#but I can virtually pat your head and hope that these tags

[reminiscingtonight]

Good Girls Gone Bad

Leah Williamson x Reader

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: I usually don’t post back-to-back, but I was inspired by *that* clip

[WOSO Masterlist]

“Okay, which one of you did it?”

For 8am on a Monday morning, Katie McCabe can be loud. Even slightly hungover after a late night out partying, the girl can still break eardrums. 

Usually you’d be hyping her up, causing a ruckus with your platonic soulmate and making the locker room slightly more chaotic, but as mentioned before, you too are suffering the consequences of a late night out at the club with your best friend. You’re huddled by Lia, hoping the calm Swiss would dissuade Katie from impeding upon your self-imposed exile from the crazier and louder side of the locker room. Your hopes are dashed when Katie’s shoes come into the edge of your vision.

“Unless your next words are going to be apologizing for dragging me out last night with you and then making me do shots when we had practice at the butt crack of dawn the next day, I don’t want to hear it,” you grumble, not lifting your head from where it’s resting on Lia’s shoulder.

The Swiss rubs a soothing hand up and down your back, though not without exchanging an amused look with your girlfriend who’s sitting on your other side.

“Don’t act so innocent. We both know what you did.”

“And what exactly did I do?”

It’s only then, when you finally look Katie in the face, that you know exactly why she’s so mad. Biting your lip, you try hard not to laugh.

Some time between stumbling out of your shared uber last night and then showing up to today’s practice (late of course), Katie’s hair has turned from its rich brown roots into a bright red mane.

“Wow. I think you’ve got the Ronnie McD look down pat. You auditioning to be his successor or something?”

The snorts of laughter in the room are worth the murderous expression that crosses Katie’s face at your tease.

“I was taking a shower this morning and the next thing I know, my hair’s red! I know you had something to do with it!”

Out of all the girls on the team, Katie’s usually the one pulling the pranks. You’re probably second after her, oftentimes tag teaming to get a wider range of teammates. So it’s not like Katie’s argument is fully without merit. Though this time around she’s missing a key detail.

“And at what time would I have had the opportunity to do so?”

You’ve all been out on international duty for a little under two weeks. Yesterday was the first day you’ve seen Katie since leaving for camp, and you don’t even remember the last time you stepped foot into her place.

Honestly you wish you could take credit for such a prank. Only very few people have ever successfully pranked Katie. So whoever swapped her shampoo out with a dye filled bottle deserved all the praises in the world.

“Who else would’ve done something like this? Leah?” Katie throws the blonde’s name out with a roll of her eyes. 

It’s well known how responsible your girlfriend is. To have Leah taking such a big mick out of Katie would basically be the same as if Kim were to suddenly become tech savvy --- virtually unfathomable.

Leah simply hums. “Who me? No, no way, not me. I’m a good girl.”

Though her words are innocent, Leah follows them up with a cheeky grin and a wink sent your way.

Your mouth drops open. Leah did not just say that. Not in front of all of your friends. Not when she has a tendency to say similar things as that in the privacy of your shared bedroom. 

You’re half blushing, wondering what has gotten into your girlfriend, and half appalled all the same as you turn, wanting to see Katie’s reaction to Leah’s words. You’re already bracing yourself for the inevitable teasing or for the brunette to read into Leah’s body language, only to find the Irish woman not even paying Leah any attention. Instead, she’s back to glaring at you.

“Mark your days, (Y/L/N),” Katie huffs. “I’ll get you back for this. Just you see.”

Turning on her heels, Katie stomps to her locker, glaring at anyone who dares to stop and stare.

Rolling your eyes, you turn back to your girlfriend. There’s still this indecipherable gleam in her eyes that’s making you quite suspicious.

Finally ungluing yourself from Lia’s side, you all but throw yourself back into the blonde’s arms.

Chuckling, Leah presses a kiss against your cheek.

“Can you believe Katie? Like when do I have the time to take a piss on her? I barely crawled out of bed this morning, let alone drove to her place and replaced her shampoo with red dye.”

“I told you going out last night was a bad idea.”

Yes, you distinctly remember Leah trying to convince you to spend the night with her, but you hadn’t seen Katie in what felt like ages. You kissed your pouting girlfriend goodbye, promising to be back quick.

“If you hadn’t blown me off to go clubbing with Katie last night, we could’ve been doing so many things instead of you leaving me to stew all by my lonesome. You know you can never trust me to behave when left to my own devices.”

“Oh my god.” Now Leah’s weird behavior all day makes sense. Despite your hungover clinginess, your girlfriend’s been strangely despondent this morning. She hasn’t been actively cold or ignoring you by any means, she’s just been less like her normal touchy self since you’ve both woken up for the day. Her strange behavior was one of the reasons you sought solitude with Lia instead of throwing yourself into your girlfriend’s arms this morning. 

“It was you!” you whisper-shout, eyes wide with a mix of shock and impressivity. 

“What ever could you be accusing me of doing, babe?”

You should’ve known something was up when Leah didn’t try as hard as she usually does to keep you from going out last night. And you should’ve known she would have gotten up to no good in your absence. Your girlfriend rarely gets into mayhem-causing moods, but when she is in one, there’s no telling who’s safe. The last time she was in one, not even Keira, the one who helped set up half of Leah’s pranks with her, was safe. 

Since you denied Leah sex last night, it seems as if you, and by proxy Katie, are on top of her shit-list this time around.

She gives you a pat on the leg before shooting to her feet.

“All this because I didn’t have sex with you last night?” you whine, quick to scramble after to her. You were already kicking yourself for missing out on getting naked with Leah last night. But now she’s actively torturing you for doing so as well. “Katie’s literally going to be on my ass about this for at least the next week.”

“First off, that’s my ass. Tell her to back off. And second, a girl has needs. It’s not my fault you blew me off to go party last night. I’m just finding creative outlets to let off some steam.”

There’s a slight sparkle in her eyes that tells you Leah’s not actually mad. Though the mischief hasn’t left either, so you’re not sure if you’re quite so safe yet. Knowing your girlfriend, you still had a lot of things coming your way. 

“I swear, Leah,” you huff, an embarrassed blush already rising to you cheeks.

“What are you going to do, punish me?”

Your mouth drops open.

Leah’s skipping away with a devilish look and joyous giggle as you try your best to pick your jaw off the floor. 

Your girlfriend is going to kill you before the end of the day. You just know it.

Your thoughts are followed by you quickly ducking, barely avoiding the football aimed at your head. On second thought, maybe Leah’s not going to be the death of you. Katie might get there first.

[watermelonlipstick]

Three, Two, One

Working through my list of requests, I was really grateful to be able to fulfill this one from anon, who asked: 

I have ptsd, and really loud, sudden noises and sudden touches can make me have a panic attack, so can you do something where there’s a really loud noise or someone touches the reader and sends her into a panic attack and Dean helps her?

It felt a little too obvious to go with a gunshot here. I’m also imagining this set in early seasons both for aesthetic and for Bobby’s house. Hopefully it’s something like what you were hoping for!

Title: Three, Two, One

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader (can be read as platonic or romantic)

Word Count: 1069

Summary: Dean grounds the reader after a panic attack brought on by a loud noise. 

Warnings: oblique description of panic attack, description of loud noise

           The way he was right in front of you at virtually the same second the car backfired almost made it worse at first, to be honest, filling your field of vision as he’d flown out of the front seat of the car where it sat in Bobby’s salvage yard.

           “Shit, I’m so sorry, I thought I’d fixed it—here, sit down,” he said, guiding you over to a folding chair on the edge of the garage. You let him ease you to the metal, feeling the heat and pounding starting to build in your head already. Dean crouched in front of you. “Water? Let me get you some water.”

           He was back in a flash with a plastic bottle, sweating so much in the humidity that the paper label on it hung loose and ugly. You took it from him with a shaky hand once he’d cracked the cap off, and took a quick sip more to feel the coldness in your mouth than out of any real thirst. Dean reached out to pat your thigh and pulled back at the last second like he’d been burned, remembering that sometimes touching you made it worse. “Can I—um?”

           You nodded, grateful for his asking and worried if you spoke you wouldn’t be able to hold back the tears. His palm over your knee was just this side of too hot, beach sand baked in the summer sun, and you tried hard to bring yourself back to reality, focus on that point of heat seeping through your jeans.

           “1 to 10?” he asked, gentle but firm as he fell into his script.

           “7,” you answered honestly.

           Dean nodded, just once, almost to himself, flicker of a quirk at one side of his mouth gone so fast you might’ve missed it. If you weren’t clawing to keep yourself above water you might’ve been able to appreciate his pride in heading off the worst of it by his rapid action.

           “I’m right here, you can close your eyes. Not going anywhere,” he continued in that poundcake voice; soft, sturdy, and sweet. Through trial and error you’d found that skipping to the three—three things you could hear—of a 5-4-3-2-1 grounding strategy was better for you; less risk of a surprise touch to add to the panic at its worst and increased contrast from whatever loud noise that had triggered it slowing the reins of your mind faster, letting you grab ahold and take control again. If you closed your eyes you could focus even harder on those small sounds, but so often it was impossible to beat back the anxiety enough to let you do it—this was one of the things Dean had been working on with you, ability to give the burden of watching out to him when you were buried in the tunneling foxhole of your mind. You tried your best to take a deep breath and let your eyelids slide shut.

           Three things you could hear.

           “Deep Purple.” Either the battery on the car was still good or he had that old boombox somewhere in the garage.

           “Underrated as always. That’s good; another?” he encouraged.

           “Windchime on the back porch.” Just a light twinkling; just barely below breeze to make the weather perfect.

           “Damn, you can hear that? I need to stop cranking the stereo so loud. Just one more.” Even knowing he was intentionally putting in the casual commentary, it helped to latch onto the light, easy conversation.

           “Cicadas.”

           “Annoying as hell, right? Okay, now two.”

           Two things you could smell.

           “Motor oil, you.”

           You could hear the smile in his voice even with your eyes closed. “And what do I smell like?”

           “Sweat, Old Spice, Coors Light.” And that little underlying note you could never place; the closest you’d ever gotten being a kind of sweet leather—leaving a cupcake in a hot car, maybe—but you were already at five things, technically. Feeling a touch of the panic start to lift, you were able to give him a weak facsimile of your normal cheeky smile, keeping your eyes closed as he chuckled gently.

           “Yeah, you love it,” he teased. “One?”

           One thing you could taste.

           “I don’t know, chapstick, maybe?”

           “I’ll call an audible and say you can swap for something you can feel,” he offered when you couldn’t think of anything.

           “Your hand on my knee.”

           He waited a beat for you to try to regulate your breathing before saying anything else. “1 to 10?”

           “3.” You opened your eyes to see him where you knew he’d still be, unmoved from his crouch on the weedy gravel in front of you. He still looked a touch concerned but primarily his face was open and hopeful as he searched your expression for more clues on how you were doing. “I’m good, sorry,” you sighed on the tail end of another deep breath, relishing the relative loosening of your lungs from a few minutes before.

           A smirk spread across Dean’s face, whites of his teeth impossible contrast to the light tan he’d gotten in the last couple weeks and spray of new sun-dyed freckles across his face, especially with the smudges of grease he had from working all day. “Nothing to be sorry about, kid. Should’ve double checked before I had you come check it out, that’s on me.” There was a shade of guilt there, and you wrapped your fingers around his hand where it stayed on your knee, giving him a little squeeze.

           Clearly that wasn’t enough to assuage Dean’s guilt, but what ever was? He held your gaze for a second before easing up to standing, grabbing a wrench out of his back pocket and tossing it in the general direction of a toolbox before wiping his hands sloppily on the back pockets of his jeans and rubbing the close-cut hair at the back of his neck. “Can I make you a sandwich? I’m starved.”

           It was another apology and fighting Dean about it wouldn’t help; the sandwich a continuation of the rapid response to your panic attack in that it was a manifestation of the best way Dean knew how to show affection/gratitude/apology, that wrap-you-in-a-blanket, take-you-under-my-wing care always so much easier for him than putting into words what he meant.

           You let him have it. “Yeah, a sandwich sounds good.”

           The way he smiled in response as he held out a hand to pull you up and sling an arm around your shoulders would’ve been enough to make you eat 20 sandwiches.

           One thing you could taste.  

-

Thanks again for reading! If you liked it, check out my Masterlist or send me a request!

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[creativeashproductions]

When the Pain Ends // Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Breaking up with your boyfriend ends with your broken hand, a broken heart and a trip to Canada. Getting out of Oklahoma for comfort of your younger brother Owen brings you into contact with a sweet Canadian.

Warnings: Swearing, hospital, cheating boyfriend, angst and bit of fluff

Words: 3.1k

Requested: No.

A/N: Tidbit of info is that I am a university student. I had last week off and I’m six minutes into my History Zoom Lecture. Here’s a little fic.

TO BE TAGGED SEND AN INBOX PLEASE!

Masterlist

The scowl glued on your face as you waited in the ER for the results from the x-ray you had gotten back from minutes ago. A bag of ice on the swollen knuckles of your right hand still splattered in drops of blood. The same blood as the small drops on your shirt as well. If that didn’t put a scowl on your face, it was the next issue.

The reason for your visit to the ER was in bed next over complaining as a nurse checked his face. His eyes meeting yours in a blend of guilt, regret and fear almost. You couldn’t meet his eyes. You didn’t want to meet his eyes.

Let’s backtrack a little for a short history.

The summer after graduation, you had met a guy on the beach playing volleyball in need of another player. You joined, and then you fell for the guy just as he did for you. For the last three years, you were now twenty-one years old. Parker had been a really good guy. Until yesterday.

“Babe!” Parker sounded congested with the bandages held up his nose. He had been fighting the nurse to come to your side.

“Don’t call me that!” You hissed glaring at the tall boy with the auburn hair colour that had once been your favourite colour.

“C’mon it was a mistake-Ow!” Parker whined at the nurse applied more pressure as she cast a sympathetic glance at you. A small smile of thanks passed to the nurse who had maybe pressed a little no hard on Parker’s nose.

Your eyes rolled at the drama that was Parker when it came to injuries that had been his entire fault, to be frank. Your fist meeting his face? His fault for cheating. What did he expect? A congratulations? Screw that.

“Say anything else I swear I’ll hit the other ball.” You glared at the boy sending him to a fit, shaking fear of stupidity.

The beach was filled up with teens and adults with children on the nice weekend day out of the loud city. Originally you hadn’t been able to join Parker with your mutual friends, but something else had spurred you there. Instead of having the weekly movie night via FaceTime with your younger brother, you had other plans. A particular video sent by Parker’s best friend and his cousin too had brought you here. Livvy had grown close in the three-year relationship you had with her cousin.

Your fury filled gaze flickered around the beach and the grass in the large opening area of the waterfront. Finally, your eyes found Parker sitting with Livvy on the blanket on the grass with Steve. Livvy was the first to see with marching through the people spreading like a curtain from the angry girl.

“Hey, Parker!” You shouted at your boyfriend in a conversation with your other two friends. Parker’s smile grew just before it falters at your expression.

“Hey, Babe,” Parker spoke, climbing to his full five-foot-ten stature. Livvy’s smile pulled up in an amused smirk while Steve looked more confused.

“How was your weekend at your sick Granny’s house?” You came to a stop a foot away from him. Arms crossed just under your chest his thick eyebrows furrowed together.

“Uh…it was okay. She’s feeling better.” Parker nodded to himself tilting his head to the side, “It was-“

“I hope she better. Her treatment must have been incredible.” You replied, unfurling your arms to grab the phone from your back pocket.

Parker grew more confused, “What?”

“The doctor sure knew what he was doing. The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The whistle you made after your statement sounded, but you grew more satisfied with the circle of people behind you.

“Oh.” Steve choked, raising one fist to press against his mouth. By now Livvy had started recording on her phone.

Livvy and Parker may be cousins, but she loathed cheaters when it was the cause of her parents’ divorce. Parker’s lips parted as he paled. The click of the glass screen brought up a video of Parker and a brunette in a hot tub.

“Ba-“

“Fucking look at your actions.” You hissed stepping even closer, “Was it worth it? Jeopardizing a relationship with someone you share years of memories with? Years of love and trust? All for thirty seconds of fun? We both know you tend to…get too excited.”

“Oh shit,” Steve spoke, shifting his gaze between you and Parker like he was a bobblehead of Einstein. The very bobblehead that you had laughed giving Steve with his obsession over the legendary scientist.

“It just happened. I still love you. I just needed a- “Parker stumbled back bringing his hands to his face, “OW! You broke my nose!”

“Ouch.” You hissed shaking your aching hand coated in some blood that splattered your shirt from shaking the hand.

“What the hell! You bit…holy fuck!” Parker screamed as your foot came up between his spread legs, nailing his left nut. He collapsed onto the grass, struggling to hold his bleeding broke nose and his nuts.

“That’s what you get asshole.” You shouted, turning to Livvy, “Can you take me to the hospital?”

“Parker drove, I’ll drive you both there. Steve can keep you two from fighting.” Livvy spoke, ending the video to shove everything in the oversized beach bag.

Now it was hours later as per usual in most hospitals elongating the time you were forced to spend with your now ex-boyfriend. Livvy and Steve had gone home a while back. Parker continued trying to fix the unrepairable damage he had done.

“Y-“

“That’s it!” You exclaimed jumping down from the bed to storm over to Parker. You made a few steps before arms encircled your waist.

“Okay, Slugger.” The gritty voice of your father spoke tugging you as far away from your ex-boyfriend as possible, “As much I want to kill him, I think you broke his pretty-boy face enough.”

The anger drained from your body as you slumped against your dad anguish set in with a tsunami of hurt. Time melted as you broke in your father’s arm; missing the doctor giving information. Your hand was fitted with a cast, and next thing you were aware of it was in the car.

“You bruised hits nuts. Broke his nose.” Dad nonchalantly spoke, turning the steering wheel as he exited the hospital parking lot. He didn’t bother making small talk as he let you be quiet on the drive home.

You didn’t know what hurt more, the heartache or your broken hand stabilized in the brace. The clearing of a throat had your attention is drawn to the house you had grown up no doubt holding your upset mother.

“She’s not that mad.” Dad quietly spoke, handing your phone that had died during the time in the ER. You shot him a look at the inaccuracy of his statement because you both know she was angry.

“Her daughter just spent hours in a hospital with a dead phone. We both know she probably thought I was dead in a ditch.” You deadpanned as you both walked up to the door of the home in Norman, Oklahoma.

The door opened before you could reach for it, and a flurry of blonde hair attacked you in a hug. Your mother hugged then leaned away to scan your features. Catching the dried tear stains paired with the red-rimmed eyes.

“Sweetheart.” Dinah spoke, raising her hands to wipe the tears from your face only causing more to fall, “What’s wrong?”

“Parker cheated on me.” You mumbled melting into her arms in another round of tears, breaking your parents’ hearts.

Meanwhile in Vancouver, Canada

Owen loved his job and the people he had met, but he missed the weekly movie nights with his older sister. The Joyner siblings had gotten down pat a system of sync to have the same movie playing at the same time on FaceTime. Imagine his surprise when he got a text apologizing.

Virtual movie night postponed. It put him in a slump that greatly concerned his roommate at the decrease of excitement. Even the next day, he was sad like a kicked puppy.

“Bro? You good?” Charlie asked from his place in the kitchen, scanning his emails on his computer. Owen barely made his eyes, “Wasn’t movie night with your sister yesterday?”

Owen nodded, “Yeah she-“

As Owen had gone to explain his phone had dinged with a concerning message from his mother.

Mom: Have you heard from Y/N? She hasn’t come home.

Owen swiped out of the conversation to the most used one with you shared with him to send a mass of messages. All not even coming up as read by you. It was his stipulation that you had it one for his safe of mind.

“C’mon you little shit,” Owen grumbled, pressing your contact to call. It didn’t even ring, “Dead cell.”

Charlie’s full attention shifted to the younger guy sitting on their couch in the apartment they used during filming. As Owen started pacing, Charlie was over quick as a bunny to offer comfort to him. The boys had grown so close, with Jeremy too, that they knew how to help the other.

“Owen, you need to tell me what’s going on.” Charlie soothed the blonde with his eyes pleading with the teenager.

“My parents haven’t talked to my sister. She didn’t go home.” Owen admitted scratching at his chest when his chest tightened. The other immediately finding his pulse on his neck to ensure he still had a pulse.

“Oh shit.” Charlie retorted, tapping his foot on the hardwood floor trying to find the right words to help his friend.

For the next hour, the boys kept in contact with Owen’s family and checking your social media in shifts as they filmed. It was a slow day when Owen’s phone finally rang with his mother’s contact once more.

“Mom, did you find her?” Owen asked, picking at the skin on his lips pacing as he had all day. The level of anxiety had been perfect for the scene he had filmed as Alex.

“Yeah. Look, Owen, she needs to get out of Oklahoma. Do you have room for her?” Dinah asked her son periodically glancing in the living room at the lifeless young woman.

“Yeah. We have an extra room.” Owen supplied squeezing the phone in his grip, “How is she? What happened?”

“I’m letting her settle before I ask any questions, but her flight is in a bit. It was either you take her in, or we pay for a hotel room. Oh! I got this lego-“

“I have to get back to filming. I’ll call you tonight.” Owen told his mother as his thumb hit the record circle on his phone. Kenny waving him over to film a scene with Booboo that would be the last before heading home.

The over the counter pain pill went down with a swig of water in the airport waiting for Owen and his roommate. Owen had messaged you that he would pick you up on the way from the set in perfect timing.

“Y/N!” Owen cheered catching sight of your form hunched forward on the bench you had miraculously found empty. Your blank eyes seeing the blue of your younger brother.

Owen’s eyes widened in shock, “What the hell happened to your hand?”

Noncommittal, the girl walked by her brother with her luggage in the mission to get to the car. All you wanted was to burst into years under your blankets until the world turned again, when birds sang, and the word wasn’t painted in dull colours.

