing, they worked together to place the mugs onto a tray and carried them back into the living room.

Next Chapter

[sabine-leo]

A smile to remember-Chapter33

Author: @sabine-leo

Chapter: 33 /?  

Genre: Fluff, Humor, Romance, a tiny bit of pondering

Note: I LOVE comments :) Writers do lve for them :)

Two weeks after your first talk about moving in together, Tom and you had decided that you would move into his home after he got back from the press tour for the last movie he did. He would be away for 6 weeks, flying around the world and through different time zones which would give you the time to sell your flat and pack up your things. Tom would have liked for you to sleep directly at his place because it was more secure than yours and he hated that he had to leave you for such a long time, but you could reassure him that you would be fine at your place and needed the time to get everything ready for the move. After work you made the commute to Toms home and keyed open the door. The day after he had asked you to move in with him, he had given you a little stuffed gorilla (similar to the one Dylan owned) with a key around his neck. You smiled at the memory and that little stuffed symbol of how it all began sat next to the paintings he had gifted you in the first weeks of knowing each other.

 “Tom?” You called out and dropped of your bag. “In the study!” came the answer but then you heard him talking more but clearly not to you. He was on the phone. “Yes, that is actually very convenient.  Thanks for letting me know. I will call you back in an hour. Maybe you could get the plans and forward them to me? Yes, that would be even better. Thank you! Yes, I will call back. Bye.” Tom hung up and turned to look at you. “Hello Darling!” He laid down his phone and took your face into his hands in a soft grip. “How was work? I missed you!” You smiled up to him and laughed softly.

“You facetimed me and talked to me during my break.” Tom grinned. “Like I said. I missed you. PLUS I need to fill my mind with you to be able to take solace in the weeks we do have to spend apart!”

“Stop being so darn cute!” You grinned and kissed his smiling lips. Tom chuckled and stole another kiss. “There are some news.” He looked into your eyes. “The agent/architect who sold me this house just called. My neighbours who own the other half of the house moved out and want to sell. I had demanded to be asked first as I bought it.” Walking into the kitchen with Tom he poured you some water and sat down with you. “So, there is the question if I…WE want to buy it and remodel both half’s into one big house.”  You took a sip of the water. “Wow, we could play hide and seek in it afterwards.” Tom chuckled. “I am fairly certain Dylan would like to join!” He took your hand into his and stroked your palm with his thumb. “It may seem a bit big for now, but if you look further into the future….” He let the sentence hang in the air and just smiled.

 “Handbrakes Hiddleston!” You chuckled and Tom just shrugged with a grin on his handsome face.

“Think about it while I make you dinner!” He said and got up. “We could take a look at the plans in an hour and a half if you want to. But there really is no pressure. We could just pass and stick with our original plan.” He bend to get a kiss and started to prep some food for the both of you.

After a moment you stood and hugged him from behind. “I´ll take a shower and think about what you said.” Tom leaned back and caressed your arm  for a second. He wanted to say something at first but choose not to. He took the pressure away and either way he would be happy to just have you move in. There was always another chance, another place the both of you could move too when you needed more rooms somewhere in the future.

 The hot water did wonders to your tense shoulders after work. You closed your eyes and just let the water hit you for a moment. This house was a really nice house. It had a decent garden and was not too far away from the main city. Also it was secure and remote enough for Tom to feel safe and be able to move without being photographed all the time. And to be honest. Something like that in London was not very often to get. The neighbourhood and the nearby Parks gave the feeling that you were not in a big city at all. You could always say no after seeing the plans, but it would be dumb not to look at them.

 15 minutes later you had dressed and walked back into the kitchen. “God, that smells divine!”

Tom grinned and nuzzled your neck. “Mhmmm it does!”

“I talk about the food!” You chuckled. Tom grinned “I´m not!”

Sitting down after you helped him get the plates, Tom poured you something more to drink.

You could see that he wanted to ask how you decided but he kept his silence for the first bites.

Laughing inwardly you decided to put him out of his misery.

“Tom?!” You started. Tom looked up mid bite and you chuckled a little because of it.

“Are you laughing at me?” he narrowed his eyes and tried to look intimidating.

“Am not!” you grinned. “Oh yes you are!” He said in his Loki tone and leaned forward.

“You are getting yourself in a lot of trouble little pet!”