Just as it had during the ride from the hospital to the house, it was dead silent in the car with the barest sound of music. Owen and Charlie had been having a conversation with expressions with the tension in the backseat stifling.

“This is our place.” Charlie spoke, opening the apartment door with a flourish for the girl and her luggage. Your eyes scanned the modest apartment with minimal mess compared to the tornado devastation of Owen’s Oklahoma room.

“Okay.” You replied, watching as Owen rolled the luggage to the room you would use for the few weeks you would be here.

Once showered, dressed and settled, you retreated to the couch to watch a film with the two boys. Your mind fluttered between Beca’s blow out with her father and Jesse to the city of Norman. As if thinking of Parker manifested something your phone buzzed with notifications.

@/livvyjo: Go, girl! [video]

@/malia134: Parker goes down like the bitch he is!!!

@/notsteverogers: I got a front-row seat to the fight.

Those three comments on Livvy’s video had more support than hate plus the video itself was hilarious. It caught the entire confrontation from greeting the cheater to being pulled away to spend the ten minutes in the same car. The car you had hooked up in the backseat of in the years you dated him.

 “-The prescription of ‘dicked down’ cured her illness and old age.” The pure anger on your expression amused you.

“What are you watching?” Owen inquired from the couch he watched the movie from. It made up for the lack of a film last night.

“A girl punching her bag of shit ex-boyfriend. She almost ripped his face off in the hospital.” You softly replied with your thumb double-tapping Livvy’s post.

Charlie’s attention shifted from the pool mashup with the Barden Bellas to the pride evident in your tone. It was the first time he had heard you laugh during the few hours he had been in your presence.

“What movie?”

“Oh, you know Parker’s Dicked Down Adventures. Filmed free with an iPhone.” You spoke sliding down to sit flush to Charlie to show the video you refreshed.

Owen’s mouth opened, “He cheated on you? How stupid is he??”

“You have a mean right hook.” Charlie supplied replaying the video for the third time with a weird feeling in his gut. The confidence stirred a body warming heat in the Canadian actor unlike anything else he had felt before.

“Dad taught me.” You replied, slouching down in the plush couch with a tiny smiling, “The nurse heard what happened. She put excessive pressure for his actions. I overheard his diagnosis; nasty bruised testicle and a broken nose.”

Both boys winced at the description. Owen ditching Charlie’s side to sit beside you, leaving you in the middle of the boys.

“I almost attacked him before Dad dragged me out of the room.” You recounted snuggling into your younger brother’s side.

“Where are my keys?” Owen questioned his roommate, “We need them to drive to the airport. I need to kill the ass that hurt my sister.”

Your deft fingers grasped Owen’s wrist when he went to get up because, in all honesty, he probably would book a flight. He wouldn’t go through with the plan to physically hurt Parker, but Owen had a wicked tongue for insults.

You spent one month in Vancouver with your brother and his castmates from helping Maddie with her homework. Movie nights with Owen changed to include Charlie too. Shopping trips with Sav and Tori. Baking with Jadah. You became family with them.

All good things come to an end. You had settled back in Norman with brighter plans that didn’t involve relying on men. Movie nights still happened with the boys, but things got hectic. Virtual movie nights shifted to texting Charlie and calls.

“Hey dork.” Charlie spoke walking down the street in Vancouver to the restaurant he was meeting the cast at. His lips pulled back in a massive grin, hearing your voice.

“Hey Char!” You enthusiastically spoke, walking out of the building with more pep in your step at the voice of the man, “What’s up?”

“On my way for food with everyone. How are you feeling?” Charlie asked, rubbing his fingertips on the dark denim pants. The sound of your voice brightening up his day more than he thought possible.

“Ooh. I should let you go, huh?” You questioned shifting to hold the phone between your shoulder and chin. Fingers unlocked the new car you had bought with the money you had saved.

A nice change of money from selling the jewellery, clothes and other miscellaneous gifts Parker had given you. The necklace he gave you that once belonged to his grandmother had been given back to him. Other than that you had no interaction with the ass.

“I’d rather talk to you.” Charlie admitted biting his lip in concentration, “I have a question.”

“Okay. What’s your question?” You questioned as your phone connected to your car—Charlie’s voice coming through the car speakers.

“Filming is almost over. Do you have plans for New Years? I’d like you to see you again.”

His words set a flutter of butterflies moving in your stomach at his nervous confidence striking the new information. The change in your friendship had been felt on his side as well and while you usually would think one-month post cheating wasn’t long enough. Something about Charlie felt comfortable as if everything had been preparing to fall for him.

“I could fly-“

“I’d like to see where you grew up. Your favourite places and where you went to school. I want to know the little things that made you who you are.” Charlie spoke coming to a stop outside the restaurant, waiting for your answer.

Owen’s eyes pulled from his debate with Sacha and Jeremy to the nervous Canadian biting his lip outside the window. By the expression on his face, Owen couldn’t guess who he was talking about. It was the smile that had been appearing on Charlie’s face for the last two weeks you had been staying with them.

Charlie had fallen for Owen’s big sister, and he couldn’t think of anyone better. The bond between you and Charlie had been natural and magical to watch. It was kinda gross seeing his best friend and sister having heart eyes with each other. Yet, Owen had never liked Parker, but he loved the idea of having Charlie as a brother.

“Y-yeah. Of course, you can Char.” The flattering blush heated up your skin at the turn in the convo—a grin splitting on the two individuals with more than three thousand kilometres between them.

“Cool. I should join the cast. I’ll text you later.”

“Bye, Charlie.” You whispered to the boy looking out the window noticing something she had been oblivious to.

The world had regained the colour, the birds sang again, and the world turned once more. All because a boy helped her heal.

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[pasteljeon]

white chocolate (m) | heartbeat 2

series index. 

summary | how is it they know you so well already?

warnings | sub!jungkook, handjobs, soft gguk, some angst

length | 4.9k

notes | hello! super overdue, i know :( but please enjoy, and let me know what you think of this chapter <3 if you’d like to be added to the tag list, please dm me or leave a comment :”)

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“You look like you haven’t slept properly in days.”

“No, I just have a natural resting bitch face,” you deadpan. Ahri raises an eyebrow unflinchingly. You wave her off immediately. “Seriously, I’m fine.”

She remains unconvinced, but there’s not much she can do from cities away except send you virtual care packages (read: texts). She’s fully suited up for the day, and you watch absently from her bustle around from where your laptop is propped up on the counter as you drown your poorly shaped pancakes in maple syrup.

“Alright, well. Keep me updated on the roomies situation, and remember to drink plenty of water,” Ahri orders as she finishes applying her lipstick. She checks the screen to ensure there’s no smearing and then she’s buttoning her jacket.

“Yeah, yeah. I’ll let you know if one of them suddenly decides to expose their daddy kink,” you say dryly as you stab your sad excuse for brunch. Ahri perks up. “Rea—”

“No.”

“Okay, but real talk for a second – I heard Jungkook—”

“Go to work,” you chirp, flashing her a smile before you promptly jab the call button.

“Holy shit,” you mutter, closing your laptop.

A jangling of keys interrupts your thought, head snapping up at the sound.

“Jungkook?”

He freezes, halfway to his room already. His gym bag hangs off his shoulder. Oh … Oh.

“H-hi, n-noona,” he mumbles. He refuses to meet your gaze, back muscles tensing through his sweat-soaked shirt. “W-what’s up?”

Oh … he looks …

You imagine the resemblance to the bedroom would be uncanny. You press your thighs together, trying to shake off the feeling. No, you remind yourself. As tempting as it is, anything other than friendship could greatly jeopardize the harmony of this place.

“Do you want something to eat?” You offer instead. You’re relieved when your voice remains steady.

“A-ah, that’s okay noona, I-I’ll grab something later,” Jungkook says hastily as he begins to climb the stairs.

“And risk heart disease with the amount of cholesterol you’d intake with all that greasy food after you’ve just worked out? Hell no,” you retort sternly.

He pauses at the top of the spiral staircase, and you tilt your chin up to catch him rubbing the back of his neck guiltily.

“O-okay,” he says hesitantly. “T-thank you, noona. I-I’ll be down in a few mins, I just need to take a shower.”

He bounds into his room in one leap and snaps the door shut quietly before you can respond.

You close your mouth, blinking. “Uh. Alright, then.”

.

.

.

It hurts.

Jungkook groans, squeezing himself hard as he doubles over, bag tossed to the corner and shirt all but ripped off.

His knees sink into the mattress, other hand gripping his covers tightly as he strokes himself.

His cock has been half-hard since he woke, the lingering ache of a pleasurable dream spiking his arousal.

Every touch is uncharacteristically heightened, even more so than usual, given how sensitive he is.

Shakily reaching for the bottle of lube on the counter, he pours a generous amount on his palm. His hand, rough and covered in calluses, is cool where he thumbs the slit of his cock. Jungkook sucks in a breath.

The chances of meeting you at this exact time was slim – so slim he hadn’t anticipated you standing there, looking so effortlessly beautiful despite how tired you were. Despite his urge to cup your cheeks and kiss those dark circles under your gorgeous eyes, his dick twitched at the sight.

He couldn’t turn around – the sizable tent in his sweats would have been a dead giveaway.

“N-noona,” he whimpers.

A thin sheen of sweat coats his skin, his other hand skimming the crevices of his stomach, pushing the fabric down further until he was kneeling on the bed, spine arched as he increases the speed.

His wrist aches, but he’s so close he can taste it —

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.

.

Fuck.

Fuck.

Jungkook’s going to cry.

Embarrassment and horror flushes through him. His expression is panicked, doe eyes blown out and wide. His fully erect cock, reddened tip dripping precum, is gripped tightly in his hand.

And you are staring right at him.

“N-n-noona,” he squeaks. He’s appalled at the way the syllables are forced out, his tone edging hysteria.

You close your eyes. And open them.

Yep, that’s Jeon Jungkook alright. On his knees, thick, muscled thighs spread wide and his long, thick cock weeping beautifully in his grasp.

“Well,” you say, after a pregnant pause, leaning against the doorframe. “Go on, since you’ve been begging so sweetly.”

“I—I …,” he’s floundering, shocked, but his erection doesn’t falter. If anything, you think he’s growing even harder at the prospect. It’s interesting how, despite the way his arm jerked upon realization of your presence, as if to move to cover himself, he remains completely bare to you.

He swallows, mouth suddenly dry as you watch him, mouth curled into a lilting smile.

You push yourself off, stepping in and shutting the door firmly behind you.

The firm click of the lock has him tensing in anticipation as you stalk toward him.

You don’t touch him, just slide onto the bed, your legs bracketing his, the heat of your body making his breath catch in his throat.

“Lie down, baby.” He obeys immediately, dark locks spilling across the comforter. His chest rises and falls rapidly, his chiselled body beckoning you closer, but you simply hover over him, arms caging him in.

Your hair falls over him like a silk curtain, tickling his cheeks as your lips brush the shell of his ear. “Is this okay?”

Jungkook looks like he’s about to faint, cheeks colouring and eyelids fluttering shut. He nods furiously, unable to speak.

“I need to hear it, baby boy.” Your breath is warm, skin prickling pleasantly at the feeling.

“A-ah, y-yes,” he mewls.

“Touch yourself.”

You withdraw slowly, rising until you’re resting on your knees above him. Jungkook looks absolutely wrecked already, and you marvel that he truly is an extraordinary specimen, so deliciously muscular and broad yet so willing to submit. The need to feel small.

He moans, the shame escaping him as he starts stroking himself again, cock so generously coated with precum and lube that the slide is seamless. His pace quickens as he gains momentum, the other hand slipping below to fondle his balls.

“Such a dirty boy,” you croon. “Jerking yourself off in front of your noona. You enjoy it, don’t you? Having me watch you come undone, begging so prettily.”

“… me.”

“What’s that?” You drawl. Jungkook pants, practically vibrating as he pleads, “Touch me. Please. P-please, noona. I’m so close.”

His eyes are glossy, eyelashes wet and lips cherry bitten. His spine bows, head tossing from side to side in agony.

Your nails dig into his chest, scraping his nipples. You pinch them lightly as you lean over him once more to murmur, “come.”

Jungkook stills. He lets out a weak cry, voice hoarse and fraught as he explodes. He writhes beneath you, eyes rolling back and back arching as he milks himself. He collapses when he’s done, body melting into the mattress, boneless.

Cum paints his abdomen, stains your shirt and you hum, scoping it up and popping a finger into your mouth thoughtfully.

Jungkook peeks up at you in exhaustion, groaning at the erotic sight. “Noona, please. I don’t think my dick can take any more,” he whimpers.

You smile fondly, brushing his damp locks back as you press a soft kiss to his temple. “Thank you, Kookie.”

“N-noona,” his hand shoots up to grasp your wrist loosely as you move to get up. “I … I don’t … usually do this. I’m a … I’m clean,” he flushes darkly, neck colouring as he glances away shyly.

“… I don’t want to get your hopes up, Kook,” you say ruefully. Your smile is crooked, wistful. You squeeze his hand firmly. “I like you, I do. I think you’re sweet and compassionate and that’s why I’ll never be good for someone like you.” Too innocent, too easily corrupted.

“That’s not true,” he protests immediately. He meets your gaze earnestly. “You’re honest and kind and thoughtful. I know it.”

“I don’t want to break your heart,” you reply softly. “You deserve so much.” More.

“Then I’ll chase you,” Jungkook says, determined. His brows are knitted, lips pursed.

You chuckle, expression unwittingly warm as you lean in to kiss the corner of his eye. “Baby, I’m no good for you.”

“You’re wrong, noona,” he shakes his head furiously. He’s glowing. He’s resolved. “And I’m gonna prove it to you. Just wait. You’ll fall for me.”

I know. “Wash up,” you say instead, patting his cheek as you rise. “I made lunch.”

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.

You wait until you hear him twist the knob and step in the shower before you leave, the steam curling around your wrist as you shut the door quietly.

“___-noona.”

“Taehyung,” you flinch at the familiar baritone of the photography major, turning around slowly. You bare him a smile. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

He looks windswept, raking a hand over the curls falling over his eyes. A camera hangs over his neck, his English hat askew over his head. He looks like he stepped off a freaking runway. His fashion sense is impeccable, as per usual, you muse, maybe a tad fonder than you would’ve liked.

“Hi. Uh, yeah. The stove was on and I rushed upstairs because I was worried,” Taehyung chuckles, glancing at where your hand rests on the doorknob. Something flickers in his gaze, but it’s gone before you can ascertain what it is.

“Ah, yeah. Jungkook came back and I wanted to ask him something, so,” you shrug.

You wait with bated breath for the inevitable question that you know teeters on the tip of his tongue, though you should’ve realized Taehyung isn’t one to barge into unrelated business. He doesn’t ask despite the obvious curiosity that lingers in the way he peers at you.

“About last week … Did I … did I say something weird when I was sick? I can’t remember anything, but Jin-hyung mentioned you asked something about it,” he says instead. His grip on the strap tightens and you tilt your head.

“… Not really,” you say eventually. “You were pretty out of it. Don’t worry, you didn’t embarrass yourself too much. Nothing tweet worthy, anyway.”

“Oh.” Taehyung exhales, the relief flooding through his veins so palpable you frown. “Are you okay? Do you have some dark secret you’re scared of accidentally spilling or something?” You joke.

He laughs, flashing you a wry smile as he takes off his camera. “Would it surprise you if I did?”

You shake your head. Don’t want to know. “Hungry?” Stepping past him, you make your way down the spiral staircase briskly.

Taehyung’s left standing at the top, watching you with an unreadable expression. “Always,” he calls.

He wants to chuck his camera over the railing.

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“What did you do?”

Jungkook starts, shirt halfway over his head. He tugs it down, calmly taking a seat on his bed as he pulls on a pair of socks. His heart is thrumming at his throat. He swallows.

“Nothing, hyung. What happened?” Before he can fully twist around, Taehyung’s standing in front of him, hazel irises blazing.

“How could you do this, Jungkook? I trusted you. You promised!” His voice breaks and Jungkook think he’s drowning. It hurts, knowing his hyung is hurting.

“I-I’m sorry,” Jungkook whispers. His gaze drops, guilt causing his shoulders to hunch in. “It’s just – we’ve waited so long to see her again, to meet her again … I was – I was weak. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, hyung,” he buries his face in his hands, shaking. He’s an idiot. He couldn’t have waited? God, he’s despicable.

“We made a pact, Ggukie. Please, it’s not fair to the rest of us if you do things like this,” Taehyung pleads, kneeling and prying his hands away. Jungkook hiccups, cheeks wet as he nods. “I-I know. I’m sorry. I couldn’t control myself, she caught me and I couldn’t resist her, she’s just so beautiful and – and I love her, hyung!” He groans.

“I know, I know,” the older fusses over him, wiping his tears and wrapping him in a tight hug. Jungkook sniffles, settling as he whispers, “I really am sorry. I’ll stay away, I promise.”

“Thank you,” Taehyung says, pulling away. “Just for now, okay? We’ll tell her soon, when the others are ready. When she’s ready. I promise.”

Jungkook nods, fingers knotting the hem of his shirt. “Yeah. Okay.”

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Jungkook hardly speaks another word the entire meal, save to express his gratitude. He avoids your probing gaze and eats silently. He scarfs down his food, finishing quickly, washing his dishes despite your insistence he doesn’t need to, and disappears back into his room within half an hour.

You prop your chin up with a hand, eyebrow raised as you sip at your cup. “So. Mind telling me what you said to him?”

Taehyung shifts uncomfortably, chopsticks poking at the sad piece of kimchi curled up in the corner of his bowl. “Ah … he’s just embarrassed you caught him earlier,” he mumbles into his soup.

“He told you?” You nearly spit out your water in shock. As it is, the photography major chuckles ruefully, reaching over with a surprisingly gentle hand as he wipes the water from the corner of your lip with his thumb.

There’s something tender in his smile, and something wistful in his expression. Something soft in the way he tilts his head and gazes at you. Maybe it’s the way the sunlight strikes his face at the exact angle because his dark eyes glow, like molten chocolate. The type you’d dip a strawberry into and savour for countless moments after, for the perfect combination of tart and sweet. Taehyung has always been extraordinarily handsome, but you’ve never taken much notice to it until now.

Those tousled curls, the strong jaw line, the boxy grin. But you’re not a fool. Like Jimin, you know he has his own … filters.

It is unwise to fall for someone like him. You’re not compatible. You know this because you’ve tried … once.

“We tried, Tae. It didn’t work, remember?” You whisper, taking his hand. He automatically shakes his head, flipping his palm up to weave his fingers through yours. He’s always been so much bigger than you. You used to feel safe with him.

You hate how he still makes you feel that way despite all this time. Despite everything. His grip is firm, his touch warm. Familiar.

“Please don’t,” you say, but your protest sounds weak, even to your own ears. “I can’t go through this all over again.”

“I know. It was my fault. It wasn’t fair to you, the way I kept all my feelings locked up. I’m sorry. Though I wish we would’ve talked about it after,” he says. He sounds honest now, and you hate it. It makes your chest ache a little at the mention. You’re over it—you are. But sometimes the memories can be a haunting reminder. It’s hard to simply toss away years of what were once precious moments shared with someone you thought was your ‘forever.’

“There wasn’t much to talk about,” you respond dryly. Your arm is limp in his hold. “We just weren’t good for each other. We didn’t work.”

His thumb strokes the back of your hand slowly. “You’re wrong. You were the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You still are. We just didn’t try hard enough. I should’ve never let you go.”

His voice suddenly sounds so honeyed. Airy, despite the low timbre that doesn’t quite match his sharp features. Like he’s sharing an old wound, one that’s scabbed over a million times, but he can’t help picking at until it bled and bled and the scar that forms is thrice as large as it should’ve been.

“Well,” you say after a beat, gently twisting out of his grip. You dump your untouched meal into your bowl, collecting the plates before standing. You flash him a half-hearted smile. “Then it’s too bad you did, isn’t it?”

He’s left with his fingers curled around empty air, heart heavy and stomach roiling. He thinks he can hear the blood dripping from his ribcage, hear the sound of something within him cracking. Love is a lie, lie / don’t tell me bye, bye.

He thinks he’s never going to be able to tell you the truth. And that hurts more than anything else.

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It’s a Saturday for crying out loud. The week you’ve just had was borderline atrocious and all you want to do is curl up in bed and watch Netflix, equipped with a steaming mug of tea, wrapped in your fluffy blankets and cuddling your giant bunny plush. You’re not asking for much, really.

“Hello, Namjoon.”

Instead, here you are.

He looks up, startled, as you slide into the seat across him. And then he smiles. “___. I didn’t think you’d come, truthfully.”

At a small, quant café across the science building. It’s rather empty today, the occasional cluster of students wandering in to order bundles of drinks. You’ve been here a thousand times and still you can never find the words to express just how much life this tiny space has sucked out of you. After last semester, you swore you’d never be back.

And yet, here you are. The joy.

“Don’t,” you warn, shaking out your hair as you take off your hat. “Don’t start. I’m just here to hear you out.”

“There’s something you should know,” he starts, faltering briefly at your stern expression. He rakes a hand through his hair, pushing up his glasses impatiently, and it occurs to you this is the first time you’ve ever seen him so stressed and wrung out. “About us …”

“Namjoon, please. You asked me to keep it a secret, and I did,” you answer flatly. Did you seriously drag yourself out of bed for this? You really don’t need another rehash of one of your life’s greatest mistakes. He’s fiddles with his drink, untouched and likely lukewarm at this point.

At your pointed look, he moves to rummage through his messenger bag, and pulls out a plain manila envelope.

Namjoon hesitates, mouth downturned as he says quietly, “The results came through. You’re innocent. I’m sorry I didn’t believe you.”

You raise an eyebrow, snorting in disbelief when he doesn’t react. “You’re serious. Wow. Colour me shocked. Well,” you deadpan, rising to your feet, “This was fun, but the only person that didn’t know was you. Now please don’t ask to see me like this again. I said we were done, and I meant it. Goodbye, Namjoon.”

The bell rings timidly as you disappear through the door, Namjoon watching as you walk away, each step a harsh reminder of how badly he’s fucked up.

And the worst part is that he doesn’t think he can fix it. There’s no making right something like this.

He downs his coffee and stands. He’s always been a failure anyway. What difference does this really make? Sliding the folder back into his bag, he slings it over his shoulder and nods at the owner on his way out.

Bad, bad bye / don’t say goodbye.

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.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Hell. No,” you emphasize, crossing your arms, determined to stand your ground. She pouts, clasping her hands together.

“Yes!” Ahri cries, pulling at your sweater. She adamantly ignores your glare as she riffles your closet. “It’s my only free night back. Please, please, let’s go out! Have a night of fun! I’m so tired of filing tax returns and staring at Excel sheets. I need a break and by the looks of it, so do you.” She turns to give you an appraising look and you groan, flopping onto your bed.

The ceiling is unimaginably unhelpful, so you sit up with a sigh.

“Fine,” you say, but before she can open her mouth, beaming, you hold up a hand. “No boy talk. We are not discussing them or anyone else tonight. Just fun. We can talk about anything else. Deal?”

Your best friend visibly deflates at the thought but acquiesces reluctantly before returning to her hunting.

Finally, she whirls around with a flourish, grinning widely. You eye her warily, not quite liking the evil glint in her orbs. You groan when she brandishes a two-piece you don’t think you’ve broken out in months, probably.

She cheers, hugging you tightly. “It’s going to be great, promise.”

You take the proffered outfit, lips pursed doubtfully. “It better be,” you grouch. “After the week I just had, I’m about ready to throw myself into a floor of lava.”

Ahri pats your back, grinning. “You just need a good dicking down. Trust me.”

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.

.

The club is inordinately crowded.

The bass booms in the background, reverberating through your body and echoing with every expansion of your chest. Voices are muted in the sea of sound, Ahri eagerly tugging you along as she effortlessly weaves through the throng.

“Hey guys,” you offer them a bland, knowing smile as your friends chorus your name back at you. They seem genuinely excited to be here tonight, to let loose for a few odd hours, and so despite your initial misgivings, you sit and order a drink.

You like social interaction, yes, but after the week you’ve just had, you’d much rather be curled up in bed. But then you glance to the seat next to you to see Ahri laughing and talking animatedly.

“So, ____,” you turn to see a familiar face. “You came.”

“Yuto-sunbae,” you say, pleasantly surprised. He looks great, cheeks lightly flushed, alcohol already circulating his system.

“Dance with me?” He extends a hand.

“Before my martini arrives? How scandalous,” you joke, accepting his offer as he pulls you to his feet.

“You look like you could use some fun,” Yuto teases, coaxing you to the dance floor. You give him an exasperated look, to which he pointedly ignores, sliding your arms over his neck.

“Dance with me,” he says again, eyes imploring. With an exaggerated sigh, you take his hands and put them on your waist.

“Lead the way,” you answer, smiling crookedly.

.

.

.

Jungkook grimaces, uncomfortably pressed against strangers as he fights his way through the crowd, letting out a relieved sigh as he spots them.

“Kook,” Jimin beams, standing to let him in. Jungkook gives him a grateful smile as he shuffles into the cushions next to the group.

“C’mon, maknae,” Taehyung says, patting his thigh as Yoongi slides him a mug of familiar liquid. The composer is already nursing a half-empty glass of his own, not appearing even remotely buzzed.

“Do we have to be here right now?” Jungkook asks, sipping at the concoction. His nose wrinkles, the burn particularly strong tonight.

“Yes, because you’ve been moping all day and you need to get out. Some sunlight, fresh air, you know,” Jimin waves his hand. Jungkook watches as he pours another shot of vodka.

“You, or me?” The youngest remarks dryly as he pushes away the drink.

“Guys,” Hoseok cuts in before Jimin can protest. “Is that … ___?”

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.

.

Fifteen minutes of staring and stalking your elegant figure twirling through the swarm of people, and they’re drunk.

Yoongi huffs, watching as the other boys make fools of themselves, falling on top of each other as they slur song lyrics like they’re waxing poetry.

With the sole exception of a certain graphic design student. Yoongi keeps one eye on the mess of bodies on the table and the other on the bathroom door Jungkook disappeared into some minutes ago.

“I’m dancing too,” Seokjin announce suddenly, sounding shockingly coherent as he stands. He only sways lightly, slapping away any help, and Yoongi reluctantly sits back, nodding.

“Keep your ringer on,” is all he says. Where the eldest is going, he’ll be able to hear it loud and quick, Yoongi thinks wryly. Seokjin dismisses his concerns and quickly melds into the crowd. Logically, the music major knows the Masters student can handle himself, given his age and experience, but he can’t help but still worry.

Taking another rich swing of his drink, he returns to babysitting and bunny watching.

.

.

.

“Hi gorgeous,” a deep, raspy voice ghosts across the shell of your ear.

You’d lost sight of Yuto a while ago, the boy having been whisked off by a brunette earlier. You were content swaying alone, sweaty bodies pressed against you. By now, you’re agreeably tipsy.

“May I?” You can feel the heat of him, warm and strangely comforting. At your nod, his hands tentatively resting on your hips. They’re a welcome weight.

“And they say chivalry is dead,” you murmur. It’s not loss on the newcomer, head tilted down and lingering at the juncture of your neck. You know he’s tall, much taller than you, with the way you gingerly lean into him, upper back meeting the cold metal of his belt.

“I’m nothing if not a gentleman,” he answers. His voice is so smooth, like a glass of aged wine.

You move to turn, but he stops you gently. “You might not like what you see.” For the first time, his tone breaks a little, uncertainty and a tinge of fear edging it.

“I don’t care,” you say, gripping his hand and pivoting on your heels.

His eyes are downcast, bangs covering his expression. You know him, those broad shoulders and thick lips. That beautiful, half-smile he sports.

“Are you sure you want this?”

“I don’t care,” you repeat, cupping his cheeks. A blush rises, complexion reddening lightly. Uncharacteristic of him, thought you suspect it is actually more him than anything else he pretends to be.

His mouth is hot and unbelievably soft, arms drawing you close as he runs his tongue over the seam of your lips.

“Come with me?” He asks quietly, smiling shyly as he tucks a strand behind your ear. You press your forehead against his. “Yeah.”

.

.

.

You laugh into his kiss as he elbows the door open, unable to pull your hands away from each other as they roam the firm expanse of his chest, the first few buttons of his dress shirt torn open, exposing that lovely golden skin you’ve been craving.

“Jessica-noona, please—”

Pulling away at the eerily recognizable voice, it takes you a moment to register what you’re seeing.

A pregnant pause fills the now exceedingly claustrophobic space as Jungkook’s eyes widen, staring at you with panic filled orbs.

“Ah. Sorry, didn’t know this was occupied already,” you say after a beat. You don’t waver, flashing them an apologetic, tight-lipped smile as you close the door, pulling your momentary lover with you.

“I’m sorry you had to see that,” he blurts immediately when you find a secluded corner. It’s cute, the way he’s anxiously fretting over it.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it,” you assure him. You smooth your hands over his front, trying your best to fix his dishevelled appearance.

“Hey. Hey, what’s wrong?” He tips your chin up, and you hate the concern in his expression.

“I’m fine. I don’t feel very well, though,” you say regretfully. You give him a small but genuine smile. He allows you to slip away from his grasp hesitantly.

“Please drink plenty of water and rest up,” he murmurs, kiss the crown of your head. “I’m sorry the night couldn’t have ended on a more positive note.”

“Thank you,” you say, squeezing his hand gratefully. You take one last look wistfully, at those deliciously swollen lips and mussed locks, before disappearing back into the crowd.

[11:49] you: not feeling well :( drank too much. heading out, enjoy your night everyone <3

You leave Kim Seokjin standing there, the neon lights flickering over his silhouette as he watches you leave.

You’re going to go home and try your best to scrub the image of Jungkook with his dick in another woman’s mouth.

.

.

.

“Hey.” A cool, firm hand shakes you out of your daze.

“Oh.” You blink. “Yoongi. Hi.” Just your luck. You guess everyone’s here tonight.

The night is cold, a chilling breeze ruffling your hair.

He doesn’t ask if you’re okay, or how you’re doing. His gaze is unsettling, eyes sharp and almost knowing. He doesn’t say much at all, really.

He just gives you his leather jacket, telling you to be careful and to be safe tonelessly.

He shoves his hands in his pockets and trudge back into the building.

Your Uber arrives before you can say anything more, however.

So you shrug it off, resolving to thank him the next morning, and step into the vehicle.

.

.

.

“Idiots, all of you,” Yoongi seethes, whirling around to glare at the three boys that sit on the couch, awkwardly pressed together as they looked away.

“Joon, how could you possibly think a folder and an apology was going to solve the problem?”

Namjoon shrinks, dropping his gaze in shame. “I—I …”

“And you! Jungkook, how could you do that? You effectively acted like some—some uncultured fratboy!” He fumes. The boy in question has his jaw clenched, fingers curled into fists as he stares at his lap.

“Jin-hyung,” Yoongi whirls onto the eldest. He puts up a hand instantly. “That’s enough, Yoongi. We all know where we messed up. What you’re doing here isn’t constructive. Now, the real question is: how can we fix this?”

[saysomethingspiderman]

Bravado

Synopsis: Keeping your relationship a secret for the last year had been a breeze. That was until you joined Tom on his Instagram live and pretty much gave the game away.

Warning: Brief mention of sex

The Marvel quiz had been an idea that’d been thrown around for weeks. Initially, Dom came up with doing some sort of quiz to slightly lighten the mood of lockdown. Then Tom mentioned making it Marvel related. That got the fans excited. You wanted to join in, of course you did, but having kept your whereabouts during lockdown a complete secret for the last two months, you knew it wouldn’t be wise to join in with Tom and his brother Harry and reveal the relationship you’d kept a secret for over a year now. Some days during the lockdown had felt near impossible to stay out of the way when you were sharing the house with three boys who weren’t shy about posting random videos on Instagram. But so far, no one suspected anything.

After a few technical difficulties, Tom managed to set the live up (albeit a little late) and you smiled to yourself from his bedroom upstairs at the sound of his laughter. Although you’d planned on making the most of your time alone by doing absolutely nothing, you couldn’t resist the temptation to watch the live you knew would be absolutely chaotic. Tom wasn’t the best with technology, especially when it came to Instagram. Would it be too cruel to call him an old man living in the body of a twenty-something? Cruel or not, it was true.

For the first few minutes you just kept quiet and didn’t send any messages. Instead, you took the time to grab some paper from one of Tom’s drawers and answer the questions. Despite dating one of the stars of the franchise, your Marvel knowledge was more than a little rusty. The only one you were confident you’d got correct was who the tallest in the MCU was and that was only because you knew for a fact that it wasn’t Tom; he was more towards the bottom of that list. You sent a message here and there but you knew Tom wouldn’t notice simply because of the amount of people sending their own messages to him, wanting desperately to get noticed. There were a few people who noticed you were watching; you’d grown a small following of your own from the odd time you appeared in photos with one of the boys. People were aware you were friends, but no one knew just how close you and Tom actually were.

Eventually, Tom and Harry got through the questions and wanted to invite people onto the live so they could go through the answers. It was sweet to see how people reacted to virtually meeting Tom. How did he handle people crying over him so professionally? Sometimes you forgot how much of a star Tom really was. To you, he was just the cocky boy you’d grown up with who often woke you way too early in the morning just for a cuddle. The fans didn’t know how sweet and romantic he was behind closed doors. What they knew was only what he allowed people to know.

The next section of questions were discussed and as the boys said goodbye to the fan, Tom started looking for someone else to join the live. A smirk tugged at the corner of your lips and you sent a few messages, requesting to go live with the boys.

“Okay, who we going live with next?” Tom asked mostly to himself as he scanned the hundreds of messages. When he spotted your name popping up a few times, he couldn’t hide the grin that lit up his face. “Let’s invite [Y/N]!”

Harry’s head shot up and he gave Tom a look he either chose to ignore or completely missed. What was he playing at? He knew you were in the house. Surely people would recognise the place? He gave Tom a light kick under the table but Tom had already sent you the invite, which you swiftly accepted.

After a few moments you connected and your slightly blurred face appeared at the bottom of the screen. You moved over to the other side of the room to try and get a better connection but kept the phone close to your face so people could only see very little of the room you were in.

“Well hello, boys,” you greeted with a soft chuckle and a lame wave.

“Hello, darling,” Tom replied smoothly, his attention now solely on you and not the hundreds of thousands of people watching. His grin grew and his eyes sparkled. He’d been away from you for barely an hour and even though you were in the room above, he still missed you. “You staying safe?”

“Yeah, I’m keeping as far away from everyone as I can,” you said with a shrug and sat down on the armchair Tom had in the corner of his room. “Everyone I’m staying with is doing my head in though.”

“What?” Tom snorted and Harry shook his head next to him, looking down to hide his smile. “Everyone?”

“Alright, I suppose there might be one person I can tolerate.”

“That’s more like it,” came his mumbled reply, making you laugh. He sat up a little straighter and ran a hand over his face as he grabbed the next question to go through. “I hope you’ve been getting involved in this quiz or I’ll be very disappointed.”

“You really think I’d miss watching you try and figure out how technology works?” you replied and raised an eyebrow. Reaching down, you grabbed the paper from the floor and held it up to the camera so he could see you’d at least tried.

“Half the answers are missing!” Harrison laughed from where he stood behind Tom and Harry with Tessa lying in his arms like a baby.

“Well I can’t be good at everything!”

“You’re good at the important things, darling,” Tom teased, grinning wickedly and gave a wink.

“Oh, of course you’d say that.”

The mention of your name in the comments a few times caught your eye and you took a quick scroll to see what people were saying. Most people were trying to get Tom’s attention but there were those who had noticed how easily the two of you got along. Were you flirting as much as people made out? Then you saw Tuwaine had decided to chime in because what else would he do other than stir the pot?

Tuwaine Are we going to find out the answers or should we all just leave you two alone?

Deciding to ignore the comments that blew up after Tuwaine’s input, you shook your head a little and held up your piece of paper again. “Right, Holland, are we going to go through these answers or what?”

Tom grabbed the question he’d abandoned at the side of the table and quickly gave it a read, then snorted to himself. He looked up and rubbed his hands together, as though he had something good cooking. “Alright, darling, if you get this wrong I’ll be hurt,” he said and held a hand over his heart. “This is the most important question. Alright, so who is the coolest superhero in the MCU?”

Leaning back in the chair, you pressed your fingers to your chin as you pretended to think. The answer was on your sheet surrounded by little drawings of hearts. “I suppose I’ll have to go with… Well, Spider-Man’s definitely the cutest. Oh, did you say coolest?” you asked and gave a slightly dramatic gasp over revealing such a thing. “The coolest I’d say is Captain America. Without a doubt.”

“What? Are you serious? There’s no way he’s the coolest!” Tom argued quickly and shook his head.

“I think you’ve just broke his heart, [Y/N],” Harry laughed and patted his brother’s shoulder gently.

“Oh I love him too much to do that,” you replied, joining in with his laughter. Harrison’s pause in the background and Harry’s slightly widened eyes went unnoticed as you just watched Tom’s face soften with a warm smile. “So I suppose I can say that Spider-Man’s the coolest too. And the cutest.”

“That’s the most important one, right?” Tom leaned closer to the camera, his whole face almost taking up the entire screen as he grinned away like a love-struck teenager.

Shrugging a shoulder, you said, “Cutest doesn’t mean anything. Tessa’s cute, doesn’t mean I want to see what’s underneath her Spidey suit.”

“Give me a time and a place, darling, and I’ll be there.”

His words surprised you. Had he forgotten you were on a live to nearly 200,000 people? Well, being honest, you’d forgotten too. In fact, you’d barely even paid attention to Harry and Harrison. It felt like just the two of you were on your regular FaceTime sessions while he was away working for days or weeks on end. More often than not, those video calls ended with a hand between your legs while Tom told you what to do. Luckily things hadn’t gone that far yet.

Even though you were aware of how many people were watching, you couldn’t let Tom win. You had to be brave. Leaning back against the chair, you let the shoulder of your cardigan slip from your shoulder.

“You better not be late, Tom. You know I don’t like to be kept waiting. If you’re late, you’ll have to make it up to me,” you said with a small sigh.

Tom licked his lower lip and raised a brow. His eyes scanned the skin you’d just exposed and couldn’t help thinking of how his head had been buried in the crook of your neck just that morning while he pounded away into you. “And you know I wouldn’t complain about that.”

Before you could even begin to think of what to say in response, Harry pulled Tom back and waved at the camera to bid you a sudden farewell. Harrison left the office giggling to himself. Tom straightened out his cap, his cheeks flushed as he gave a little wave goodbye. The connection ended and you just sat there grinning like a big idiot.

If people didn’t have their suspicions before, they definitely had them now.

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Gif by @cosmicholland​

Taglist: @mrsjeffwittek​ @kthemarsian​ @gcldreinhart​ @ficklemcselfish​

[reyescarlos]

look after you || a buddie fic

❄️ @911giftexchange fic for @bombera      hey, tori! i'm wishing you the happiest of holidays! this year has truly been one for the books so i hope this fic will help to end 2020 on a good note for you! it kinda ran away from me but i hope you’ll enjoy! ❄️

word count: 4.7k || read on ao3

You've begun to feel like home, yeah What's mine is yours to leave or take What's mine is yours to make your own

Infamously December is known to be a hectic month but now, with just a little over two weeks until Christmas, Eddie is feeling the pressure. His work schedule leaves little to no time for him to prepare for the holiday season, time slipping through his fingers with such ease that it had come as a surprise to see just how close he and the rest of the world were getting to the big day.

His concern was bad enough but this last week his mind has been additionally preoccupied with worrying over his son who is the latest person to come down with the bug that’s running rampant. If he isn’t at work, he’s right by Chris’ side, doting over him and doing his best to insure his comfort.

Throughout it all he has had Buck, his best friend and confidant, a man he can share virtually any thought with. All, really, but one. Eddie groans internally. His unspoken feelings for Buck are the last thing he needs to dwell on now. But the thought is far easier to think than put into practice with Buck sharing this space with him. Even on his day off Buck opts to spend time at the Diaz house, an additional set of hands that Eddie is beyond grateful for at such a time. Buck has long since been a staple in his home and now, more than ever, he’s grateful for his companionship and help to keep him from going under. Buck seems to understand him in ways very few can, sensing his needs and thoughts without a single word uttered.

He can feel Buck’s eyes on him as he pops two slices of bread into the toaster but he focuses on his task, doing his best to keep his head on straight though his mind is a riot of thoughts.

Eddie massages the back of his neck to relieve some tension, stretching it a bit as he draws in a breath.

“Alright, what’s going with you?” Buck asks.

Eddie turns back to face him and shrugs. “It’s nothing. I’m just trying to figure out a game plan. I still have to finish holiday shopping but you’ve seen our schedule for the next two weeks. We’re practically going to be living at the station.”

“But we have today off and it’s only noon. That’s plenty of time for you to head out there while I stay here with little man. See? Simple solution.”

“It’s your day off. I couldn’t do that.”

“I can watch him, it’s not a problem,” Buck insists.

Eddie hesitates. It’s a great offer, one that would quickly remedy his dilemma. “I don’t know, Buck. It’s a big ask. It’s short notice and he’s sick.”

“It’s not a big ask. It’s not even an ask at all; I’m volunteering. And besides,” Buck says, puffing up his chest. “Buckleys don’t catch colds.”

Eddie’s mouth twists to one side in thought. Today really is the one true window of time he’ll have and it’ll certainly be easier to stealthily buy Chris’ presents without his observant son being able to see what he’s purchasing. Resigned, Eddie nods slowly, knowing this is the best offer he could possibly have.

“Alright, yeah, okay. I’ll try and hurry back but still, I know it’ll be a few hours until I’ll be back home.”

Buck rolls his eyes. “Would you relax? Take all the time you need, seriously. Chris and I always have a blast together. We’ll be just fine. I promise.”

“No, I know he’s good with you. I just…”

“Suck at accepting help, yes, I know,” Buck teases, patting him on the shoulder with one hand and gesturing towards the front of the house with the other.

“Go. I’m officially kicking you out. Don’t forget to get me something nice, yeah?”

~*~*~

Eddie returns home with a trunk full of presents after a very successful trip to the mall. He’s managed to get for everyone on his list and the relief he feels in having this task officially scratched off his to-do list is a major weight off his shoulders. He carries a few bags in with him to the house. From the moment he steps inside he can hear the raucous laughter of Christopher and Buck coming from the living room, his son breaking into a small coughing fit afterwards.

Eddie stashes his purchases into the closet, hiding the bags under his jacket in a feeble attempt to bury it for the time being. Buck and Chris carry on chatting and Eddie is certain that neither of them realizes he’s gotten back, so wrapped up they are in their conversation.

“Maybe we could go to New York like Kevin next year for Christmas? Me, you, and Dad.”

Eddie feels his body tense and he stays in place, curious as to what Buck’s response will be.

Eddie could easily picture it, the three of them taking on the city. The images that flood his mind teem with warmth and joy and sincerely, Eddie would love nothing more than to wrap himself in that. But a trip that elaborate wouldn’t be a casual thing between friends, at least not for him. It’s one thing to have Buck over at his place or for them to go on outings around LA with Chris on weekends. A Christmas getaway would carry far more weight. It’s something that families do. Something twinges a bit in Eddie’s chest at the thought. Somewhere along the way, without Eddie even fully realizing it had solidified itself, that’s precisely what Buck has become to him, and apparently Chris too.

“Now there’s an idea. I would love to go with you guys. Sure you wouldn’t mind me tagging along?”

Chris is quick to respond, casting away any trace of doubt. “Nope, the trip wouldn’t be the same without you.”