 Goosebumps broke out on your arms and you bit your lip, Tom chuckled.

“Remind me to continue this later…but for now I am to curious what you wanted to say before you found my way of eating funny!” You looked at Tom and smiled. “I thought about it.”

Tom watched you but let you pick your own pace of revealing your thoughts.

“I think we should look at the plans and talk about our ideas what to do with the possible new space. My flat should sell fast so I could use this money to invest into our shared home….even if it will not nearly be enough.” Tom smiled and reached for your hand over the table.

“We can always say no…even after looking at the plans.”

 You talked a bit more about why it would be a good idea and the pros the both of you found were outnumbering the cons by far pretty soon. After dinner Tom made the call and the both of you got ready to meet the agent. Tom drove the both of you into town and to the office. He took your hand as you walked in and kissed your knuckles in a reassuring way.

It didn´t take long for you to be awestruck by the images and ideas of the architect. It looked cosy but open spaced and so damn good that you thought it would be a dream. Tom chuckled as he saw you literally getting heart eyes as the architect mentioned the walk-in library next to the study and visible from the bigger Livingroom. “I need you to stop there Mr. Williams. I am fearful that you will steal my girl otherwise.” Williams chuckled and you just grinned and nudged Tom. “Sorry!” you said blushing.

Tom leaned in and kissed your cheek. “You know how much I like that in you. Never apologise!”

 After that Mr. Williams disclosed what buying the house and remodelling it would cost. It sounded like a fair amount but nonetheless it was a hell of a lot more than you could contribute just now.

“It may sound much at first, but properties with this grounds, habitable surface and in this location would cost nearly three times as much at this time. Increasing in the next years to come.” Mr Williams elaborated. Toms hand stroked your upper leg under the table. He knew that this was much to take in for you, but he wanted you on board and not buy it himself and drop it on you as if you would not be worth to be included in the decision. For him you were it. He knew that he would build a life with you, that he would do whatever it takes to make you feel comfortable and most of all equal.

 “Thank you, Mr. Williams. If you would be so kind to give us some time to think about it. This is no decision we want to make on a whim.” Tom smiled and stood. “But, I´d like to take the plans with me in case we say yes but want to change a few things up.” Mr Williams stood and nodded. “Of course!” He got the plans together and handed them to Tom. Saying your goodbyes Tom walked you to the car and opened the door for you. “Talk to me!” He said as he drove the car into traffic and put his hand on your knee. “It´s a lot to process, Tom. But I give you that, It looked like a dream.”

Tom smiled and gently squeezed your leg. “It did. It looked like a home for a family.”

 He was right, but you knew that you would not sleep much this night!

Tags: @theoneanna @shegatsby @wabisabigrl @everything-is-awesomesauce @drakesfiance @spoopyfoxxtropical @yokaimoon @kjjazzy23 @confessionsofastrugglingteen  @shinebrightlikeafanbase @adefectivedetective @coniumalces @lisastandford95 @imjustlonelyanddepressed @anchored-in-high-tide @clarakainda @karnita-mexicana @nonsensicalobsessions @amazinggraces-world @tanishahka   @inlovewithfreyamikaelson @heart-shaped-hell @marikochi @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @awkwardfangirl2014 @rainbowsinthestorm

[winterisakillerwrites]

Get Better - Chapter Three

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 3/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Previous

CHAPTER THREE

A sharp wind whipped down the florescent lit tunnel, sending a sudden shiver down his spine. Tom pulled the blanket he’d been handed tighter around him, stifling a yawn. It had been an early morning and despite several cups of coffee, with more espresso shots than he’d care to admit to, he still felt the pull of sleep dragging on him. The excitement, however, was winning by leaps and bounds. He had been intrigued when the idea was pitched to him, of making a teaser for Betrayal and posting it as-is before formally announcing the show the following day. It was a creative and fun way of drawing attention to the production and getting buzz going around it.

The teaser’s premise was simple, Tom would come into focus walking down the aforementioned tunnel, something out of the camera’s range would catch his eye, and the viewer would watch his reaction unfold. Watch the shock, pain, anger, and finally defeat play across his features. No dialogue, no real explanation; just him and music. Beautiful in its simplicity.