Eddie can hear Buck sigh. It’s clear just how touched his best friend is by Chris’ sentiment and Eddie would have to agree with his son. Any trip, any facet of life really, is so much better when Buck is thrown into the mix. He’s so interwoven into the fabric of their life, it’d be hard to picture any moment, big or small, without him there experiencing it with them.

“See, this is why you’re my favorite Diaz. Don’t tell your dad I said that though. It may break his old man heart,” Buck laughs, Chris joining in.

This melody is Eddie’s favorite sound, the lightheartedness of his two favorite guys sharing a private joke. It’s the little things like this that light him up, that fill him with a warmth so vibrant and strong that it takes every ounce of strength in him not to sit Buck down one day and have a serious conversation. But Eddie has never been good with words and in a case like this, for a topic this important, he knows a talk like that would be best handled with care. Whenever, or rather if ever, that day comes, Eddie hopes he’ll be prepared to handle it. Instead he’ll stick to this, to cloaking his feelings for the sake of keeping the scales balanced.

“With laughs that big I’m guessing someone is feeling better?” he says aloud, essentially announcing his presence.

He steps into the living room and sees the space has been transformed. A giant fort is set up in the center of the room and at the mouth of it is Buck and Chris stretched out side by side on pillows from the couch and Chris’ bed. It looks like the coziest of setups and Eddie isn’t at all surprised to see that Buck got creative in trying to make Chris as comfortable as possible.

Chris slaps on an innocent smile but Buck apparently has a harder time schooling his features.

“Eddie, you’re back. I didn’t even hear you come in,” he says, picking up the remote.

The end credits for Home Alone 2 flit by on screen. Buck hits pause as Chris reaches for the DVD of A Charlie Brown Christmas.

“Can we watch this one next?” he asks Buck who’s already nodding.

“Oh, definitely. This is one of my all-time favorites. How about I get you another bowl of soup and then we can fire this one up. Sound good?”

Chris gives him a two thumbs up and flops back against the pillows, plucking a tissue out of the box and wiping at his nose. Eddie frowns seeing his son so sick but the best he can do is continue supplying him with medicine and fluids to help him through it.

Buck carefully climbs out of the fort and walks over to Eddie, the two of them going into the kitchen.

“How’d your shopping go?” Buck asks as he opens the fridge and takes out a container.

“Really well. I managed to get stuff for everyone on my list, including a certain pest I know,” he jokes the second Buck opens his mouth, no doubt to check about the status of his own gift.

“Well, I’m glad you have your priorities in order then, thank you.”

A comfortable silence falls between them as Buck moves around the kitchen and Eddie is struck, not for the first time since befriending Buck, at how comfortable his friend is inside of his home. That’s all Eddie could have ever wanted. Buck moves with such assurance taking a bowl down from the cupboard, pulling a spoon out of a drawer, knowing exactly where everything is without hesitation or having to ask. It warms his heart to see this, to know that Buck must feel comfortable here, that this could somehow be home.

“Thanks again for watching Chris for me. I can’t tell you how much I appreciate it,” he says as Buck pops the now filled bowl into the microwave.

“Don’t mention it. I love hanging out with him and if I can help you in any way, I will. Always.”

Buck holds his gaze and for a moment, Eddie thinks he’ll say more. There’s something in his expression that looks as if he’s trying to communicate something wordlessly but far too soon, the moment passes and shortly after the microwave beeping breaks the silence between them. Buck smiles softly before turning away but Eddie keeps his eyes trained on his back, getting lost in his thoughts.

Maybe this is all in his head or perhaps an unhealthy amount of wishful thinking is at play but lately something has felt different between them, as if there’s something going unspoken.

Buck gets a tray and puts the bowl on top of it, carefully picking it up from the countertop.

“I can bring it to him,” Eddie says, gesturing to take the tray. “You can get out of here, if you want. You should enjoy what’s left of your day off.”

Buck rolls his eyes as he side steps and laughs. “That’s exactly what I’m doing now. Didn’t you hear? It’s Charlie Brown time. No way in hell am I missing him or that tree.”

Eddie smiles softly and shakes his head. He opens his mouth to say something but falls short on words. Buck seems to understand regardless as he smiles back and nods.

“I know,” he says simply. Eddie wants so desperately to ask what exactly it is that Buck knows, what he feels but he lets the matter go for now.

This right here is more than enough, he reasons. To have Buck look at him and comprehend even a fraction of his gratitude.

~*~*~

Eddie knows he worries too much but watching Buck throughout their busy morning and early afternoon with back to back calls, he can’t help but to feel a little troubled over Buck’s slower pace and quieter nature. Usually he could be counted on to be the most energized and talkative during calls but today he’s so much more subdued and it feels like a real cause for concern.

“You okay?” Eddie asks, searching Buck’s face as they wash their hands in the bathroom to prep for lunch.

“Yeah, I just need some food in me and I’ll be good to go.”

Buck smiles reassuringly but Eddie isn’t convinced. Nonetheless he follows Buck up to the loft where the rest of the crew is already gathered around the table. Eddie takes a seat beside Hen who sits across from Chimney, the two already engaged in conversation.

This leaves Eddie the coveted spot of sitting opposite Buck.

Buck settles in at the table beside Chimney, placing a hand against his throat as he clears it before he reaches to the center of the table to start fixing his plate. Eddie watches him curiously as he’s done all day, noting the way Buck seems to be moving a bit slower than usual, the man’s eyes trained in focus on the simple task of putting food on his plate.

Eddie wonders if he’s reading too much into Buck’s body language but given how well he knows his friend, he feels safe in his assumption that Buck is off today because he’s sick and putting forth his best efforts to disguise this fact. Out in the field it was easy to attribute Buck’s pace to the amount of work the team had to put into their calls but now, with everyone finally able to unwind and catch their breath, Buck still looks put out.

“Buck, you’re really hot,” Chimney says as Buck’s arm grazes his. Eddie purses his lips, his suspicion confirmed easily.

Buck flashes a smile and a wink. “Tell me something I don’t know. But I don’t think Maddie would take it well to know you’re hitting on her brother.”

Chim smacks his hand against his forehead and shakes his head.

“You’re no match for your sister, I can tell you that right now, but that’s not what I meant. Seriously, don’t you feel warm?”

Buck shakes his head. “No. It’s actually kind of cold in here, isn’t it?”

Hen pushes back from the table across from him, putting a hand over her mouth and nose.

“Nope, you’ve got to go. Cap, this bug is making the rounds quick. I swear half of Denny’s class is out with it.”

Bobby rises from his seat and walks over to Buck, placing a hand on his forehead. Buck looks like a grumpy child as his bottom lip pokes out slightly.

“Jeez, Buck. You’re like a furnace. I’m afraid I have to send you home.”

“But, Cap!” Buck tries to protest but Bobby shakes his head and holds up a hand to stop any more objections.

“That’s an order. And here are some more for you: drink lots of fluids, get in bed, and stay there. Be sure to get a ton of rest until this fever breaks. I know you want to stay on and help but you’re going to sideline the whole team if we don’t do this. Sorry, Buck.”

Buck sighs defeatedly and pushes back in his seat, rising to his feet. The crew murmurs their get well soon wishes to Buck as he heads toward the stairs and Eddie’s heart sinks to the pit of his stomach knowing how and why Buck is sick in the first place. He rises from his seat, quickly wiping at his mouth with a napkin before following him to the locker room.

Eddie stays quiet at the door as Buck gets his locker open and takes out his bag.

“So much for Buckleys don’t get sick, huh?” Buck says with a sigh, sitting down on the bench.

Eddie steps further into the room and sits beside him, putting a hand on his shoulder and giving it a light squeeze. He’s surprised when Buck’s hand comes to rest over his. Buck’s hand is warm and Eddie relishes in his touch but too soon, the feeling is gone; Buck quickly lets go and clears his throat, shifting his attention to his bag. Eddie’s hand falls limply into his lap.

“This one’s on me. I’ll stop by after work and check on you, okay?” he ventures.

“You don’t have to. I’ll be alright.”

“Maybe so but I’d feel a hell of a lot better seeing that for myself. I can drop you home now, if you want. I’m sure Bobby would let me run off for a bit.”

Buck smiles softly and shakes his head. “You’re a good friend, Eddie, but I can manage the trip home. I promise I’ll follow Dr. Nash’s orders to the letter. I’ll be back on my feet in no time, just you wait and see.”

~*~*~

It’s been two days and Buck’s fever has been making its presence known; it’s Chris’ symptoms all over again but Eddie is ready for it, already having placed a call to his grandmother for even more of her miracle soup. Eddie’s been anxious at work, keeping his phone within reach at all times just waiting to get replies from Buck when he checks in. Some messages are more coherent than others but overall it seems as if Buck is hanging in there as much as can be expected.

Eddie’s certain that what his friend needs now is his grandmother’s home-cooking to really send Buck’s ailment packing. It’s to her house he heads straight to after his shift, his thoughts resting heavily on Buck’s recovery.

“Abuela?” Eddie calls out as he locks back the front door of her home.

“In here!”

Eddie follows her voice to the kitchen where he finds his grandmother ladling her soup into Tupperware, the remnants of vegetables and spices on the counter.

He greets her with a kiss on each cheek, taking a set back so she can continue filling the container she’s halfway done with.

“Thanks for doing this...again,” he muses. “One day I swear I’ll learn how to make this stuff.”

She gives him a doubtful look but smiles. “I don’t mind making it for you and your boys.”

Eddie eyes her for a moment, taking note of the implication of her wording. Unsure of how or even if he should call attention to it, Eddie switches gears a bit.

“I’m sure Buck is going to appreciate it. This soup was practically magic for Chris. Buck is chomping at the bit to get back to the station. This is just the thing to get him there again soon.”

His grandmother sets the ladle down and secures the lid on the container, double checking that it’s properly sealed.

“And I’m sure you’re eager for him to get back, too.”

Eddie is brought up short by this, his brows furrowing in thought. Isabel Diaz is as formidable a woman as ever and is always far too good at reading things that weren’t spoken with Eddie. In a case like this, it only makes him feel on edge rather than comforted.

“What are you getting at?”

Isabel shrugs her shoulders but despite how nonchalant the gesture is, Eddie knows there must be more to her thoughts than she’s letting on just then.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Buck is your best friend, no? I would think it’d make sense that you’d want your partner back.”

Eddie can feel heat rising in his face and quickly turns to the pantry, opening the door to it and taking a tote bag off one of the shelves, taking advantage of the brief moment of reprieve to pull himself together.

Eddie returns to her side and begins packing away the various containers. His grandmother is nothing if not efficient and thorough. These batches will be enough to get Buck through the week.

Eddie stays quiet while he works but just as he’s putting away the last container, she places a hand on his arm, stilling him.

He turns his head slightly to look at her, not quite meeting her eye. She takes it as the invitation it is to say whatever is on her mind.

“He’s lucky to have a friend like you,” she says softly, as if in thought.

“I’m the lucky one here, believe me. Buck’s always a huge help. At work, around the house, with Chris. This is the least I could do.”

It’s only then that Eddie looks at his grandmother fully and the knowing smile on her face is so comforting that Eddie feels the tension in his body melt away.

“People like that are hard to find in life. Be sure to hold on the good ones for however long you can.”

~*~*~

Visits to Buck’s after work have become the norm all week and with each trip, Eddie feels more assured that Buck will be better in no time. Today’s check in brings on a sense of déjà vu. In Buck’s living room now is a replica of the fort he and Chris constructed at Eddie’s place a week and a half prior.

“What’s your obsession with forts anyway?” he asks as he climbs inside, surrounded by plush pillows and blankets.

“Maddie used to make them for me all the time when I was little,” Buck says. “Building one with Chris has me kinda nostalgic, I guess.”

Eddie smiles to himself at the mental image of Buck as a kid. It isn’t too hard to picture what he must have looked like back then as he looks at him now, a blanket draped over his head and shoulders sitting cross-legged in front of the laptop, a movie already playing.

“What are you watching?” Eddie asks, settling in.

“Love Actually.”

Eddie laughs and shakes his head. “I didn’t take you for a romcom lover but I guess that somehow makes sense now that I think about it.”

“What’s not to love about them? The build up, the will-they-won’t-they but you know they totally will, the big sweeping declaration at the end? That’s what everyone roots for. Who doesn’t like seeing people in love live happily ever after? It’s the dream,” Buck concludes.

Eddie doesn’t argue the point. How could he possibly when that’s all he’s been hoping to have himself?

“That’s really your dream?” he asks tentatively.

Buck shrugs. “I definitely wouldn’t say no if it were to happen. But in order for all of that, someone would actually have to fall head over heels for me,” he laughs wryly.

“You make it sound like such an impossibility. Like you’re somehow difficult to love.”

Buck’s head tilts to the side a bit. “You don’t think that I am?”

It’s such a loaded question, a dangerous one really but still, the words fall effortlessly from Eddie’s lips as he replies.

“I would think that falling for you is one of the easiest things a person could do.”

Eddie realizes this conversation is veering off course and Buck probably isn’t thinking very clearly given the state of things. For all Eddie knows, Buck is hopped up on cold medicine and doesn’t realize he’s asking leading questions. Eddie falls silent then, laying back and staring up the blanket overhead as the movie continues to play on screen. The seconds stretch tauntingly and Eddie knows he’s said too much, gone too far over the line they’ve been treating as a tightrope.

He hears the tap of the keyboard and the movie pauses. Eddie keeps his eyes trained above him, hoping they can avoid delving deeper into this. But he’s kicked open the gate, ushered in this line of conversation he’s been terrified to have.

“Eddie, I—,” Buck starts but Eddie isn’t so sure he wants, or is even ready, to hear what Buck has to say in response.

“You should get some sleep.”

“But I want to talk to you. I missed you today. I always miss you when you’re away.”

Eddie freezes, unsure of if this an open statement Buck would be making if he wasn’t sick or possibly feeling awkward given Eddie’s last comment but he’d be lying to himself if he said it isn’t something that makes his chest warm right in the center.

“I’m here now and I’m not going anywhere all night,” he assures.

“All night? What about Chris?”

“He’s probably on his way to a sugar coma at my grandmother’s right about now. She’s baking tonight and Chris, of course, volunteered to help. I know he’s just in for the leftover frosting and taste testing.”

This seems to be a good enough distraction. Buck laughs softly and grows quiet, pressing the laptop again and Eddie is certain he’s never been more grateful to hear a bunch of British people in conversation with each other. He opts to just listen to rather than watch the movie; his focus is completely shot.

After a few minutes, Buck sighs and burrows in against Eddie’s side. Instinctively Eddie wraps an arm around his friend. Before he can undo it or reprimand himself for getting too familiar with Buck, the man buries his face against the side of Eddie’s neck.

He’s all too aware of each breath Buck takes, his skin tickling with every exhale. There’s nothing casual or platonic about this and Eddie’s heart aches so painfully in his chest that it takes every ounce of willpower he has to keep breathing. But still, before he can allow himself to truly accept what Buck getting this close to him means, he needs to hear it from the man himself.

“Buck?”

“You didn’t give me a chance to say anything before so I figured I’d show you where my head and heart are instead.”

Eddie sits up slowly, Buck moving with him. Eddie takes in his expression and sees a real clarity in Buck’s eyes that leaves no room for uncertainty that he’s serious. Eddie has spent so long feeling terrified of being presented with this moment but he takes comfort in realizing this isn’t one-sided like he’s feared.

“Is this the part with the big sweeping declaration?” he jokes lamely to work out his nerves.

“I sure hope so. That tends to always be the best part.”

“You’re a lot better at this than me,” he says, rubbing his palm against the front of his jeans.

“To be fair, I watch a lot of romantic comedies in my downtime.”

Eddie can’t help but to laugh at this, grateful for the levity Buck brings to this moment. He cups the man’s cheek and strokes his face lightly with his thumb as he stares into his eyes.

“I’ve never been too good with this sort of stuff but you make me want to figure out a way how to be. Maybe in time I’ll be able to get the words out but, if nothing else, just know that I feel a lot for you, Buck. With you, I feel everything.”

Eddie leans forward and kisses Buck’s forehead, his eyes drifting closed as he lingers for a moment. Buck sighs contentedly, one hand settling on Eddie’s knee. Eddie pulls away then, resting his forehead against Buck’s, his fingers carding gently through his hair at the back of his head. Buck bumps his nose softly to Eddie’s who smiles at the move.

“Crap, sorry,” Buck says, pulling away. “What if you get sick next?”

“I survived Chris’ fever. I think I’ll be fine with yours too. If not, then I’ll just have to commission Abuela to make more soup,” he laughs. “Speaking of which, I should get some for you. Or tea or—”

“No,” Buck interjects, holding on to his wrist gently, keeping him in place. “Please, just...stay here for a little while longer with me?”

Eddie looks at him, takes in that soft pleading look and nods. “Whatever you want.”

Buck smiles at this and lays down on his side. Eddie doesn’t hesitate in spooning him, his arm securing snugly across Buck’s hip. His face burrows in the crook of the man’s neck, chin propped against his shoulder.

“Now will you get some sleep?” he asks quietly.

Buck laughs, light and carefree. “I don’t see how I can be expected to now after all of this,” he replies just as quietly, playing with Eddie’s fingers.

“This feels like Christmas morning as a kid. All that excitement, wondering what’s in store. No,” he continues, shaking his head. “ I couldn’t possibly sleep now. I don’t want to miss a second of what comes next.”

[sunsinrinn]

Secrets Part 5.

Bakugo x reader, Bakugo x Uraraka, Kirishima x Reader

Fluff- ish, language, little angst

Word Count: 1,401

Idea: Y/n has a secret to share with bakugo not expecting a secret from him. She leaves heart broken and attempts to move on. But how will she move on if her secret can no longer be hidden? She fakes a relationship hoping its enough to not expose the true origin of the secret. (This is a terrible summary but I cant say much without spoiling future parts. 🙃)

“I feel scared but excited” Kirishima says nervously, “I am ready to be the best dad our baby could ever have”

Izuku and Shoto smile at his enthusiasm and nod, “I’m glad Y/n has you.. also now that I think about it. Does Bakugo now about the two of you?”

You nod, “Yeah.. He found out that day I twisted my ankle... Let’s just say he was furious”

They look at each other before Shoto speaking up, “So what are you both going to do with the rumor going around?”

You bite your lip as Kirishima answers, “Both of us are going to make a joint statement to clarify and take down the rumors.” You nod in agreement.

“I just wish I fucking knew who gave them the anonymous tip.” You say thinking of who could knowingly try to stain your reputation. It wouldn’t be Bakugo, right?

During that silence you check your phone and see that you have different notifications from your friends. You read over some and laugh at Kaminari’s string of incoherent texts,

“Kiri, did you also receive a fuck load of messages from our friends?”

He looks confused but checks his phone and notices that, he did in fact have a lot of messages and they kept coming.

“This anonymous bitch really left us in a pickle, I cant even relax in peace because someone decided to start a rumor, that by the way, is the opposite of what happened. To make things worse Ground Zero’s bitch ass didn’t even comment making me and Kiri look bad-”

“What do you mean its the opposite of what happened?” Izuku interrupts your rant.

‘Well shet.’

“Yeah soooo... um... He was the one that cheated on me... I caught him the day I was going to- to the store. I found him at his house with- with some skank and I stayed with Kirishima until I moved out which coincidentally was right beside him and you, Izuku.”

Shoto and Izuku look shocked and feel anger towards Bakugo. They both wonder why the hell he would cheat on someone as kind and loving as you.

“But I don’t care... I have Kiri now” you smile and look over at Kirishima who smiles and blushes.

“Well,,, Y/N sorry for bursting in here, we just wanted to know from you instead of believing the news.” Shoto says softly as he begins to walk towards the door.

“That’s fine shoto.” You pause before continuing, “Have fun boning. But dont be to fucking loud!” Izuku blushes and stutters but Shoto rolls his eyes and grabs Izuku practically dragging him out because Izuku stopped working You and Kirishima laugh as you see them leave.

“Well, that was something.” You nod and try and muffle a yawn.

“Y/N, lets go to sleep. We have an early day tomorrow as we will have to deal with the press and the announcement.”

You nod in agreements and walk to your bedroom to get ready for bed.

When you’re done Kirishima walks in to say good night but you pat the empty side of your bed, inviting him to sleep with you. He smiles and lays down beside you and instantly is tangled in between your limbs.

You awake the next day to find yourself alone, confused, you get up and and look for Kirishima. You find him all dressed up in his hero outfit and smile.

“Sorry Kiri but looks like you’re going to be the only one wearing a hero suit. There will be no way I will fit into my hero outfit. Not with this belly” You watch him laugh and reach out for your belly. He pulls you closer and puts his face right on your belly “I can’t wait until your born- uh... what are we going to call the baby?” He pulls away and looks at you.

“I- I don’t know... Do you have any suggestions?”

He shakes his head, “We should start thinking of some names”

You nod and lean down to kiss his forehead. “Let me go change into something and we can head out to your agency so we can get this announcement over with.” You lull away and change into a an outfit that accentuates your belly making it obvious. ‘No need to hide it anymore’ you think and walk out to find Kirishima had made a breakfast for both of you. You sit beside him and eat in a comfortable silence.

As it nears time for you to go you both rush to get everything and head out the door.

You both walk to his agency, where there is a crowd of paparazzi waiting and a Podium in front of them which you guess is for the both of you. Once they spot you they begin to bombard both of you with questions but you ignore them as you make your way up. You feel nervous but calm down when Kirishima holds your hand.

You both stand side by side behind the podium and the paparazzi begin quieting down so they can hear you speak.

You stand there silent making them wait in suspense because you’re feeling like a little shit rn. You take a deep breath and speak.

“As you all may know, we are having to stand here in front of you all because the news, got an anonymous tip. That tip was false. I never did cheat on Ground Zero with his best friend. Ground Zero and I were split long before Red Riot and I got together. Red Riot helped me heal and we fell in love. Yes, I will always love Ground Zero, but there was” You pause, “One thing he did that hurt me so much. I Hope to maybe forgive him in the future, but for now? Forgiveness is off the tables for Ground Zero.”