He stood to the side, watching as the days’ crew reset the shot and fiddled with the lighting. It was their third, and hopefully last, take; the lighting have gone a touch fuzzy during the last set up. It was a bustle of controlled chaos and something he’d always found fascinating. The way in which the crew flittered around each other was almost an elaborate dance.

“Alright, places everyone!”  The director called once things had been set to rights. Tom nodded, took a deep breath and stepped onto his mark.  

The rest of the shoot passed with little issue. The fourth take had been the one Tom was certain he’d nailed. He’d watched the final footage with the director and found himself pleased with the initial result. The days’ footage, Tom was told, would be edited that evening and should be ready to go up the day after. With a warm smile, Tom bid farewell and headed out into the bustle of the now busy streets.

He’d taken the tube that morning, enjoying being able to sit and people watch. It helped keep him grounded, just doing the everyday tasks that so many seemed to take for granted. He could usually take the tube with little fuss or fanfare. That was one of the wonderful things about London, very few people seemed to care who or what he was. True, there would be the occasional fan who would approach him or the rare ‘sneaky’ photograph (which he never really understood the point of) but for the most part he was left to his own devices.

He’d fired off a quick text to Luke before he’d entered the station, letting him know all had gone well and that he was off home. Luke responded quickly, reminding him that his phone meeting with Marvel regarding updates for the Loki limited series had been pushed back until following afternoon. Which meant for the time being, Tom had the rest of the day to himself and he was greatly looking forward to the lack of demand. He made his way through the ticket barrier and followed commuters down the escalators and onto the platform. The train rumbled into the station a few minutes later and he joined the mass of people making their way into various carriages.

Tom quickly settled into the first available seat, letting his mind wander as he watched the eclectic mix of people filling the carriage. It was something he’d always enjoyed about the city; the mix of cultures and people that had always made it uniquely London. The carriage was busy but not packed, it was still early enough in the day that most commuters were still at work. Tom enjoyed the relative peace as the carriage jostled along, silently counting the stops until his own.

He made his way from the train onto the platform once the train had pulled into his station. A flash of dark hair and a familiar laugh caught his attention as he made his way through the busy station to the ticketing barrier. Tom turned his head in reflex and a jolt of recognition shot through him. Cath. The name materialized in his head without conscious thought. But she was gone before he could make a move, disappeared into the crowd heading towards the platforms.

Tom shook himself back into the present and carried on through the gate and then out onto the street. It was just as well she’d gone, he reasoned, pulling his coat tighter around himself as a swift breeze raced down the pavements. He didn’t actually know her, had no reason to approach her other than his own, admittedly overabundant, curiosity.  And that had often caused more trouble than it was worth.

Silently, he carried on down the pavements and back towards home. Bobby, none too pleased with being shut in the back room in his crate, barked repeatedly as Tom unlocked and pushed open the front door. “Alright, alright,” he called. “I’m coming.”

He shrugged out of his woolen coat, hanging it on the rack near the door, and jogged through the house towards the back room. Bobby, finally free of his confinement, let his displeasure be known with several more loud and growly barks. Tom rolled his eyes and let the spaniel out through the door into the back garden to do his business and terrorize the local wildlife.

The following day’s teaser release and subsequent play announcement were well received, which had been a major relief. The response on social media had been overwhelmingly positive and Tom was more than pleased. Zawe had begun talks to secure her involvement in the show and from what Tom had been able to gather, Charlie Cox was in talks to join as well. Nothing had been set in stone and probably wouldn’t until closer to the New Year, but Tom couldn’t have been happier. He’d known Charlie for years and was glad to at least have the chance of potentially working with him.

His phone had been ringing off and on throughout the day following the official announcement; friends and family sharing their well wishes and excitement. His mother had been particularly thrilled as she could talk more openly about the play now that had it been announced publically. His mother and her enthusiasm had become the stuff of legend in and around Suffolk.

“So someone actually took pity on you and hired your sorry face. I must send them flowers…and my condolences as well,” Benedict laughed. His call had come just after Tom had finished an impromptu afternoon run. He was in desperate need of a shower but hadn’t the heart to tell his friend to buzz off.

“Well,” Tom quipped back. “If they actually hire you on occasion, I figured I would be a shoe-in this time round. And,” he added as an afterthought, “there is a much better chance they can actually pronounce my name.” Ben snorted laughter at the comment which pulled Tom into a laughing fit of his own. “But in all seriousness,” Tom continued once he’d managed to calm himself, “I am ridiculously excited to be able to be doing this. It’s going to be a challenging role and I am looking forward to it.”