You look at Kirishima and he squeezes your hand giving you a proud grin.

You let the press and paps take in the informations before continuing, “I will confirm that the news only got half of the information right. I am pregnant. And yes I will be taking an indefinite leave in hero work. I will return when I find the right time after my- mine and Kirishima’s baby is born. I hope this clears shit up because I am so tired of-“ Your cut off by Kirishima. You back away from the podium and take a seat as he speaks

“Yes thank you for being here and I hope Y/n here was able to clear things up.” He turns his back to the podium and walks over to you. As you see him walk over to you you stand up and walk along side him to enter the building.

You ignore the press and pap as they shout out questions and make your way up to Kirishima’s office. You sit in his chair as he enters and pouts,

“Babe- you’re in my seat”

You make him feel guilty with your words, “oh...okay then,,, I’ll just stand here... pregnant.... without a seat.” You look at him and watch him stutter out, “OH MY GOD y/n, I’m so sorry baby no- no don’t get up. Stay seated. I forgot you were pregnant.” You laugh at him and speak, “Kiri how the hell can you forget I’m growing huge as the days go by? Anyways I have to go now, Mina wants to meet up to talk about the baby shower” You get up and kiss him goodbye, “I’ll see you soon kiri-babe”

“See you soon babe”

You walk out and head to the cafe you’re supposed to meet up with mina. When you arrive you see her waving at you excitedly.

“Y/N!” You smile at her and walk towards her. Before you can even sit down she begins talking about the baby shower and how it will take place during mid day. She had everything ready to go. How she planned it in less than 24 hours is shocking. But hey, its mina we are talking about. She tells you the day it will be on, which is a week from today. She even made a virtual invitation and a group chat for the invited. You thank her so many times and all she does is say

“If you want to show your gratitude, just make me the god mother of your baby!”

You chuckle nervously, ‘Oh crap-‘

SERIES MASTERLIST — Part 6

A/N- ANOTHER CHAPTER!!! I Hope you guys enjoys this! Also what should the baby’s name be? Im thinking of something gender neutral that works for both genders:)

If you’d like to be tagged in future parts or future works dont hesitate to dm, ask, or comment! I hope you guys had a lovely day today! Also if you asked to be tagged and I didnt tag you send me a dm so I can fix it :) also any tags in italics and bold, I couldn’t tag you :/ I’m sorry </3

Secrets taglist: @hero-ink-pillar , @silentw-lkr , @ushiwakatrash , @purple-rabanito , @chaelysian , @puppycat714 , @fake-id-69, @adaydreaminganon , @jessie9008

[viking-raider]

Mission Impossible: Love *Anon Request*

Summary: Henry has been trying everything he can to get you to realize he’s hopelessly in love with you, as you both work on Mission Impossible: Fallout. But, you are oblivious to a lot of it, worried he’d never love a plus sized woman, like yourself.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader

Word Count: 2,935

Rating: Fluff, Puppy!Henry and PlusSized!Reader

Inspiration: Anon Request (x)

Author’s Note: Who wouldn’t!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans​ @MITZWINCHESTER @rosie-loves-things​, @ohjules​, @mary-ann84​, @omgkatinka​, @hm-fck​, @the-freak-cassie-131​, @heelsamizayn​, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes​

Henry licked his lips as he watched you from across the room, the stars of a love sick puppy sparkling in his blue eyes. He was so hopelessly in love with you, and had been since pre-production. He'd been hinting at it for the last four months the two of you worked together on Mission Impossible, he'd hope you get it by now. He had brought you flowers on the first day of production, you melted as you smelled them and thanked him for them, and virtually socked him in the stomach, when you told him what a good friend he was for thinking of you. He'd invited you to be his special date for one of the award shows he had to attend, and you were ecstatic at the prospect of it. It wasn't every day you got to put on a fancy dress, get all glammed up for something so important. You thought nothing of it as Henry held your hand from the limo and down the red carpet to the venue doors. You thought about it for a split second, when he kept holding your hand, as you both made your way to the seats you would be occupying. But, the thought didn't last long enough for you to process, because you got enthralled by how amazing the venue looked. Henry pulled out every subtle, and not so subtle, hint and clue he could think of to get you to notice him, and how much he was in love with you. He was starting to feel desperate at this point.

“She still not notice you, all but swooning, over her, Henry?” Simon Pegg asked, coming up behind him.

“Not a fucking blink.” Henry sighed, like a deflated balloon. “I even cooked her dinner last night.”

A huge smile broke out over Simon's face, and he roared with laughter. “You made her dinner!” He giggled, everyone from the movie stars to the gate attendant at the entrance of the filming studio outside, knew Henry Cavill was head over heels in love with you, but you still managed to oblivious.

“Yeah.” Henry nodded, turning his head to Englishman. “I had Michelle, covertly, ask her what her favorite food was, like a week or so ago, and then surprised her with it last night.”

Simon's face turned even redder as he tried to bite back another roar of laughter. “Co-vert-ly.” He choked out, between short bursts of laughter. “This movie is really getting to your head, Cavill.” He snorted, then lost it, doubling over, his hands slapping his knees. “Mission Impossible: Love!”

“What in the world is happening over here?” Ving Rhames asked, drawn over by the look of desperation on Henry's face and Simon wheezing from laughing so hard.

“Henry here,” Simon gasped, straightening up and holding his side. “Covertly, asked Michelle to find out what y/n's favorite food was, then made it for her.”

“Are you still trying to get that girl to notice you?” Ving asked, grinning at Henry, just as amused by him trying to pull out all the stops and shower you with as much of his charm, as he could. “Why don't you just go up to her, and tell her you're in love with her?”

“Cause Henry wants to be romantic.” Simon teased him, giving him goo goo eyes. “And he's too shy to admit it out loud.” He added, dodging out of the way as Henry's fist took a swipe at him. “It took a month for him to finally admit it to us.” He said, hiding behind Ving.

“I can only guess what this discussion is about,” Tom's voice called, joining the three of them. “But, the way Simon's hiding behind Ving, and you're redder than hell face, Henry. I'm guessing it's your girl, over there.” He said, motioning to you with his head.

“She's not my girl.” Henry huffed, as the three of them ribbed him over it. “Yet.” He added with a pout, as he watched you walk out of the sound-stage.

“Look, Henry.” Tom sighed, feeling bad for him. “You've been trying to tell her, you're in love with her, every way possible, minus, the one way that really makes it hard for her to miss.”

“And what way is that?” Henry asked, hanging onto his every word, he'd take a suggestion from a cereal box, if he thought it help him out.

Tom rested his hand on Henry's broad shoulder, and looked him dead in the eye. “You just walk up to her and tell her this,” he dragged it out, Ving and Simon snorting back giggles. “Y/n, I'm in love with you.”

All three of them started laughing at him, even making a couple of the crew members laugh, even though they didn't know why. Henry growled, frustrated and raked a hand through his short hair as they kept laughing at him. He wanted to be romantic, it was something Henry enjoyed doing when he was in love. But, he'd never had such a hard time getting a woman to notice his charm. Hell, most women would have noticed him, even if he wasn't trying to charm them. You were completely different though, he never felt so friend-zoned in his life.

“You know, she does like you, you know.” Rebecca told him a while later, as she sat next to him in the food tent, they'd spent most of the morning filming the bathroom scene.

“What?” Henry croaked, choking on his sip of water.

“Y/n.” She clarified, casually eating her food. “She's got a huge crush on you, and has for quite sometime from what I understand, before you two even met in pre-production.”

Henry looked at Rebecca with large and surprised blue eyes. “She does?” He squeaked, in a small voice, in total disbelief. “Then, why hasn't she noticed me?” He asked, when she nodded her head.

“Well, one,” Rebecca started, pushing her plate away from her. “You're being way more subtle than you think you're being. Two, She doesn't think someone like you, could ever like someone like her.” She explained to him.

“Why, because I'm a celebrity?” he asked, concerned and looking around the tent for you.

Rebecca chuckled, shaking her head at him. “No, you dunce.” She grinned. “She's worried because she's a plus sized woman, and you're a...” Rebecca looked Henry over, he was still in his costume, a very well fitting suit, where his dress shirt's buttons strained every time he moved, even the smallest bit. “God.”

Henry turned back around to her, shocked at this information. “She thinks I wouldn't love her, because of her body?” he asked, his stomach and heart twisting at the idea you felt that way.

“Yeah.” Rebecca nodded. “Most men are.”

“I'm not most men.” Henry replied, hurt that you were afraid of that.

“And, She's not most women, Henry.” Rebecca told him, patting him on the back as she got up to go. “I get you want to be romantic and all that, but sometimes the most romantic thing you can do for a woman, especially one that may not have a load of confidence, is to be straightforward and honest with her.”

Henry sat there in the food tent, mulling Rebecca's words over and the information that you had a crush on him. He was starting to see her, Tom, Ving, Simon and Michelle were right, his subtlety wasn't working whatsoever. He needed to change tactics on how to express to you that he was in love with you, and didn't care that you were a plus sized woman, that you were perfect and beautiful as you are, especially to him. He looked around at the still bustling tent and saw you eating with Michelle.

“Hey, Henry.” Simon called, sliding into a chair in front of him, Ving and Tom joining him. “Decided to eat y/n for lunch?” he chuckled.

“You know what,” Henry said, getting up out of his chair and walked over to the table you were sitting at. “Y/n.” He said your name with a confident conviction, startling you out of your conversation with Michelle, and look up at him.

“Henry.” You smiled shyly at him, gulping.

It was the look in your eyes that told Henry that he'd missed your own subtle hints of trying to tell him you were in love with him, as well. As stupid as it made him feel to realize he'd missed them, he felt so incredibly relieved to see it, it galvanized him, “I have something I need to tell you.” He told you, in a clear voice.

“Okay,” You nodded, standing up. “Is there somew...”

“I'm in love with you, y/n.” He told you, catching you off guard, and causing the entire tent to go quiet and look at the pair of you. “I've been trying to tell you in a bunch of subtle ways that I am in love with you; the flowers I gave you, asking you to be my date for the academy awards, asking Michelle to find out what you like to eat and making it for you,” he blushed at Michelle, who winked at him and gave him a nod of encouragement.

“You got this, Superman!” Simon yelled from behind him.

He bit his lips, blushing, as were You. “The surprise birthday gift you got,” he coughed, clearing his throat. “was from me, y/n.” he admitted, and his eyes growing, as you took the heart shaped necklace with your birthstone, out from underneath your shirt. It made him smile knowing you liked it enough to wear it. “You like it, then?” he asked, proudly.

“I love it.” You told him, closing your hand around it. “Like, I love you, Henry.” You admitted, as well.

“That is...amazing.” He beamed, feeling like he was rocketing to the moon, he was so happy. “Would you like to have dinner, properly, with me?” he asked, biting the corner of his lip, again.

You glanced around, feeling every pair of eyes in the room on you and Henry, but you didn't care, as your eyes met his. “I would, absolutely, love that.” You glowed at him, sharing his over the moon happiness.

The whole tent erupted in applause, making you wonder how many of the people working with you and Henry knew, what the two of you hadn't known, all along. You both blushed seriously hard the rest of the lunch break. Henry had moved over to your table, sitting next to you. He was like the puppy you'd got for Christmas, he was so happy and actively talking to you and giving you every bit of his attention, and energy. Simon, Ving and Tom also moved over to your table with him, and all of them enjoyed teasing you and Henry about how long it took you two to get around and finally admitting you were in love, and reminiscing about all the times one of you did something silly to try and show your affection, or just try and get your attention.

“I'm telling you!” Simon laughed, as he told you the story of one of those moments. “The first time he did the arm reload thing, it was completely improvised. But, the minute Henry found out you thought it was cute, he kept doing it every take after that.”

“Oh my god.” You bubbled with laughter and grinned at Henry as he sat next to you, grinning like the guilty boy he was.

“Oh, that's like when y/n heard you liked that one shirt of hers, Henry.” Michelle chuckled, making you gasp at her, faking betrayal. “You washed that shirt every day for a week!” She outed you.

“Oh, fuck you!” You laughed, blushing for the millionth time. “I thought you were on my side!”

“We've all been on the side of getting you two romantic geeks together!” Simon shouted out, another wave of laughter rippled through the table. “I was seriously starting to thinking about forging love letters and sending them to the both of you!”

“That was my idea!” Michelle barked, crumpling up her napkin and tossing it at Simon's head.

“I thought about having McQuarrie land the two of you in one of our remote locations and not lifting you back til you confessed.” Tom laughed, leaning back in his seat to dodge the flying napkin. “McQuarrie was totally on board with it too.”

“Is there anyone that doesn't know!?” Henry demanded, looking around the table.

“Man, the parking attendant across the street, even knows ya'll are in love.” Ving chuckled, taking a sip of his drink.

You and Henry looked at each other, shaking your heads and grinning at each other. You felt your heart flutter as Henry rested his hand gently on your knee, under the table. You bit your lip, resting your hand on his and carefully resting your shoulder against his.

“We start filming again in ten, guys!” One of the producers called, standing in the opening of the tent.

A collective grumble sounded through the tent and people started shifting, finishing the last of their food, getting up to throw their plates away and funneling out of the tent and back to their places and tasks for the rest of the day's filming. You and Henry were the last two people in the tent, still sitting super close to each other, his hand still on your knee and your hand still on his.

“I really enjoyed the dinner you, covertly, made me last night.” You chuckled, tracing your fingertips over the top of his hand. “There's one other person that I know that came make it that good, my mum, and then there's the restaurant I discovered it at.” You blushed, babbling.

Henry smiled, sweetly at you, his stomach full of butterflies. “I'm glad, that I was able to perfect it.” he said, turning his hand, palm up, to thread his fingers with yours. “I only had to google the recipe three times, and watch a youtube video.” He admitting, chuckling nervously.

“I'm really sorry about missing all your hints.” You told him, pressing your lips together.

“I am sorry about missing yours, as well, y/n.” Henry sighed, licking his lips and meeting your eyes. “Guess I was too caught up trying to get you to see me.”

“I was rather, busy, trying to ignore you to some degree.” You said, shyly, brushing a hand through your hair.

“Because you thought, I wouldn't love you.” He said, softly, and giving your hand a small squeeze.

“Look at you.” You told him, motioning to him with your free hand and feeling your insides quiver. “And, look at me.” You motioned to yourself, frowning.

“Y/n, no.” Henry shook his head, his other hand resting on your chin, lifting your head so you looked at him again. “You are beautiful to me, y/n. You have been since I first saw, and you will always be, until I no longer breathe.”

“Henry.” You whispered, quietly, moving in closer to him and closing your eyes, feeling the warmth of his body so close to yours, and his soft warm breath against your skin.

“Let me prove it to you, y/n.” He whispered back, leaning his face nearer to yours. “Tonight. My place, in London. I'll cook you, whatever you want, and we'll watch whatever you want to watch, or whatever else you want to do.”

“And, what do you want to do, Henry?” You asked, batting your eyelashes at him.

Henry grinned. “I want you. I want you to be happy. I want to see you smile and hear you laugh, to be yourself, unafraid. I want you to know that I love you, for you.” he confessed, brushing his knuckles against your cheek.

“You made me my favorite food for dinner, last night.” You reasoned with him. “Why don't you make your favorite food tonight?”

“Hm.” Henry hummed, rubbing his lips together as he thought about it. “Something with curry, definitely.” He chuckled, nodding his head. “What about a movie?”

“I love the movie, the scent of a woman.” You told him, resting your hand on his thigh.

“I've never seen it.” Henry told you, quietly.

“It's a really good movie with Al Pacino and Chris O'Donnell.” You assured him. “I think, you'll like it.”

Henry smiled at you, caressing your cheek and neck. “I'll trust you on that.”

“Henry,” an assistant called, appearing in the tent entrance. “We're starting filming again, you're needed on set.”

Sighing, Henry nodded, reluctant to move away from you. But, you smiled at him, leaning in closer to him and kissed his cheek, feeling his skin warm against your lips.

“I'll see you tonight.” You told him, getting up and chuckling at him as he didn't let go of your hand until you moved away from him.

He watched you go, totally in disbelief that he was going to have you, in his house, tonight for dinner and a movie. He threw up his hands as the assistant told him again, he was going to be late for his cue, and got up to follow them out, his mind racing about the coming night, and the endless teasing he was going to get from the cast, until then.

[sanderssidesfanfiction]

If There’s a Place I Could Be - Chapter Seventy Nine

If There’s a Place I Could Be Tag

February 6th, 1987

Remy woke up from his dream with a start, looking around. He was still in his bedroom, which was a promising sign. He couldn’t go to his parents with a scary dream, seeing as last time his mother sent him back to bed with a growl and a threat, but he wanted to make sure everyone was still alive.

He crept into his parents room, and saw the steady rise and fall of his mom and dad’s chests. He tip-toed across the hallway and peered into Vanessa’s room, confirming she was breathing as well. He slipped into Toby’s room, to find Toby reading a book by flashlight. “Hey,” Toby said softly. “Bad dreams?”

Remy reluctantly nodded. He pointed at the book. “Mom and Dad told you not to stay up all night reading.”

Toby shrugged. “Don’t tell them I did? If you don’t, I won’t tell them anything you say tonight. Want to talk about your dream?”

“A little,” Remy admitted.

Toby patted his bed and Remy climbed up on it, sitting at the foot of the bed as Toby patiently listened to him.

  January 5th, 2003

Remy felt the shift on the bed before he really registered anything else around him. Without thinking, he rolled over and wrapped an arm around Emile in bed, murmuring, “You okay, honey?”

He didn’t get a response, and that’s when he cracked an eye open, to find Emile struggling out from under Remy’s arm, crying. Remy retrieved his arm and pushed himself upright in bed. “Emile? Honey?”

Emile was still crying and whimpering, but his eyes were squeezed shut tight and he didn’t show any signs of being awake. Remy’s hand touched Emile’s shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and Emile bolted upright in bed with a gasp, shaking like a leaf. “Emile? Are you awake?”

Looking over to Remy, Emile paled and Remy blinked once, twice. Remy wasn’t getting any verbal responses, and his worry was only growing. “Emile,” Remy said softly. “Are you okay?” Remy reached a hand out and Emile flinched. Remy retreated like he had been burned. “...I’m gonna give you your space, honey, okay? Whenever you’re ready to talk, come get me.”

And with that, Remy left the room. He went to his old room, which Emile had been helping Remy turn into a mini-office until they could move somewhere bigger and Remy could get “a proper office” as Emile had put it.

He laid down on the bed in the corner of the room and stared at the ceiling. Obviously, Emile had a nightmare of some kind. Something involving Remy. Remy wanted to help, but he knew that if Emile had a nightmare with him in it, it might be counterintuitive to force Emile to hang around Remy until he felt better.

Remy was drifting off to sleep, worry about Emile swirling in his head when there was shuffling in the doorway. Remy cracked an eye open to find Emile standing there, pale as a ghost. “Mm?” Remy asked.

Emile opened his mouth, before shutting it again. He looked at the floor, then up at Remy, unshed tears in his eyes. “Promise me that you won’t drink or smoke.”

Remy blinked, uncomprehending for a second before he said, “Honey, I’ve never smoked and I haven’t drank in years, and I promise I would never do either of those things in excess. What brought this on?”

“...Had a bad dream,” Emile said reluctantly. “You got high and...wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“Oh,” Remy said, not really sure what else to say. “And you’re...worried I might do that in real life?”

“No, no. No, I don’t think you’d ever do that in real life, inebriated or otherwise,” Emile said, sitting down on Remy’s bed. “I just worry about what would happen if you did get drunk or high, and someone else didn’t have your standards of character.”

“Wait...” Remy said, frowning. “You have...a very vivid dream of me...doing that...to you, so vivid that you flinch away from me when you first wake up, and you worry about me being violated once you’re fully awake? You’re not...mad at me for it?”

“It was a dream, Rem, I’m not going to hold you accountable for a dream,” Emile said. “But...this is a college town. You’ve been to parties, so have I. And...it’s not like we’ve never had close calls.”

“Wait...what?” Remy asked, blood running cold. “We’ve had close calls?”

“Back when you still drank at parties. Like, drank enough to actually get depressed and not remember much. You were getting hit on by a junior back when you were still in college. I had to drag you back to the dorms with the promise of Halloweentown?”

“She was...she was trying to...?” Remy stammered.

“It looked that way. I thought I told you,” Emile said with a frown.

“Oh, my God. If you did, I forgot about it entirely,” Remy said. “I mean, I know I’m dumb when I’m drunk, but...”

“Hey, this is not a matter of smart or dumb. This could happen to anyone,” Emile said. “And I’m very thankful it didn’t happen to you. But I don’t ever want it to happen to you, or have a chance of happening to you, again. So I don’t want you drinking or smoking.”

“...Honestly, that’s such a good reason to stay sober,” Remy said. “Like, if you think I’m not going to drink champagne at our wedding, you’re dead wrong, but I’m not getting drunk off it.”

“And you wouldn’t...”

Remy shook his head. “Mio amore, let’s be honest here. I couldn’t afford a cigarette habit, let alone anything heavier. I’m safe, you’re safe, neither of us are going to get into trouble over that sort of thing.”

Emile blew out a breath. “Okay...okay. You’re right. I might have gone a little overboard in the fear department.”

Remy shook his head and leaned up to kiss Emile’s temple. “You had a vivid dream. It happens. And if it will help you sleep better, I’ll keep away from the alcohol except when cooking.”

“Yeah, I think that would help...” Emile took a breath. “I know it doesn’t exactly inconvenience you, but I’m still sorry that you would have to take those extra steps.”

“I’m not,” Remy said. “If it helps you feel better, I’ll do it happily. Besides, it’s probably better to not get in the habit of drinking whenever I feel like it anyway.”