“So who are you playing? Robert or Jerry?”

“Robert.”

Ben laughed in delight. “Couldn’t have happened to a nicer guy. And they’ve cast Emma and Jerry?”

“Not officially no,” Tom answered, laughing as well.

“Unofficially?” Ben goaded.

“Zawe Ashton and Charlie Cox, pending availability.”

“Very nice indeed, Mr. Hiddleston. You’re moving up in the world.” He paused, taking a breath. “Hopefully Sophie and I will be able to make it during the run.”

“Don’t feel obligated,” Tom admonished. “I know things are going to be a bit mad with the little one coming.” He had been beyond thrilled, and quietly jealous, when Ben had told him that he and Sophie were expecting again. The baby was due in late January and Tom was well aware that their lives would be chaotic for a least the first few months while their family settled into its new routine. The play would be the absolute least of their priorities. “If you make it, that will be amazing but don’t feel like you must. Honestly.”

Ben laughed. “I have a feeling that by the time your show opens we’ll both be ready for a break and grown up company.”

Tom laughed as well. “I can only imagine.”

A loud scream echoed from Ben’s side of the line. “I’m terribly sorry to cut this short but I need to make sure my sons aren’t killing one another. Sophie will be awfully cross if any damage comes to them in my care.”

“Yes. Yes. Go on, take care of your offspring. Talk to you later.” Tom ended the call and stretched his back, it having started to get a bit stiff. He really needed to make sure he stretched pre and post run now. God, I’m getting old, he thought with a grimace. Tom toed out of his running shoes and took the stairs two at a time, more eager than ever for a hot shower.

—

The rest of November passed in a blur of various appointments and meetings cumulating in an appearance at Tokyo Comic Con. Tom always thoroughly enjoyed being able to attend Asian events, especially fan ones. The welcome he received was always warm and the fan base vocal and tremendously supportive. It made the long flight and horrendous jetlag worth it. And this time had been no exception. He’d thoroughly enjoyed talking with fans and participating in numerous panels. But he had to admit, he was grateful to be going home. He’d joked with Luke about the real possibility of him sleeping for at least a week on the way to the airport.

“Good,” Luke deadpanned back. “Please do. Less chance of you causing me headache.”

The flight home had been a long one, with just enough layover to make his usual jetlag feel a hundred times worse. He’d practically fallen into the car awaiting him at Heathrow and slept all the way home. It certainly wouldn’t do his re-acclimation to British Standard Time any good, but he’d been far too tired to care. How he’d made his way from the car and into the house, he still didn’t know. Nor how he’d fumbled his way from the entry way, up the stairs and into his bedroom. He’d woken late the following afternoon still in his clothes and momentarily unaware of just where he was.

Tom blinked around the room several times before the familiar shapes of his dresser and the door to the ensuite came into focus. Home. He pushed himself upright, a jaw cracking yawn escaping him. He was still tired, still a bit fuzzy-headed, but now that he was conscious he could sense the grime of several hours confined in a small space with far too many people all over him. With a fair amount of effort, he pulled himself to his feet and padded into the bathroom, stripping as he went.

Freshly showered and feeling much more like himself, Tom climbed downstairs nearly twenty minutes later and set about fixing both coffee and food. Plate of egg and toast in one hand and a steaming mug of coffee doctored to his liking in the other, Tom padded into the living room and settled himself on the couch. He let himself revel, selfishly, in the silence of the house.

Bobby was still at Emma’s; she and her husband had volunteered to watch the little devil while he’d been out of the country. Why they’d agreed, Tom still wasn’t entirely sure. And while he’d missed the little bugger, it was nice to be able to eat a meal without having to face those large, pleading eyes. He’d never been able to completely resist them, and he knew Bobby knew.

Tom took his time eating, he had nowhere in particular he needed to be and fully intended to laze about for as long as possible. He pondered actually taking on his ever-growing ‘to-be-read’ pile. It had been ages since he’d allowed himself the luxury of just sitting and reading a book. Yes, he still read as often as was possible, but it was usually during filming breaks when he wasn’t going over lines or blocking or a few moments before falling asleep. Actually sitting about and just reading, that was a true rarity. Possibilities.