“I mean, drinking a little is not a bad thing,” Emile sighed. “I admittedly feel a bit like I’m overreacting. But not enough to tell you to not take those extra steps.”

“And like I said, I don’t mind taking them if it helps you feel at ease,” Remy said, hugging Emile. “What say you to an early morning walk when virtually no one else is awake, just because?”

“Sounds like it would be chilly, I’m not sure...” Emile said.

“Hmm...then what about we make breakfast, together, just to spend some time together?” Remy proposed.

Emile smiled. “I can definitely get behind that.”

Remy grinned. “Excellent! Come on, let’s get to work!”

Dragging a laughing Emile to the kitchen, Remy grabbed the things they needed for a small breakfast. He didn’t want to do anything too huge, just enough to get both of their minds off of Emile’s nightmare. “What do you say to an egg sandwich?” Remy offered.

“Sounds perfect,” Emile said with a little smile.

Remy nodded and started to grease up a pan, while Emile got the bread slices toasting. “You want turkey on it, too?” Remy offered.

“Oh, that sounds great,” Emile said, rubbing his hands together.

Remy grabbed sliced turkey from the refrigerator and tossed it in the pan. As it sizzled and cooked, Remy looked over to Emile, who was staring at the toaster in consternation. “You okay?” he asked.

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” Emile said, shaking his head slightly. “I was just caught in my own thoughts. Dice said he was going to call me soon-ish.”

“Yeah?” Remy asked. Admittedly, he had forgotten that Dice was still looking for Toby. He had been swamped between working on research for Sleep Easy and still working at the other shops in the area.

“Yeah. He said that almost all his contacts had gotten back to him, and he would call me if he got something sooner than our arranged meeting, but I haven’t gotten a phone call or an email yet.”

“Ah,” Remy said, feeling a little disappointed. Dice had said they were “eighty percent done” for two months now. He didn’t know how long this whole thing would take, but he didn’t think it should be this long. Remy removed the turkey from the pan and put it on the waiting slices of toast before cracking open eggs. “Are you hopeful about the next meet-up?”

“Honestly? Yeah,” Emile said. “I mean, it’s been months. Something has to give eventually. And I really trust Dice. I don’t know why, but I do. He’s not just half-heartedly searching, I’ve asked him to go more in-depth about his searches with me and he has. He’s really looking, Rem. He’ll find Toby.”

“Yeah,” Remy sighed. “I just wish that it would happen sooner, rather than later.”

Emile offered Remy a small, sad smile. “I know. It’s not easy to wait for anything, but especially something like this.”

“Tell me about it,” Remy griped. “Like, I knew if Dice was any good, he’d take his time, but it’s been literal months and we haven’t gotten any further than ‘eighty percent close’ and it’s...enough to make me want to bang my head against a wall. I’m just...frustrated.”

“Yeah,” Emile said softly.

Remy sighed and ran a hand down his face before dishing up the eggs. “I don’t want to talk about this so in-depth. I don’t need that kind of stress in my life right now. Houses. Do we have an estimate on houses?”

“A couple,” Emile said, nodding. As Remy threw a bit of spices onto the sandwiches he said, “There’s a few townhouses for sale nearby. I say nearby, it’s like a fifteen minute drive. Forty five minute commute to college by car, we’ll have to coordinate a lot more when it comes to who gets the car when.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Remy said, passing a sandwich to Emile. “I think we could make it work, though. And, we wouldn’t have to deal with my mother coming around anymore.”

“True,” Emile said with a little grin. “Should I call the realtors? See if we can get something set up?”

“Definitely,” Remy agreed. “I want to see these townhouses for myself.” Emile grinned and Remy smiled back. “It’s weird being an adult. I thought adults have everything together, always. When in actuality you’re just flying by the seat of your pants with actual lives at stake.”

That earned a snort from Emile, and Remy laughed. “It’s true!” he defended.

“I never said it wasn’t,” Emile said. “That is...painfully accurate.”

Remy sighed and shook his head. “I’m...more stressed than usual recently. I didn’t want to say anything at first, but I think you ought to know. The new shop is amazing, but it adds an extra layer of work to everything I already need to do, and it’s stressful.”

“Should we get a computer?” Emile asked. “So you don’t have to go to the library to do research?”

Remy grimaced. “A computer is a lot of money, Emile.”

“So’s gas money when you have to research stuff at the library for your shop,” Emile said with a shrug. “In the long run, it might be cheaper.”

Remy shook his head. “Not yet,” he said. “Maybe once the shop is doing comfortably.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Emile agreed. “I can’t wait for the day you open it up and there’s a line going out the door.”

Remy laughed. “Come on, Emile. My coffee’s good but it’s not that good.”

“Don’t sell yourself short, Rem,” Emile warned.

“I don’t think I am, I’m just being honest,” Remy said. “Of course I’ll puff myself up in advertisements, but I know I’m not perfect, and I always have room to learn and improve. My coffee is good, yeah. The blends I make when the managers let me use leftover grounds are unique in a good way. But...this is going to be a lot of work, and there’s going to be a lot of room for self-doubt.”

Emile tutted. “Come on, Rem, you’ll do fine.”

“You say that now,” Remy laughed, somewhat hysterical.

Emile kissed Remy softly, and Remy melted into the kiss, letting all of his stress melt away if only for a brief moment. “I’m sure you’ll do amazing, Rem. This is you. You won’t let your business go under if you have any means of saving it. I doubt you’ll even need saving in the first place. I’ve heard people talking about your shop who I haven’t even talked to about it. All our friends are in your corner. You’ve got this.”

Remy smiled softly. “You really think so.”

“I do,” Emile said.

“Then what could possibly go wrong?” Remy asked with a grin. “I’ve got you and our friends on my side, this’ll be great!”

[himboskywalker]

Hey Tag, I really look up to you and I love your work, it's been helping me get through a really tough time. Can I get a virtual hug? I don't have anyone else to ask, and I think you're really cool and you have cool older sibling vibes. xx

I’m so sorry dear I hope it gets better for you. ❤️❤️❤️Of course I’m sending all the hugs and head pats and love in the world.

[writehardwhumpharder]

The Frat boys forget to feed Z2 for a little too long

Hey guys! This is a little fic using @deluxewhump OC’s Z2 and the frat boys. I couldn’t help myself, there will never be enough content for this poor little box boy. The guys forget to feed Z2 until he passes out from hunger and naturally their response is to be dicks about it. (Please let me know if any trigger warnings need to be added I’m not very good at properly tagging my posts)

Z2 sat in a nook between a chair and the wall a little ways away from the rest of the boys hanging out in the living room. He shrunk himself down as much as he could to stay out sight, hoping they wouldn't notice him. He was also curled up for another reason. This was the only position comfortable anymore going after days without eating. Z2's stomach was unbearably empty. It cramped in a desperate plea for food. Alex was visiting home again and Dominic was distracted with sports. The other boys fed him on occasion but everyone seemed to assume that "someone else would do it".

The hunger made him tired and lethargic. Too tired even to cry as much as he might want to. Oh well, he'd just ask Dom for some food when he got home later. He could make it that long.

Just as his eyes started to slip closed again something foul landed on his head. Z2 wrinkled his nose and tossed it onto the floor to find that it was one of the boys socks.

"Hey Z2, wake up. Go make us some Mac and cheese," Paul called out. Z poked his head out from behind the chair to see five sets of expectant eyes staring down at him.

Knowing they didn't really care for a response Z2 just clambered to his feet, using the chair for support. Paul's focus was already back to the tv where they were playing some kind of shooting game. Z made his way to kitchen slowly, carefully. His limbs felt heavy but it was a heaviness he'd grown used to. He was unstable enough to need to hold on to the counter as he walked but otherwise he did just fine.

The frat house pantry was practically bursting with Kraft mac and cheese and ramen. The boys never cooked, usually choosing to order take out, but now they had their own box boy to do their cooking for them. Z2 was reaching up to a higher shelf to grab two boxes of mac and cheese, one wouldn't be enough, when his vision tunneled. Z2 wasn't expecting it and the boxes slipped from his hands as he reached out to grab something, anything. His right arm flailed weakly, too limp to get a good grasp on the pantry door.

The sound of the boxes hitting the floor was barely audible above the video game but the thump of Z2's body hitting the floor was. They didn't so much as turn their heads though.

"Hey Z2, be careful in there! You break it you buy it."

"God he's so clumsy," someone commented.

"Hey Z2!" Paul called out. It was clear this time that they wanted a response but he didn't get the quiet 'Yes sir' that he was used to. Paul kicked one of the new pledges to get his attention, "You, go see what he's doing in there."

"Why me?"

"Because I said so."

The guy got up reluctantly and headed towards the kitchen. The fact that he didn't see him was odd, did he go somewhere? But as he got closer he realized that Z2 was there, he was just flat on his back, seemingly out cold.

"Um guys?"

"What?"

"I think he's broken or something," the young pledge said timidly. Finally Paul and the other guys paused the game and set down the controllers. This was something they wanted to see.

"What do you mean broken?" He walked over to stand next to the pledge. Something stirred in him at the sight of Z2, something he wouldn't admit to. The boy looked pale and sickly. Had he always been that thin? Paul knelt down next to him and gently patted his face.

"Yo Z2, wake up," he ordered. Z stirred slightly, scrunching up his face in response to the slapping. "Open your eyes."

Even in this state Z2 was compelled to comply. He wanted to please his owners more than anything so with some difficulty he did open them. But keeping them open proved to be a challenge. He was awake and yet... not awake. Z felt like he was floating, there was a numbness where his skin touched the ground. Paul kept trying to talk to him but the sound was warped beyond recognition. In the brief moments he did manage to focus his gaze on Paul's face he noticed that he seemed to get angrier and angrier, clearly not getting what he wanted.

"Zee, wake the fuck up! This isn't funny anymore," Paul yelled, hoping that would get through to him. Every few seconds Z's eyes would roll around and land on him so he knew he was listening. "Ok that's it." He said, his voice hard with frustration. The other boys still stood back, most of them young and somewhat new to frat.

Paul stepped over Z and grabbed a glass out of the cupboard, filling it with ice cold water at the sink. With no warning whatsoever he dumped the contents of the cup straight onto Z2's face.

He sputtered and coughed, trying to summon the energy to roll over onto his side. "You ready to listen yet?" He asked.

As the shock of the cold water spread through his body Z2 started coming to his senses in the worst possible way. For a second he thought that he might drown, maybe Cam had dunked his head under the water in the bathtub again. But then the water was gone, dripping down his face and onto the floor. He coughed a few more times then stilled again out of exhaustion.

Now that he was aware enough to know what was going on Z started to feel incredibly embarrassed. He saw the rest of them. All five boys hovered around him with blank, sort of confused looks on their faces. This was his worst nightmare. He'd fucked up, big time. Now everyone was upset with him.

"What's wrong with you?" Paul asked.

Z2 avoided eye contact and started trying to get onto his hands and knees. "N-nothing. I'll start making the mac and cheese. Sorry for making you wait, s-sir" he stammered.

Paul grabbed onto the hem of his oversized shirt. "People don't faint for no reason." He said. Then directed his anger toward the rest of the group, "when was the last time any of you fed him?"

Everyone exchanged uncomfortable glances, looking to the next boy for an answer. Z2 knew the answer though. It had been 5 days and if Alex hadn't given him food, it would have been even longer.

Still on his hands and knees, Z2 fully intended to get back up and make the pasta like nothing happened. But no matter how much he tried to stand his body didn't cooperate. It was then that he realized he wouldn't start feeling better again until he'd had some food. Everyone was watching him struggle and not a single boy offered a hand to help him. Now that he was conscious again whatever concern they might have felt was long gone. Z2 swore he heard a few laughs.

"Let's get back to the game," someone said. Everyone except one boy that Z2 didn't know the name of turned and left.

"Here, make 3 and you can have a small bowl." He said, knocking another box onto the floor to add to the pile by Z2's feet. Then he took another look at the pantry. A nearly empty bag of tortilla chips sat on one of the lower shelves. He knew for a fact that they were expired and about as stale as chips can get so he pulled it off the shelf and set it down by Z2. "Until then you can munch on these," he smiled sadistically at his non-gift.

Z waited until he had left the room before descending on the bag of chips. He dropped a handful of salty crumbs into his mouth, almost moaning at how good it tasted. The only catch was that they were so rubbery they didn't even break apart in his mouth properly. Compared to some of the other "food" he'd been given at the frat house he at least knew that these expired chips were virtually harmless. He ate them as quickly as possible to regain some strength before getting up to do what they had asked.

[ficklepicklefandoms]

in dublin’s fair city ~ t.h

Pairing: Tom Holland x Reader

Requested: no

Word count: 2,537 (my longest one ever!)

Warnings: Binge drinking, swearing, Irish slang and pure Dublin shenanigans.

Hi guys! I’ve had this in my drafts since July which is highly criminal if you ask me! There’s a lot of things that I love about my fair city of Dublin (nickname comes from the song Molly Malone. Listen to this classic!) and I am so excited to be able to share lots of them with you through this one shot! Here comes the bad news... I have final exams in June and need to study hard to get the points I need for my university course. I’m hoping to get some things out to you guys before then but it may be Easter break before anything comes your way. Thank you for your constant support and love with my writing. Please make sure to request things in my ask box for the future! Love and hugs as always xx

My friends and I sat around a small table in The Temple Bar Pub nursing our third or fourth pint of the night. It was nearing 8 and I’d lost count of how many drinks I’d had. The Irish trad music lilting through the air and the harmonious laughter of my friends reminded me my pint was slowly emptying. It would fill up soon without a doubt on earth.

“Ah here now, would you fill your glass before you embarrass us!” My friend Faye called out to me with a large smile adorning her face.

“Well, my drink is nearly gone too so if you’re going you better fill mine too,” Jess called out to me. The rest of our large group agreed and knocked back their drinks.

“Only if you’re buying.” I hit back wittily, knocking back the remainder of the liquid and feeling the tiniest burn on my throat. I held out my hand and she placed a fifty euro note in my hand. I laughed knowing she was being scaldy and reached into my pocket to pull out another fifty euro note.

“Pints again there Y/N, you’ll need at least another two before you get a fella.” Emma laughed loudly and I rolled my blurry eyes. I scooted past Max and Sammy in our booth, collecting the empty glasses before Alannah followed me to help me carry the pints.

“John, we’re gonna need another round,” I called out to the barman. He sauntered over and took the money out of my hands. I placed the empty glasses on the bar and Alannah stood against it

“I assume yous all want the same again. Orchard Thieves or Heineken?” He asked with a chuckle, his accent thick and warm.

“What do you take us for, fecking eejits? Orchard Thieves, ya bollocks.” Alannah laughed and John moved to pull the pints. 

Our group was quite large. We all kept in contact after school ended and it was rare that we were all together like old times. 

John had pulled the first two pints and Alannah took them over to the table. I waited for the next two and did the same. Alannah collected her last two and I waited for my pint to be pulled. John handed me back far too much money for what we got but I accepted it, knowing it’d be a lost war.

I picked up my glass and began to head back to the table until my journey was disrupted by a body colliding into me.

“Ah swinging Jaysus watch where you’re heading!” I exclaimed as my pint went all over the floor. I silently cursed more in my mind as I was known in this pub for constantly spilling drinks. John never minded pouring me another on the house but I always felt guilty.

“I barely understood that but I sincerely apologise and I’ll buy you another pint.” A British accent spoke apologetically. I sipped what was left in the glass before meeting the eyes of the English man in front of me.

“Holy Mother of Mary I’m bloody locked if I think I’m seeing Tom Holland.” I choked as my drink got caught in my throat. Tom’s hand came in contact with my back gently as I coughed. 

“You’re seeing Tom Holland love, don’t worry about being locked or whatever you called it. What’s your name?” Tom said with a slight chuckle in his voice. His hand left my back and I felt the remaining warmth

Just then, Faye came running over. She was drunk and probably thought I’d left in her state.

“Y/N, sweetheart you need to be more careful with your pi- OH MY GOOD JESUS IS THAT THE SPIDERMAN FELLA?” She shouted. Tom looked alarmed and he seemed to be looking for someone. I hit Faye a smack on the arm and she rubbed it gingerly.

“Faye head back to the table I’m getting a pint with Tom. I’ll be back in a minute.” I ushered her quickly towards the group and she began gossiping as soon as she sat down. The boys at the table bounced excitedly in their seats, wanted to meet the movie star.

“So, that pint?” Tom laughed as we walked to the bar beside each other. “What’re you drinking Y/N?”

“Thieves,” I said waving my hand to John. “It went on the floor John, you’re gonna need a mop.”

“Ah, it’s grand love don’t be worrying. The same for your fella as well?” He smirked.

“Um yeah, can we get three pints?” He asked politely as he shifted from one foot to the other. I looked at him sightly funny as he ordered the three. “Harrison should be here somewhere, MATE!” He shouted as he spotted him. Harrison walked through the crowded pub and greeted his friend. I could feel the alcohol taking effect and I could hardly believe that Tom Holland was buying me a pint.

“Who’s the girl Tom?” Harrison asked as our pints came and Tom paid.

“Y/N, Tom spilt my pint and he owes me one,” I said with a wave as I began to gulp down the cider. “My mates are at that table over there, do yous want to join us?” I asked feeling a bit confident. My mind was buzzing Tom Holland had just bought me a pint and I wasn’t going to lie to myself and say I wasn’t attracted to him. And I also quietly thought of Max and Sammy, the Marvel geeks who’d kill to chat to the web-slinging hero. 

“Drinking with the prettiest girl in the pub? How could I say no?” Tom said as Harrison patted his back. I let out an embarrassed giggle and led them to the booth where my friends sat staring at us.

“Hey Y/N, the pretty girl with the short blonde hair, what’s her name?” Harrison asked as we made our way through the crowd carefully.

“Her name’s Alannah. She’s studying human nutrition in Queen’s up in Belfast. Slide in on her I doubt she’d mind,” I whispered quickly. I saw Alannah glance our way and Harrison waved softly.

“Tom and Harrison are drinking with us tonight, no objections. Tom and Harrison, the gang. Gang, Tom and Harrison. Play nice you wallys,” I said plopping down beside Tom after Harrison took a place beside Alannah, introducing himself quickly.

The group began chatting, Sammy and Max asking Tom about Spiderman and the sort. Alannah and Harrison seemed to be hitting it off quite well. Soon enough Tom and I started having a chat of our own. We talked about life, my law course at uni and his acting career. We had scooched closer together after the second pint, the cosy pub creating a homely atmosphere.

“So Y/N, where is one place I have to visit while I’m here? I know about the Guinness Storehouse and all that jazz but what’s your favourite place?” Tom asked me quietly as the group chatted around us. Without hesitation, I answered.

“The Iveagh Gardens without question. It’s so beautiful. We’re heading to a concert there tonight if you and Harrison want to tag along, Emma will get you tickets in minutes.” I said with a wave to Emma. She nodded her head and began texting on her phone. “She’s owed a favour by the lads at Aiken.” Tom smiled widely and placed his arm around my shoulders. I felt my body stiffen at his touch but I rapidly moulded into his body, enjoying the heat it provided. 

“I’m sure it’s beautiful but I doubt anything I see will ever be as beautiful as you.” He whispered into my ear. My cheeks were already quite red from the pints I’d been drinking but I swear at that moment I was officially a tomato.

“Y/N, polish off your drink there it’s nearly 10. Gates are opening in fifteen minutes. It's not too far a walk but you know what we’re like.” Max spoke to me across the table. He completed his pint as the table began to finish up their drinks and grab their coats.

My pint remained virtually untouched, Tom’s stunning eyes distracting me from it. Me being myself, I couldn’t let a good and full pint go to waste so, I did what any good Irish girl would. I decided to neck it.

“Hey Y/N watch it!” Tom laughs as he watches me intently.

“Don’t worry about her, she’s done it more than once.” Jess laughed. The girls started playing a drumroll on the table as I continued to knock back my pint. Tom’s eyes glinted with something I couldn’t quite place but he clapped loudly with the others as I slammed my glass onto the mahogany table.

“Right darlings, let us head to the gardens of Iveagh to hear the kings play,” I announced as I tugged on my leather jacket and grabbed my bag.

“The Kings? Are they some cool Irish band or something?” Tom asked as our group began to leave the pub.

“No silly, I just call them that. It’s a benefit concert for the homeless and there are tons of great Irish artists playing the gig. Walking On Cars, Keywest, Inhaler, Kodaline and the greatest band to come out of Dublin City, Aslan.” I waved goodbye to the barmen and John as the warm July air greeted me.

Tom looked visibly confused as we followed the group out onto the cobbled streets of Temple Bar.

“I’ve never heard of them before. Are they any good?” He asked curiously as we began our walk to the park at the back of the group. I could see Harrison and Alannah chatted animatedly and smiled to myself. I was hoping things would go well with the pair.

“Well you see, they were huge in the eighties. My ma was a huge fan of them and ended up becoming mates with them. She and her friends used to get all-access passes to the gigs in The Towers in Ballymun and they’d have a mental time.” I finished quickly with a sigh. My cheeks burned as Tom’s gaze held mine as we trudged up Grafton Street, the sound of buskers and their music made my heart warm.

“If they’re any good I might become of groupie myself.” Tom laughed as we passed by the gates of St Stephen’s Green.

“Luas! Quick leg it!” I shouted as the tram began to move along the tracks. MY group of friends yelled loudly as they rushed to get the other side of the tracks in one piece. Seeing that Tom had no idea what I was on about, I grabbed his hand and pulled him across the tracks with me, the two of us laughing loudly as we broke our hands apart to have a spontaneous race to the top of Harcourt Street.

We finished our race out of breath with Tom winning by the skin of his teeth. I want to emphasis that strongly. Skin. Of. His. Teeth.

“Not bad at all. But please tell me we’re almost there, I could use a drink.” Tom laughed as his body heaved, begging for air to enter his lungs.