Once he’d finished the last of his meal and drained the very last of his coffee, Tom pushed himself to his feet and padded to the kitchen. He contemplated simply leaving his used plate and mug in the sink for later, after all it wasn’t as if he won’t have the time later. But the impulse was quickly abated; his mother would box his ears, metaphorically speaking, for doing such a thing even now. He shook his head and laughed at himself, washing and drying them quickly before heading out of the kitchen and into the main hall.

As Tom made his way down the hall his suitcase and backpack, left carelessly by the door the night before, caught his eye and he groaned. He should take his clothing out and get a load of washing started, knowing if he put it off it wouldn’t get done. With a muffled curse, he lugged the case towards the laundry room, setting it on the floor and sorting through his clothing. He’d gotten a load in the wash and started the sorting of the next when the sharp ring of his mobile echoed from the front of the house.

Tom sighed and padded back into the hall, finding this mobile vibrating and ringing away on the table; Emma’s number flashing across the screen. He had to have pulled it from his pocket by reflex the night before as tended to keep in beside him the majority of the time unless he purposefully needed a break from the outside world.

“Yes, little sister?” he said as way of greeting after he’d grabbed the offending object and slid his finger across the screen to accept the call.

Emma snorted a laugh. “He lives! I was wondering if you’d be conscious and functional yet or not.”

“I do live, the conscious and functional part is debatable. Now what can I do for you?”

A loud, piercing cry echoed through the line and Emma sighed, wearily. “Take my child off my hands for the next…I don’t know…Eighteen or so years?”

“Somehow I think Jack might have a few objections to that idea.” Tom chuckled, padding back into the living room and dropping onto the couch.

“He’ll live,” Emma grumbled. “I’ve got to dash. Just give us a call when you’re ready to swing by for Bobby. And if you want to take Allie with you, feel free.”

“I think I’m good. One adorable yet demanding creature is more than enough for me at this juncture,” he reasoned adding, “And Bobby doesn’t scream” as an afterthought.

“Oh ha bloody ha. See if I agree to help you with anything in future….Allie no, put that down…Alice Marie…Sorry, Tom, I’ve got to go.” The line clicked and Tom let his phone drop beside him on the couch. He scrubbed his face with his hands before standing and heading back into the laundry room. He’d finish sorting his laundry and then call her back, letting her know he was on the way.

The drive across town wasn’t nearly as bad as he’d feared it would be; London traffic being what it was. He pulled his car to a stop in the drive leading to the house forty minutes later, almost reluctant to turn the engine off and lose the heating.  Emma had the door open, his niece on her hip, before he’d climbed out of the car.

“She’s calmed I see,” he called, reaching out to take the little girl from her mother’s arms. She smiled in delight and clung to her uncle, babbling excitedly. “Hello there, angel.” He kissed the top of her head before returning his attention to his sister. “And how has my boy been?”

Emma laughed and shook her head, ushering Tom inside. “He’s been his usual self. Luckily he hasn’t dug up the back garden…again. Only because it’s been so bloody cold.”

Tom threw back his head and laughed. “Well thank goodness for small miracles.”  The aforementioned spaniel, upon hearing his master’s voice, came sprinting out into the hallway, barking. Alice let out a squeal, clapping her hands together and reaching for the excited dog jumping at her uncle’s feet. Tom bent down and gave Bobby an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Alice reached out and grabbed at Bobby’s ears. “No, sweetie. We need to be gentle with the doggy.” He demonstrated by petting Bobby softly on the head. Alice mimicked his motions and Bobby tossed his head up, licking her face. She squealed in delight and wriggled out of Tom’s arms.

Behind him, Tom could hear Emma laughing. “You are a natural, you know?” He turned around, blinking at her in puzzlement. “With kids,” she continued, “have been for years.”

He shrugged, turning his attention back towards his niece and his dog to ensure neither was misbehaving. Alice was contentedly patting Bobby on the head and babbling at him. “So are lots of people.”

“I’m just saying…You are great as Uncle Tommy and I think you’d made quite a good father in your own right.”

“Em.”

“I know you want that, Tom. It’s plain as day to anyone who knows you,” she pressed, giving him a knowing look.