“It’s a two-minute walk but we’ll need to wait for Emma. She has the tickets and I’ll have to name drop so we can get barrier.” I breathed, placing my hands on my knees as I gasped for air with a smile.

“You are one of a kind aren’t you Y/N.” Tom grinned as I looked up at him from my defeated position.

“Mr Holland, what  in the world do you mean by that?” I let out a schoolgirl’s giggle and silently kicked myself in the arse. I’d known this handsome man for no less than three hours and was slightly tipsy but that was beside the point. As I stared into his eyes, my heart began to burn with a feeling I hadn’t ever felt before.

“What I mean is, you don’t meet a girl like you ever Millenium. You’re unique and funny and seem to have the coolest life. I don’t want this night to end. Ever.” He replied. My cheeks flushed with an unknown feeling. My heart was fit to burst and I finally had the strength to straighten myself into an upright position.

“I’ll have you know that the night hasn’t even started yet. Our little group is on our tail so we’ll be in the gates where our night will begin in a matter of minutes.” I smiled. He stared back at me with a mixture of relief and happiness. “And this is completely off record, but when the night officially starts, I don’t think I’m going to want it to end either.”

He let out a breathy chuckle and took my hand in his as the group caught up to us. Alannah and Harrison were snuggled closely together thanks to Harrison’s arm perched around her shoulder. She sent a giddy smile my way and my heart exploded with pride. She had truly grown up now.

Our group seemed to be louder than the whole queue combined and it was no different when Emma flashed the tickets to gain us entry into the beautiful park. I had to become a storyteller to try and convince the lovely security man, Declan, to let us in to get barrier, but it turns out I didn’t have to.

“L/N? As in your mother is Y/M/N? Christy has you all sorted don’t worry. Take it as the babysitting money.” Declan smiled at me. I let out a laugh and thanked him graciously before he led us into the park for prime standing room.

“Whatever you need, just ask. Drinks are free. Christy’s orders. I’ll grab yous all some pints and I’ll be back in a few.” Declan smiled. We all shouted our thanks and stood to wait for the band to come on.

The 10 minutes came and went. Soon enough Aslan’s set began and I truly had an out of body experience. Tom kept his arm gripped around my waist as the set went on. I felt warmth and safety with his arm around me. 

“Oh my god, this is my favourite song!” I let out a loud yell as the chords of their song Crazy World were heard out of the speakers. Tom laughed as I wiggled out of his grasp to down my pint and start dancing. Everyone in the park could feel the cosmic energy that the band emitted as they played their most famous song.

Tom joined me in my dance, spinning me around and acting the eejit as I screamed the lyrics at the top of my lungs. When we locked eyes through our hazy, adrenaline-induced vision I felt like home could be anywhere as long as I saw his eyes.

“What would you do if I kissed you right here, right now?” Tom shouted over the noise as my breath caught in my throat. My mind went completely blank as I let my ‘fuck it’ mentality kick in. I did what any good Irish girl would do. I kissed him. Pure. Bliss.

In that very minute, Dublin became even fairer. And I had never felt more alive.

[alls-fair-in-pride-and-prejudice]

The Star King’s Labyrinth Part 1

part 2, part 3

As promised, here is part one of my Dragon Prince/Labyrinth mashup fic. Aaravos is in the role of the lovely Goblin Elf king, and my OC Lyra is the lucky poor unfortunate human to be whisked away. The plot of this fic will largely mirror that of the original Labyrinth, but I went ahead and changed a bunch of things. For one, I spent longer on exposition than the movie did. (In which we will see professors Viren and Opeli - which made me wonder if people in The Dragon Prince have last names?)

Rated T on AO3 because cursing. 

Tagging: @psijics​ and @king-bito​ (since you were the first I mentioned this idea to I figured you’d want to see I did the thing)