“Of course I want that, Em. I just…Sometimes we can’t get what we want.” He let out a resigned sigh. “Sometimes things just don’t work out the way we want and we’ve no one to blame but ourselves. I’ve come to terms with it.”

Emma folded her arms over chest, “You and I both know that’s a boldfaced lie.”

Tom pushed himself to his feet, turning to face his sister, frustration clear in his eyes. “Just let it go, Em. Seriously.” His tone brooked no argument. “Do you have the rest of his things gathered or do I need to go into the back and fetch them?”

“Tom…” It was clear though that Tom was no longer willing to entertain the conversation at hand. “All his stuff is gathered in the back room.” He gave her a nod and headed down the hallway towards the room in question. Alice who had until that point been contentedly patting Bobby on the head, raised her attention to her mother and inquired, in her own fashion, after her missing uncle. Her mother sighed, “Uncle Tommy’s gone to get Bobby’s things then they are going bye-byes. But we’ll see them again soon.”

Alice pouted at this, “No bye-byes!”

“It’s alright Allie,” Tom spoke, dropping the bundle of Bobby’s things carefully by the door and settling on his knees beside her. “Bobby and I will come back soon. But I think right now mummy and daddy want a little time with just you.” Alice sniffled and grabbed at Tom who pulled the toddler into his arms. “I know, I know.” He kissed her head, and standing, handed the girl to her mother. “You be good for your mummy and daddy okay?”

Emma looked at him over the head of her still sniffling daughter. “I’m sorry,” she mouthed.

Tom nodded and mouthed, “It’s alright.” Picking up the bundle once more, Tom leant down and hooked Bobby’s lead to his collar. “Come on, boy.” He pushed open the front door and led them out into the dark and cold December evening. Bobby had hopped into the backseat of the car willingly enough but throughout the drive home insisted on sticking his nose further and further between the two front seats, nudging at his master’s arm.

“You, my lad, are a menace,” Tom laughed as he pulled back onto the main road and into traffic. The drive home took twice as long as the initial trip. Tom hadn’t been surprised; London traffic was a nightmare, regardless of the time of day. As they sat, Tom’s mind wandered back to Emma’s earlier words. She’d meant well and he’d known it. And he’d hated being so short with her. But they’d had the conversation far too many times over the last few years and he was tired.

There were things he wanted; someone to come home to, a family of his own, the things he saw in the lives of his sisters and friends. And yet here he was inching ever closer to forty and still, more or less, alone. Most days it hadn’t bothered him. He had more than enough to fill his life. He had friends, nieces and honorary nephews aplenty. He had a rewarding and engaging career that he still loved, despite its pitfalls and stresses. But somedays…Somedays that nagging voice inside his head reminding him that he was alone grew loud and became difficult to ignore.

He took a deep breath and forced himself to concentrate on the road before him. Behind him, Tom could hear Bobby’s incessant whining. “Fine, come on up.” He patted the seat beside him and Bobby let out an excited bark and quickly leapt into the front seat where he sat, watching the traffic around him.

                                                           —

Christmas, as always, came far too quickly. Tom had spent the week before scrambling to make sure he found the bits and bobs he’d purchased throughout the year and hidden away ‘for safe keeping’. Why he never bothered to use the same spot twice, he’d never understand. Though, if pushed, he could admit it most likely came from a lifelong habit of trying to hide his things from nosey and inquisitive sisters and later from intrusive school mates.

But he’d found them all in the end, and the evening before he’d been set to drive to his mother’s, Tom sat in his living room surrounded by wrapping paper and sellotape, wondering just what he’d been thinking. Despite his ability to master almost anything thrown his way, Tom had always been rubbish at wrapping and practice, he’d found, made little difference.

Cursing and muttering under his breath, he fumbled his way through. The end results were far from perfect, but they were wrapped. Bobby had taken great pleasure in chasing the loose paper, gleefully tearing it to shreds. Watching this, Tom wisely made the decision to pack the gifts away where the spaniel could not reach. He didn’t think Bobby would actually go after them but experience had taught him that trusting the playful spaniel in that regard was not a risk worth taking.

With a jaw cracking yawn, Tom pushed himself up to his feet. A quick glance at the clock informed him that it had just gone one in the morning. Much later than he’d intended. “Bed,” he murmured to himself. Bobby fast on his heels, Tom climbed the stairs and, after a quick detour to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth, fell into bed.

He set out for his mother’s at a little before noon the following day. Traffic wasn’t nearly as hectic as he’d thought it would be, especially for the day before Christmas. Bobby sat contentedly in the front seat, every so often barking at passing motorists. He had tried, and failed, to keep the spaniel in the backseat and as they left the city limits, he’d relented and allowed Bobby what the spaniel firmly believed was his spot. Christmas music rang out of the speakers, Tom had always had a soft spot for these songs, and found himself humming along quietly as he drove.

It hadn’t snowed yet, which was a blessing. But darkening skies loomed low and threateningly. Tom only hoped it would hold out until he was safely in Suffolk and inside with the hot beverage of his choosing before they broke. His luck, and the weather, held and he pulled into the drive only half an hour later than he’d planned. Bobby barked excitedly as Tom killed the engine, his tail a blur of motion. “Alright, alright. I know you’re dying for a walk.”

Once he was certain Bobby’s lead was tightly fastened, Tom climbed out of the car and darted to the passenger side. Bobby hopped out and took three laps around the front garden before Tom led him back to the car. Pulling his backpack and the bag of gifts from the trunk, Tom headed up the walk and to the front door, the spaniel following closely behind.

The door opened and a chorus of warm welcomes and a loud and enthusiastic “Uncle Tommy!” from his eldest niece, Cora, greeted him.

He was pulled into a tight hug by his mother as he crossed the threshold. “So glad you made it before the weather turned. The thought of you out in the snow in that car…” Diana had made her dislike of Tom’s Jaguar plain from the moment he’d received it as a perk for his appearance in one of their marketing campaigns years ago.

“Mum,” he groaned, unable to mask his annoyance, “It’s a perfectly safe car and you know fair well that I’m a good driver.”

Diana huffed and shut the door behind him. “I’m still not a fan.”

Settling in hadn’t taken long, he’d been placed in his old bedroom and had wasted no time in jogging up the stairs (Diana’s voice echoing after him with an admonishing “no running in the house!”) and dropping his bag on the recently made bed. The room hadn’t changed overmuch in the years since he’d lived in it; a new bedspread had been laid out but otherwise it was still very much the room of his teenaged years. Tom found an odd comfort in that. He returned downstairs and quickly found himself pulled into rolling around the floor with Alice and Cora while they laughed and screamed in delight. He could hear Emma and Sarah behind him, laughing hysterically at his antics.

Dinner was a causal affair that evening, eaten mostly in the living room while everyone chatted and the children played with Bobby, occasionally sneaking him bits of food much to the spaniel’s delight. At quarter of nine the children were tucked into bed with the promise of a visit from Santa if they settled to sleep. He’d been roped into reading several bedtime stories because, according to Cora, “you do all the best voices”. The girls’ parents were quick to agree and so Tom settled on the floor between the two beds and read from the collection of bedtime stories that had been in the house for as long as he could remember.

Once both girls were fast asleep, Tom rejoined the adults downstairs. He took the proffered glass of whiskey from his brother-in-law and settled on the couch. It was wonderful, getting to spend time with his family. He hadn’t seen Sarah nor her family since Emma’s wedding, something he promised himself to rectify in future. They sat up talking until well into the early hours of the morning, though Diana had turned in shorty before ten, and as they finally climbed the stairs to bed he heard Sarah grumble, “Cora will be up at first light and demand everyone join her.” And her husband grunt in response.

Cora was in fact up at just before six Christmas morning. After waking her parents, she’d darted into Tom’s room and woke him as well by jumping repeatedly on the bed yelling “it’s Christmas, Uncle Tommy! It’s Christmas!”

Startled into consciousness, Tom swallowed his heart and grumbled a “that’s lovely” while patting Cora on the back. He heard Sarah snort in amusement from the doorway and shot her an evil look, which only made her laugh harder.  He sat up in time to watch Cora dash from the room, grabbing her mother by the hand and dragging her towards the stairs. Tom chuckled to himself, stretched, and slowly climbed out of bed. God, it was far too early. He pulled on a jumper, as his mother tended to keep the house on the cooler side even in winter, and padded downstairs in search of coffee.

Diana stood in the kitchen when he stumbled in, a steaming mug outstretched towards him which he took gratefully. It was a strong roast, rich and bitter. He drank it slowly, feeling the comforting rush of caffeine through his bloodstream. Gods above, he loved coffee. Excited cries soon echoed in from the living room, beckoning his attention. He made his way into the living room behind his mother and settled into one of the open arm chairs, watching as Alice and Cora were settled before their respective pile of gifts.

The actual present opening portion of the morning lasted all of twenty minutes in Cora’s case. Alice took longer due to the fact she became easily distracted by the shiny paper. But all in all, they had their presents opened in well less than an hour. They saved the adult gift giving for later, once both girls were sufficiently distracted enough by toys to allow them a moment’s peace.

Breakfast and lunch, much like dinner the night before, were eaten in the living room surrounded by bin bags full of wrapping paper. Tom had been drafted into throwing out said bags, very much without his consent he’d pointed out. No one, however, took his protests seriously. After he’d finished lunch and could put off the inevitable no longer, Tom threw on his coat with a grumble and grabbed the bags. Bobby was quick on his heels, sensing walkies afoot. The spaniel was hooked into his lead and headed out into the cold alongside Tom. Once the bin bags were tossed in the bins at the side of the house, they took a quick lap around the front garden then up and down the drive before heading back inside.

He unhooked Bobby from his lead once he’d had the front door firmly shut and the spaniel had shot off back in the direction of the living room where moments later he heard the delighted cries of his nieces. Tom padded towards the kitchen in search of another mug of coffee, or if he was truly lucky, hot chocolate. He found his mother pacing around the kitchen, phone balanced between her ear and shoulder as she puttered around making hot chocolate. Bless her, he thought.

“Oh, dear heart that is fine…Honestly, I know it’s a long drive and a short stop is perfectly fine. I just want to meet that little man of yours…Yes…Alright…Speak soon.” She turned to hang the phone back into its base and jumped when she caught sight of Tom in the doorway. “Goodness, Thomas! You gave me quite a fright.”

“Sorry, Mum.”

“No matter. Now that you’re here you can help me finish these up…And I mean get them ready not sample the lot, young man.” She wagged a reproachful finger at him and he laughed and ducked his head sheepishly. How was it his fault that her hot chocolate was so amazing that he couldn’t help himself? Chocolate was a weakness of his, surely she knew that by now.

Diana shook her head and began passing him the mugs she had started and the various toppings they required. Tom worked dutifully at his task though temptation to sample was strong. “Mum…”

“No, Tom, you may not test them out.” She answered automatically.

Tom laughed. “That wasn’t what I was going to ask, but thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Diana chuckled. “Anytime, my boy. Anytime.” She nudged him gently with her shoulder. “So what was your question then?”

“Who was on the phone earlier?”

“Amy,” Diana answered simply, offering Tom a look of understanding. “They can’t stay for lunch tomorrow, but are going to stop by on their drive home.”

Tom smiled back. “I’m glad they can make it. I know you’ve been dying to meet Henry.” Her eyes narrowed just a fraction, and Tom let out a sigh. “Mum, honestly its fine. What happened between Amy and I is in the past. She’s moved on and so have I. Honestly.”

Diana’s eyes studied his face, an unreadable expression in her eyes. It felt like an age before she spoke, “Then why, my boy, do you look so sad?” Tom opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off with a quick wave of her hand. “Don’t, Thomas. You forget I’ve known you all of your life. I see you. You might have accepted what happened between you and Amy, that I do believe, but I don’t know if you have truly moved on.” She shot him a knowing look. “You haven’t had a steady nor serious relationship since…And what happened that summer doesn’t count.” Diana came to stand beside him, wrapping her arm around his shoulders. “You are my boy and I just want you to be happy.”

Tom blinked up at her, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. “I am…I mean, yes, there are times I wish for things that I don’t have. But doesn’t everyone?” He let out a sigh. “I made some spectacularly bad choices and I’ve learned from them. Things aren’t…Perfect. But they are good. I’m good. You don’t have to worry about me.”

Diana shook her head, “Oh my boy, that’s one thing you still don’t quite understand. I am your mother, I am always going to worry about you.” She leaned down and kissed his head. “No let’s get this drinks out there before the rest of the family starts to riot.”

Both laughing, they worked together to place the mugs onto a tray and carried them back into the living room.

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