Let me know if you’d like to be tagged for future parts!

~~~

Lyra was already stressed after her physics class earlier that day. She knew Professor Viren strict, but she had no idea it was this bad.

“I have made myself clear in the past, no late work is accepted in my class,” the physics professor said, not even looking up from the work on his desk.

“I’m not asking for credit; I’ll accept the zero. I just want to be able to do the online assignment to make sure I learn the material,” Lyra explained. She needed to master her understanding of gyroscopes to move on to future material, but the online problems were closed the moment the due date hit, and she could not even check her answers. “Please, I was sick. There was only so much schoolwork I could do before the cold medicine knocked me out.”

Professor Viren shot her a withering look from overtop his glasses. “Then perhaps you should have worked on this material earlier so getting sick wouldn’t have been a problem. If you want to succeed, you have to prepare in advance in case of these things.”

Lyra gritted her teeth, wanting to say something like “Since it’s clearly been a while since your student days, maybe you’ve forgotten how hard it is to keep your head above water in the day to day work.” Or maybe even something like, “I know they had only just accepted the heliocentric model when you were in school, but we modern day students have a lot more to cover, so some fucking basic empathy would be appreciated you pretentious asshole.” She held her tongue, only muttering to herself once out of his office, “it’s just not fair.”

At least she had multivariable calc afterwards. It was always entertaining if they went over something with applications in physics, because then they would witness one of Professor Opeli’s legendary anti-physicist rants. “You do not need to understand the underlying concepts. In fact, you’re probably better off not trying to. You just have to do the math and you’ll sail right through the classes. Don’t even bother with physics professors, they’re virtually useless.” she said once. A student said that Professor Viren would probably be offended to hear that.

Professor Opeli simply gestured to her stony expression. “Does this look like the face of a woman who cares what he thinks?”

Any good feelings Lyra had towards Professor Opeli were immediately dissipated once she decided to assign extra work for the fall break. It’s so unfair! Do these people not understand the concept of a break? Lyra wondered. 

The answer, of course, is “yes,” but college professors do not see days off from school as breaks, but more as lost time that must be made up.

Lyra, a fool that did not yet know that expectation is the root of all heartache, had set her hopes on a relaxing trip home for the four-day weekend. She wanted to go to the pumpkin patch and catch up on some reading while drinking hot apple cider. At the rate she was getting homework assigned, it appeared that she would be lucky to get the cider as a comforting treat while she worked.

At least her parents would help her with laundry and meals… she hoped.

But, as we have already established, Lyra was one to set her hopes too high. Her mother had forgotten that her daughter was coming home that weekend and had booked a gig that would require her and Lyra’s father to travel out of town for the weekend. “At least the dog doesn’t have to go in the kennel now,” Lyra’s mother said over the phone.

“Yeah, so on top of all the stress I’m under, I can also spend the weekend picking up dog shit,” is what Lyra wanted to say. Out loud, she said, “yeah it’ll be nice to cuddle with him this weekend.” Which, she supposed, was true. At least she had a furry companion to help ease her stress levels.

After a two-hour drive Thursday night, Lyra decided she could afford the rest of the evening to relax in the empty house. After taking Orpheus the labradoodle out to do his business, she made herself a cup of hot chocolate and curled up with a fantasy romance novel. It was extremely cliché and an easy read – by no means a great literary work – just how Lyra liked it.

It had just enough spooky elements in it to feel suited to the season too, a gothic vampire romance. The heroine rescued by a creature of the night and taken back to his castle (never mind that there were not castles just laying around in colonial United States, where the tale takes place).

Still, Lyra could not completely keep her mind on the story for her stress. She was already considering what online resources she would have to practice with since Professor Viren had such a stick up his ass that he couldn’t even leave the practice problems open to the students. Khan Academy maybe? It was invaluable in her high school days. Did they have college level coursework on there? How would her grades survive if she couldn’t learn this?

Lyra sighed, trying to turn her attention back to the fantasy world in hand. This was supposed to be her one chance to relax and she was not about to waste it. She reached for her mug only to discover the greatest of all tragedies: her hot cocoa had gone cold, and the marshmallows melted into a sticky inconvenience around the rim. Setting the mug back on the coaster, Lyra groaned. Orpheus, awoken from his nap on the floor by the noise, trotted over to Lyra, apparently deciding he needed belly rubs.

Lyra obliged him, making room for him to curl up next to her on the couch. Of course, despite his size, Orpheus was under the impression he was a lap dog, and there had to be careful maneuvering for Lyra to get some semblance of comfort once he decided she was his new bed.

Cuddling her dog had always been comforting in the past, but it was not long before Lyra wondered about her future, and she could fell the loneliness creeping in sitting in the otherwise uninhabited house. She couldn’t blame school stress for her inability to enjoy that moment, now could she? Why could she not enjoy what moments of rest she had? How was that fair?

Lyra could not deny that her grades were falling apart, and she wasn’t even sure that astrophysics was what she should pursue, but if she was not an academic, what was she? What else did she have going for her in this world after devoting her life since elementary school to good grades and academic success? Despite being a junior, she lacked any social connections that lasted more than a few months. Friendships were hard. She could never really figure out where she stood with people, always being as accommodating and friendly as possible to be safe. After the fact she always worried she came across as clingy, which would set the whole cycle of isolation over again.

“Wouldn’t it be nice if I could just run away from all of it?” Lyra mused aloud as she rubbed Orpheus’s ears. He did not respond, since he was a dog, and this isn’t the kind of story where animals start talking out of nowhere. “I guess that’s what I was hoping to accomplish by coming home this weekend, but my problems followed me here.” She inspected the art on the cover of the cheap paperback. “I want a castle. No, not a castle, I just want to run away somewhere that my problems don’t follow me. Where hot cocoa doesn’t get cold and gross and I don’t have to deal with stuck up professors and unreasonable deadlines.”

Lyra leaned back on the sofa, throwing her head back to look to the ceiling. She was not often one to talk to herself aloud, but perhaps it was the need to fill the empty space that made her voice her lamentations. Maybe some part of her, an instinctual part left over from the days when humans had to evade large predators, knew she was not really alone, that someone was listening in.

“I just wish I could leave this world altogether,” Lyra shouted to the (seemingly) empty room.

All the lights in the house flickered for a moment, then went dark, the only light coming from the streetlamps and moon outside. “It is my pleasure to grant your wish, Lyra,” replied a voice from the shadows.

Lyra leapt off the couch in alarm, spinning around to see where the intruder was. From what she could see, there was nothing out of the ordinary. Orpheus confirmed for her that something was wrong, raising his hackles and growling softly. Lyra grabbed a nearby decorative candlestick as an improvised weapon for self-defense. “Who’s there?”

There was no answer in any sort of verbal language, but Lyra felt an instinctual pull towards the entryway of the house. She crept along cautiously, Orpheus keeping close by her. She gave him a soft pat on his head as thanks for his loyalty.

In the entryway, across from the coat closet, was a small end table where keys and other assorted odds-and-ends were kept, with a mirror above it to check one’s appearance before leaving. As Lyra approached, she saw a figure in the mirror alongside her own reflection that became clearer bit by bit, as if emerging from fog.

She knew she had to be going insane at that point. The first thing she noticed about the figure in the mirror was that he was purple with silver freckles across his skin. Then his horns, curving against a head of silver-white hair, became clear through the mist, and Lyra wondered if she was dealing with some sort of demon. The sclera of his eyes was black, and his irises were golden and almost glowed in the dim light. Those eyes carried, like the rest of the figure, a frightening sort of beauty, like lightning that strikes a little too close for comfort.

In the mirror, the strange figure stood next to Lyra wrapped in a black cloak with gold trim. Whatever he was… he certainly was not human. Against perhaps her better judgment, Lyra reached out to touch the glass of the mirror in disbelief of what she was seeing. The figure glanced down to where Lyra’s hand met her reflection and smirked.

The person in the mirror reached forward, and Lyra saw a sparkling violet hand reach out to touch hers on her side of the mirror. She screamed and whirled around, swinging the candlestick. The stranger caught her by her wrist, seeming only mildly annoyed at most.

“Is that any way to greet the one that just granted your heart’s desire?” the stranger asks, with a deep baritone voice like honey.

“Granted… what?” Lyra sputtered, taking a moment to find her voice, and managing to wrench back her wrist from his grip in the process. Lyra realized that at some point in her shock, Orpheus had disappeared. So much for a loyal companion. She took a cautious step back from the very strange man in her house, finally settling on one question to start: “Who the fuck are you?”

The man took Lyra’s hand, bowing and placing a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She tried to ignore the fluttering of her heart at the gallant gesture. “I am Aaravos, king of this realm. You wished to leave your world, so I brought you here.” He stood, snapping his fingers, and the walls dissipated like mist, leaving the two of them standing in a twilit forest.

Lyra looked around, taking in the ethereal surroundings: the lights like tiny multicolored stars hanging in the branches, and the floating bits of stardust around them. They stood on a hillside, and in the distance, atop another hill, a gleaming castle with impossibly tall and spiraling spires reached into the night sky. Surrounding it in the valley below was a labyrinth so large and twisted it could rival Greek myth.

“And… where is here?”

Aaravos leaned against a nearby tree that bended and curved upon his approach to something more comfortable to rest against. “This was once a realm that served as a prison, but those that sent me here underestimated my power and my ability to mold this world into something more suitable. These days, I find I prefer my new home to the one that banished me. You would be advised to stay close to me, and I can help you avoid the areas that still serve as places of torment.”

“Torment??” Lyra laughed, a tense and nervous sound that grated even on her own ears. “This is just a weird dream. I fell asleep on the couch and I will wake up any minute now… right? Right? I just… I want to go home.”

Aaravos’s face scrunched up in confusion, and a darkness took hold of his gaze as he stalked toward her. “Not five minutes ago, you wished to leave your home. I have graciously granted your wish, and now you would rudely refuse my gift to you?”

Lyra gulped, debating whether she should appease this being with an apology, or whether she should try to reason with him and defend her right to go home. When looking up into the face of this man that radiated dangerous power, Lyra’s sense of self-preservation demanded she choose the former. “I’m sorry,” she said, voice quiet and shaky, “I did not mean to offend.”

Aaravos smiled, reaching up to brush his fingers along Lyra’s cheek. The sweet caress made her shiver, though she was not sure if it was from fear or… something else. “Nothing in this world or any other, dear Lyra, is truly free. I will admit I had an ulterior motive for bringing you here.”

Lyra sucked in a deep breath, staring up at Aaravos with as much courage as she could muster. “And what was that, exactly?”

Aaravos grinned. “I am terribly bored, and you little humans are so interesting.” He took a lock of Lyra’s dark hair that had fallen from her bun and twirled it around a finger. “I could get a lifetime’s worth of entertainment just watching how you react to magic that is so commonplace for me. Do you really wish to go back to your dull human world with your deadlines and lonely nights? Reading books about magical adventures instead of having your own?”

Lyra hesitated, tempted by the offer... but it all sounded too good to be true. There had to be another catch, and she knew she could not trust this Aaravos to be transparent. Besides, as frustrating as it was at times, she loved her studies. She loved her family and her dog and she could not give that up forever. “Please, let me go back. I didn’t mean it when I said I wanted to leave. I was just frustrated. Let me go, please.”

Aaravos sighed melodramatically. “Oh, if you insist… I suppose I shall have to amuse myself some other way.”

Lyra almost laughed in relief. She began to say her thanks, but Aaravos cut her off with a look that carried a sadistic glee to it. “Let’s play a game, then,” he said, his tone sharp and without any of the softness it carried moment before. With a wave of his hand, a clock floated above his palm. “I will give you thirteen hours. If, in that time, you can make it through that labyrinth to my castle, I will send you home. If not, you will stay here forever.” With a snap of his fingers, the second hand on the clock began ticking.

“Wait!” Lyra cried, “I never agreed to that! What kind of deal is that?”

Aaravos cocked a snowy white eyebrow. “You seem to be under the impression, little star, that I was asking your permission. No. I have simply informed you of your current predicament. If you wish to return home so badly, I suggest you get moving. After all,” he gestured to the floating clock with a nod of his head, “the clock is ticking.”

In a flash of blinding white, Aaravos disappeared, and Lyra was no longer on the hilltop, but staring at an elegantly carved stone archway possibly thirty feet tall. She stomped her foot and shook her fist at the sky. “YOU BASTARD,” she screamed, “That’s not fair!”

Left with no other option, Lyra stepped through the archway into the labyrinth.

A/N: Opeli’s disdain towards physics professors is based off an actual calc professor I had. The physics and calc professors I had that semester talked shit about each other and their departments. It was great.

Lyra is a college student because an immortal elf hitting on a 21-year-old is less creepy than one hitting on a 16-year-old. In her original universe, Lyra’s parents were bards, so I decided to leave them as vague performers/musicians in the modern world. 

[paradise-of-guilty-pleasures]

Shattered Reflections {20}

[Helsa RP- Fanfic]

Fandom: Frozen

Genre: Post-Frozen/ Canon Divergence

- Hurt/Comfort, Drama, Romance

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, Kristoff/Anna

Previous Chapter: 19.Girls’ Night

A/N:

Prepare for Puns xD

20. Boys’ Night

While the sisters had a lovely tea party inside their pillow fort, the boys’ night out was continuing to be unsurprisingly uneventful. Kristoff had finished brushing Sven a while ago, and now the boys were stuck roaming around the courtyard, encircling it for what seemed like the millionth time. Olaf got bored fairly easily, so of course he tried to nullify his boredom himself the only way he knew how, by talking, practically non-stop, barely letting Kristoff get a word in edgewise. Olaf's virtually self-supporting conversation consisted of him rambling stories, spontaneously jumping into song, and (the part that actually required Kristoff to be present to answer them) curious questions. 

 "...magic, so I guess Elsa's like my mom, but kids seem to have both a mom and a dad, and they don't have magic --at least I don't think they do-- so it's got me thinking, how do people make babies without magic?" Olaf wondered curiously, it one of the countless questions he had asked that night.

Kristoff had always been a good listener, so he didn't mind the rambling. They could possibly have done other things, but Kristoff was at least vaguely aware of Hans' whereabouts and wanted to be sure he was nearby in case he was needed. He wasn't oblivious to boredom per se-- just too focused on everything else to process it. 

He just about choked when he tuned in to Olaf's question. He certainly made a sound like it, but he cleared his throat. 

"Why is this not the first time I've been asked that?" He asked, more to himself and his gods than anything. "It involves complex biology and is way more gross than you'd want it to be..." He started.

 "Oh look, we have company!" He changed the subject quickly and pointed out Hans and the Captain wandering home. In spite of the drinking, Hans seemed little more wobbly than he already had been with his injury. 

"Ahoy Admiral!" Kristoff called, just to draw attention and avoid the question from Olaf. 

"View Hallou!" Hans replied, curious what he was being hailed for. "The night is young and we are getting older." Hans joked dryly to the Captain, wandering to meet Kristoff and the party. "Well if it isn't the little snow-prince and the Arendelle royal cavalry. Good evening gentlemen. And I am counting the reindeer." He gave a respectful greeting gesture to all of them, perhaps especially the reindeer.

"I'm Sven," he introduced. He should at least be known by his name instead of just being 'the reindeer'. 

"Oh! Hans the Fool!" Olaf greeted, now completely sidetracked from the question he'd asked earlier. "Are you having a night out, as well?" Hans raised an eyebrow at Kristoff, more amused than perplexed, though there was plenty of that. 

"I am, little prince. Getting to know the Captain. It appears I'll be helping the Royal Guard with my sword. I'm a little more than a fool, I must admit. Shall we have the remains of a night out together? Telling stories and whatnot?" Hans' tone was always lighter and sweeter with Olaf, as anyone might be while working with children. Especially a fool.

Olaf's face brightened with glee at the notion of having Hans join them.

 "Yes! Let's do that!" Olaf exclaimed with excitement. He really did appreciate Hans' company, no offense to Kristoff and Sven, but having someone else that shared his enthusiasm, overjoyed Olaf. 

"If that's what you wish to do."

 "Good Evening," saluted the Captain, as he approached the group. "I see Westergaard's already inviting himself to join your party," he chuckled, already accustomed to his antics. "Is it alright to leave him in your hands?" He attentively asked Kristoff, almost as if he was watching over a puppy or a small child, instead of a grown man, a slightly drunken man, sure, but still. The Captain thought he should ask, Hans felt like he was his responsibility and he didn't impose anyone with that duty without their consent.

"Not going to join us, Captain? Just handing over Gaoler duty?" Hans joked dryly. He honestly meant it as a joke, but perhaps it did speak to his self-image. 

"We'll be fine, Captain. In spite of Anna's wariness, I'm pretty sure I can handle this driftwood log, and if he gives me trouble, I can always pitch him back out to sea." Kristoff joked, nudging Hans with his foot. 

"Oho, the Reindeer Lord has jokes. One of us is the Queen's fool, be careful who you challenge." Hans joked in return. He truly wore that stupid made-up title with pride. But then, Kristoff had his own made-up title, perhaps it was only fair.

"Hate to be an old fogey, but I'm afraid I've had enough excitement for one night, all I want to do now is get as much rest as I can to try to avoid having a headache in the morning," he said as he yawned. "I think my ears are still ringing from all that singing," the Captain twisted his pinky in his ear as if trying to dislodge something. "Keeping up with you isn't easy, you've completely drained me, boy. I need to hand over the reins and have someone else keep a watchful eye on you, just because of your capriciousness, and for your own well-being. Wouldn't want to find you floating in the fountain in the morning. I lost track of everything that happened tonight at the tavern, but if I recall correctly, I'm sure at one point you suggested doing a balancing act on a chair." 

"Oh, I've seen him do that once," Olaf interposed. 

"Of course, you've done it before, why am I not surprised?" The captain said with a disapproving head shake as he brought a hand up to his face. He let out a sigh. "Anyway, thank you for keeping tabs on him Lord Kristoff," he gave a nod in appreciation. "Fair warning though, his mood seems to be as fickle as the sea."

Hans laughed. "You flatter me, captain. And you need more practice at drinking if you plan to keep up with me. I was still sober at that suggestion." Hans grinned wryly. "And at the singing. I just like singing." He hummed. "Sleep, old man. See you in the morning, we'll try to keep tomorrow quiet then, hm?" Hans thumped the Captain on the shoulder, as good mates do. 

 "What else would we expect? Fickle moods seem to be all we know of him for sure." Kristoff pointed out. But he smiled and shook his head a little. "Tag me in next time, we'll see how I do at holding my drinks against a sea captain."

"I'd say bragging about your sobriety when acting like you were isn't something you should be proud of boy, but you already dub yourself a fool," he chuckled. "Indeed. Next time you're welcome to put him in his place," the Captain affirmed with a nod. "Goodnight gentleman, hope you enjoy the rest of your night-- and you don't cause too much trouble," he nudged Hans back. 

"I'm off to bed. I bid you all adieu." After one more reverence, the Captain took his leave.

 "Can I go to the drinking party next time too?" Olaf childishly asked. He wasn't aware of the alcohol involved, instead he was envisioning some sort of manly tea party. "It sounds like fun!"

Hans laughed a little. "Maybe when you're much older, little prince." He teased. "The men say things we oughtn't say around younger folks, and act more like fools than we ever should." He observed. "But what the captain doesn't know is, a fool is wiser than he seems, and a wise man more foolish than wise men ever think. The wisest man is the one who takes himself for a fool, even around fools." Hans smiled a little, playing wordplay games. He always liked puns and wordplay. 

"This is like that riddle, 'the wisest man is he who understands that he understands nothing'." Kristoff hummed. "Hans likes to say silly things, and worse, sometimes I imagine he says things that get him into trouble." Kristoff observed. 

"Aye, and out of it. More often out than in, but when in, then in big." He observed. It was a statement one really had to track to understand, but that seemed like the theme. Drunken philosophy night with the strangest assortment of characters around. "So, what are we all wandering about for?" Hans hummed. 

"The ladies are having a girls’ night, so I was on patrol to keep an eye out that you weren't up to trouble." Kristoff answered honestly. 

"What a good guard you are. You've certainly done that job." Hans hummed. 

"Out drinking with the Captain of the Guard? I bet that was a wild night." 

"Cards, drinks, and encouraging positive feelings toward myself. It's so easy, as if my last visit to Arendelle never happened. Anna is thus far the most sensible person I've seen." Hans admitted, a bit more soberly. 

"You're not upset?" 

"Oh, deeply. But that's sort of the point, isn't it." Hans didn't seem too bothered, just logical.

"Aw," Olaf groaned when he was denied his request to partake in the future fun only because he was deemed 'too young'. People kept telling him, 'when you're older Olaf', but when was that going to happen? He was a walking talking snowman, not an actual child though he was very much one in essence. Olaf tried to follow Hans and Kristoff's conversation, but got a bit lost in their philosophical talk. Hans smiled a little at Olaf. "Just as well, I don't think it would appeal as much to you, yet. Not really. In much the same way that politics only makes sense and isn't boring when you get older, it likely wouldn't be quite the same for you as for us." He assured him. He almost instinctively patted Olaf's head, perhaps forgetting that he was made of ice and snow.

 "You two seem chummy." Kristoff remarked, amused. 

"Of course. He's kept me company while I've been unable to walk around and chatter quite so much. I don't talk very much at home, it's good to be here and be able to say the things I think. Oh, Olaf, did you ever figure out what the meaning of my story was, that day of the raid? I suppose I never finished it. Predictable, but the best stories are the ones that take what you know and turn it upside-down. Like an hourglass, it renews the story." He may not have been drunk, but Hans certainly wasn't sober either. He was prone enough to meander (both in words and walk) while sober, and drinking only exacerbated it as he wandered off toward grass, just to walk on something more natural than cobble. Hans loved adventure, even if it was only venturing off the cobblestones.

Olaf laughed a little at being patted on the head. "Hmm...the meaning of the story?" he pondered. "I think it means that even the Mirror Prince had his own side to the story," answered the little snowman. It was obvious even to him what story Hans had been trying to tell him that day. "You know, I have my own retelling of that story too and so does Sven, don't you Sven?"

"Oh, I would wager you do." Hans agreed, sounding intrigued. "So you've figured out that I'm not just Hans the Fool, then?" He hummed, with a little smile. "I keep picking up titles these days, sooner or later I won't know what to do with them all. I wonder if they can be recycled. Someone else can be a prince, I'll keep Fool and Admiral and let the others slide." He joked, all lighthearted for the moment-- perhaps purely because Olaf was there. 

"Do pray tell, tell your version of the story? You can be quite a storyteller all your own." Hans remarked, his tone light and sweet. Kristoff wondered if that was what he was always like with children-- as Hans seemed under the firm delusion that Olaf was more of a strange child than a 'snowman given life through strange ice magic'. Kristoff supposed that was the better way to view things. Would he be like that with his own children? If Hans ever chose to have any, anyway. That would be its own pot of problems when they got there. Kristoff was glad that wasn't his problem-- but lately he had been thinking a lot more about families and family life. One could hardly blame him for thinking about the way Hans thought. Especially since he seemed to show a different face for every combination of company he might keep. Sometimes it seemed to change by the moment.

"Oh, yeah, everybody wouldn't be making such a fuss about you if you were just a fool, but I do prefer Hans the Fool," he giggled. The young snowman's face lit up at the invitation to share his account of the day he was created and the events that followed. 

"Okay, be prepared, I'm going to start from the beginning, well, my beginning since I wasn't there for the rest of it. This story starts up on the North Mountain where Elsa created me using her magic..." Olaf was very thorough in the retelling of his story. He told Hans how Anna, Kristoff and Sven freaked out similarly (or even more so) than he did when they first met him as well. He went into detail about everything (even the unimportant stuff) from how he got his nose, his love for warm hugs, mistaking Kristoff for Sven and of course his love for summer. Olaf continued his explanation about how he led his new friends up the North Mountain to find Elsa to bring back summer. Of course he couldn't gloss over he got impaled. And trivial facts like how he waited for exactly one minute before he joined Anna to talk to Elsa at the Ice Palace. How Elsa herself was also a bit shocked that she'd brought him to life. He described the sisters' interaction after Elsa stuck Anna and how they got kicked out by Marshmallow, only to have Anna aggravate him shortly after. He couldn't leave out how he bravely volunteered to distract and hold Marshmallow back to no avail and that they all ultimately fell off the cliff. Olaf didn't skip out on any of the awkwardness. He went on to talk about how they all ventured to Kristoff's 'Love Experts', and how he thought Kristoff was totally crazy talking to rocks he called his family until they revealed themselves to be trolls. Also that he figured out his name was Kristoff not Sven. Olaf relayed the full extent of their visit with the trolls, attempted wedding and all and how they went to go find Hans (for a kiss) after they were told that 'only true love thaw a frozen heart'.

He explained how he ended up getting separated from the group and that he was the one that had found Anna locked up after Hans abandoned her. Olaf recounted how he almost melted trying to warm Anna up. He was quite proud of his 'Love Expert' advice that made Anna realize that Kristoff really cared for her. Then it was on to how the two of them managed to escape a freezing castle through a window and make it to the fjord. Olaf had gotten blown away by the storm and so the next thing he witnessed was Elsa embracing a frozen Anna on the fjord. Olaf expressed how devastating it was to think they lost Anna forever, but was happy when he was first to notice that Anna had in fact been saved, her frozen heart thawed by an act of true love different than the one they all had envisioned and that none of them had expected. He conveyed how delighted he was at the return of the summer once Elsa was able to control her powers, even though the sun had promptly begun to melt him, but thankfully Elsa kept him from melting. That was practically the end of his story about the events he'd observed, because after that he had been too distracted and overjoyed, by his own personal flurry that allowed him to enjoy summer, to pay attention to everything else that was going around him, like Hans getting punched in the face by Anna. The little snowman was very animated with his explanation, transforming himself and acting out the parts as he went along, he was a very theatrical storyteller even more so than Hans. 

"...and that's the story of how I spent my first day of life."

Hans laughed through much of it, amused by Olaf's transformations and animated behavior, and all of his excitement. 

"You lived quite an adventurous life, and all in one day! Many people would be jealous, and I would venture to say you have lived the most adventurous life of any snowman. I wonder if Marshmallow would say the same? I very much remember Marshmallow, nearly killed me on the ice bridge, but what an adventure that was!" Hans hummed. He seemed quite fond of Olaf, and only more so with time. 

"You remind me of someone, somehow, but I'm not quite sure..."

"Yourself." Kristoff proposed.

 "How, exactly? We're not exactly alike." Hans pointed out. 

"You both laugh in the face of death, love jokes and stories, change to adapt to your environment, and everyone underestimates what you're thinking." Kristoff gestured to both of them.

 "...Well perhaps, but there's no need to insult him." Hans scoffed, tone a little flatter. 

"Oh shut up, I bet he's what you would have been like if you were raised in a happy family, without whatever screwed you up." Kristoff wouldn't let Hans deflect this one. And granted, perhaps Hans would have been a little annoying. Most children were. Olaf truly was just a child. 

"Hm. That may be so, but for once I don't find much merit in exploring hypotheticals. I can't imagine that alternative history. I'll have to just enjoy the one we're in, instead." His tone was perhaps a little less pleasant. If anything, he seemed a little more protective of Olaf, after that. He didn't want anyone to think they were like him. He was one of the disappointments, a prince turned treasoner and fool. He was not an example to follow.

"Ah, yes, an adventure of a lifetime, those were the days. My, how time flies." Olaf said in an almost reminiscent tone. "I don't know if Marshmallow would say the same, he's not much of a talker. But what I can say for him is that sure mellowed out since the last time," Olaf laughed at his own joke.

"You both love wordplay..." Kristoff added, amused, as Hans laughed at Olaf's joke. Hans was probably the only one who would laugh at that joke. 

"Your lifetime is only just beginning! You also lived through the assault on the castle, remember, there's plenty of adventuring time left." Hans assured, then he brightened up more. "Ah! I'm out of the castle, I can visit my horse in the stables! Would you all mind if we went? I haven't seen him in... probably a month? I'm not sure how long, now. Two?" He turned to go that way without waiting. Whether Kristoff wanted him to go or not, Hans wanted to see his horse. Kristoff shrugged and moved to follow. He was planning to end the night there anyway, and may as well let the man see his buddy.

"Oh! You have a horse? Is it a boy or a girl? What's it's name? Do you talk to them like Kristoff does to Sven," Olaf asked an abundant amount of questions as they headed back towards the stables.

Hans chuckled. "It's a boy, his name is Sitron. I talk to him, but he doesn't talk back." Hans assured with a little laugh. When he made it there, he jogged toward the horse, ignoring the pain in his side. Sitron seemed happy to see him, too, making happy sounds and tossing his mane. Hans threw his arms around his horse's neck and petted him. He was deeply fond of his horse, and they clearly missed each-other. Once again, it was easy to forget he was a prince, once. Now he was a man who had little but a mixed reputation, and a horse. A horse he was very glad to see again. 

"Hello you, I'll have to go riding again soon, they haven't been giving you enough exercise, hm?" He cooed to the horse, petting its nose. "I never thought I was going to see you again." While he kept his tone relatively neutral, it was just because there were people around. He had deeply missed his horse. He had few other friends.

Sitron was indeed ecstatic to see Hans again, it had been far too long that they were about. He gently trotted with excitement at the notion of being ridden again. His tail was raised in excitement and his ears were facing forward in full attention. Of course he had to sniff and nuzzle Hans with his nose. There was no doubt Fjord Horse had deeply missed his friend as well.  

"Oh, so that's Sitron, handsome horse, I was wondering where he'd come from, looks like he really missed you," smiled the little snowman. "Maybe you should groom him," he suggested, seeing that Kristoff had brushed Sven to start off the night and the reindeer seemed to enjoy it, so. "I know Sven likes it a lot when Kristoff does that to him."

"You know, I was thinking that myself." Hans agreed, immediately rolling up his sleeves and looking for the supplies to groom. Kristoff handed some over so Hans wouldn't have to think about it, and Hans happily took to tending to the horse as if he did that all the time. Maybe he had been a prince, but he had been a prince who wanted to be useful. "Ah, the lemon's turning into a lemon cake. You need to exercise." Hans teased, patting his horse's side to indicate that the horse was getting a little chubby. Still, he was glad his horse was being overfed, rather than underfed. He was the horse of a treasonist, after all. "Are they taking good care of you? You look well-groomed at least. No parade horse, but there's no neglect in Her Majesty's stables." Hans observed, more muttering at the horse than really talking to him as he groomed.

Sitron whinnied to show he was content. He was being treated well of course but he sure did miss going out for rides instead of being cooped up in his stall most the day. 

"Did you name him yourself or was he named that when you got him?" Wondered the curious snowman. "He doesn't look like a sour horse to me," he commented since he didn't understand why he was named after a lemon.

Hans chuckled. "I did, I was a boy and boys do silly things. He's got a slightly yellow-y tint and it reminded me of lemon meringue, especially with his mane." He hummed. "Certainly not a sourpuss, Sitron has been my friend for years. Sometimes the only one I felt like I could talk to, since he can't talk about whatever I tell him. Secrets are a resource in my homeland, they're hard to keep and valuable for it. No matter how mild, it seems it can be a danger. So if I only told my horse, I never had to fear it getting to anyone else. And what does a horse care what I have to say? He's a horse. He cares that I feed him, groom him, ride him, and make sure his shoes are on right." Of course, the stable hands handled the shoes in Arendelle. Not that he would usually shoe a horse, but he liked to at least make sure they were taken care of.

"Your homeland sounds like an awful place if you can't talk to anyone but your horse," remarked Olaf. "No offense to you lemon meringue, I'm sure you're a great listener."

"It is." Hans assured, nonchalantly. "Our family and staff have a lot of petty squabbles and teasing that tends to go... overboard. I'm the youngest, I get a lot more trouble than the rest. That's why I left for anywhere else. The sea is a great big 'anywhere else' to me. When I couldn't sail, I rode. As far as possible, somewhere as wild as possible. Often to a beach or a shore, sometimes to explore some forest. A horse makes for a fine friend, but it does lead to much less conversation." Hans admitted, focusing on his grooming. Sitron didn't seem offended, it was the truth.

"You and Kristoff are a lot alike when it comes to finding fine friends in animals, yet Sven does seem to converse more than Sitron. But then again Kristoff isn't much of a conversationalist when it comes to people, I've heard him sing that he thinks 'reindeer are better than people' when playing his lute," mentioned the childish snowman. "I think it's because he was raised by rock trolls," he tried whispering the last part.

"Aye, you could say that." Kristoff admitted, amused as he folded his arms and looked down at Olaf with a raised eyebrow.

 Hans laughed a little. 

"Maybe he's not wrong. A reindeer never committed a coup." He pointed out lightly. "Everything's a matter of perspective, I think. Perhaps the rock trolls have a better perspective." He paused a bit. "Did I know about the rock trolls? I think I didn't. That's weird. But not the weirdest thing I've seen, I hope one day to meet them, then. If only to say I've done it." He hummed a little bit at that. He liked experiences for the sake of them. Who needed reasons to see or do something new?

"You should definitely meet them, the rock trolls are fun, very nice, wise and they really like telling embarrassing stories about Kristoff," Olaf said, completely ignoring the look Kristoff gave him. 

"Maybe they'll do the fixer upper thing with you and Elsa, it looked like a lot of fun," he said, not really aware that it had resulted in the trolls attempting to wed Kristoff and Anna last time or was he? It was hard to tell will Olaf sometimes.

Hans looked curious, and chuckled a little. 

"Afraid I'm not a big fan of embarrassing stories from family." He admitted. "Too familiar with that bitter pill, myself. I'm not sure I know what you're talking about, but, it's probably for the best if we don't. I'm the Queen's fool, but I won't flatter myself to think we'll be spending much time together." He waved the thought aside, with a horse brush in-hand. Kristoff gave Olaf a curious look, wondering if Olaf was thinking the same thing he was about that. Olaf could be dim sometimes, but he -like Anna- had a habit of hitting upon the important things without knowing it.

For the first time in forever Olaf was uncharacteristically taciturn. 

 "Oh," he voiced in a slightly dispirited tone. He looked up at Kristoff a bit bemused.

Kristoff held the silence for a moment, a slow smirk showing up, identical to the one he wore when he wanted to tell Olaf all about how snow melts in the heat, but Anna stopped him. 

 "Flatter yourself, idiot." Kristoff shifted over to swat Hans playfully on the back of the head. Hans ducked, perhaps a little more than he needed to, receiving some small amount of the swat anyway. 

 "Excuse me?" He seemed uncertain whether he should be offended, or amused, but he looked a little more defensive either way. 

"You think she visits just to make sure your wounds don't rot? That's what doctors are for. Anna may not like you, but Elsa does, at least as a friend. You might hate yourself, but you're the only one. And maybe Anna, but she'll forgive in time, if I know her at all. I won't tell you to get over it, but at least get the picture; you're staying in the castle, you're going to see the Queen plenty. Still, probably best you don't see my folks and her at the same time, they're likely to marry you both." Kristoff joked dryly. 

 Hans laughed, a somewhat nervous laugh. But he didn't know how to respond, so he focused on brushing Sitron, instead. 

 "Let's talk about something else." He was quick to press the conversation away. Even if it was awkward, he would sooner hold an awkward silence than think about what Anna thought of him, or acknowledge that the Queen might like him. Somehow, both were painful.

Maybe the awkwardness now was karma for what happened earlier at the tavern. Kristoff had brought a wide smile back to the young snowman's face. 

 "You sure are a strange fellow," Olaf commented. Countless people would love to be in Elsa's good graces (especially since she still wasn't the most open person), but Hans seemed to think it was a bad thing, maybe he thought he didn't deserve that kind of attention, Olaf didn't quite understand and thought the former Prince was being silly, the title of Fool suit him quite well. He wasn't going to press him any further he saw Hans didn't seem too happy about the topic and Olaf preferred smiles to scowls. Of course Olaf couldn't bear the silence for too long, so he tried breaking it. He was an expert on changing the subject and going on random tangents. He didn't wish for Hans to stay silent, it just didn't feel right to him. 

 "Hey, Sven," he began "What do you call a reindeer with no eyes?" Olaf paused for a moment and Sven grunted. "What? You really don't know? I was only asking you cause you're a reindeer and I have no eye deer." He resorted to telling jokes, it was second nature to him. He’d much rather hear laughter than nothing at all.

Hans laughed quite suddenly at that joke, and rested his free hand on his face while he recovered from that one. 

 "Oh! That was a genuinely good one! it has layers." He did so love wordplay and puns. 

"Honestly, he has snow idea how to tell a good joke." Kristoff proposed. He liked Olaf's tactic. It worked a lot better. 

 "Snow thanks, Ice see what you're doing here." Hans retorted. They were probably going to be doing that a while.

And that they did. Once you start wordplay especially with people that are willing to continue it's a bit hard to stop. There were lots of snow and ice puns, of course, those were the easiest to make, as well as horse and reindeer ones, but the best kind of wordplay was undeniably the one that used their names.

  "I gotta Hans it to you, Sitron is looking more Hansome now that you brushed him," Olaf declared with a giggle. --

The puns continued for a long while, certainly long enough for Hans to finish tending to his horse and spending time with it. When it was finally time to leave, he gave his horse a fond farewell with reassurances that he would be back. Kristoff escorted him back to his room, just feeling as if that was now his duty, since the Captain of the Guard was gone-- and also he was the most sober one there (both of mind and body). 

By the time Elsa would have come to check on Hans, much later in the evening than she probably intended (because Girl Talk and catching up was simply too riveting), Hans had already decided to sleep, with an arm over his eyes and a leg hanging off the bed. Some people when they slept looked as if they had been laid to rest. Hans looked as if he had been thrown to rest, and he seemed perfectly comfortable with that fact. His hair was mussed and his collar rumpled, but only from the day's activity. And of course, he smelled a bit like rum and horse. It was sometimes easy to forget that he was an admiral. But not at that moment.

[shapeshiftersandfire]

collar. From, Upon the Heads of Sunflowers

CW: box boy universe, dehumanization, conditioning, shock collar, regular collar, referenced past abuse, noncon drugging mention, burn mention, belt mention

tag list: @eatyourdamnpears​

At some point during her official training, Eva comes into Sarah’s room with something new in her hands. At first, Sarah isn’t quite sure what it is, but as Eva comes closer, she can see it’s a short strap of leather. The very sight of it brings back memories Sarah had almost hoped had been buried in the wiping process—memories of a belt swung at her, the snap of leather in the air, against her back—memories she knows she shouldn’t have, but even if they’d been wiped she can’t pretend that the instinct to cower isn’t already programmed into her. She’s been on the receiving end of the leather strap one too many times.

She stares at Eva, fighting the instinct to run to the corner. She has to stay in Position Two, or what happens next will be worse.

“I brought you this,” Eva says, lifting up the leather. Sarah flinches, she doesn’t mean to—she’s not supposed to. But Eva raises that far too casually for her liking.

Her handler pauses, looking down at her curiously. Sarah’s heart lurches. Flinching is bad, she’s learned that, she knows she’s not supposed to, but she couldn’t help it. “I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, I didn’t-I-I must have—”

I must have come from a bad family, the lingering drugs in her system make her think. Bad enough that I chose to sign myself over to WRU. The ease at which the thought comes shocks Sarah. If it’s that easy for her to believe that she willingly signed herself over—and a voice in the back of her mind tells her loudly that no, she most certainly did not—how easy is it for her to believe everything else they tell her?

Too easy.

“It’s okay,” Eva says gently, and sometimes Sarah thinks Eva forgives her for far too much. She’s seen other trainees beaten senseless for the little things Eva forgives Sarah for. She’s heard other trainees screaming while their trainers did unspeakable things to them.

Are you sure? Sarah wants to ask, but questioning her handler is the same as questioning her owner. It’s just as bad, and with just as serious consequences.

But if Eva says it’s okay, then it must be.

Your handler is safe, they told her. Until you have an owner, your handler is your owner. And you will do anything they ask of you.

“Okay.” Sarah nods.

Eva kneels down in front of her. “Muscle memory?” she asks.

Sarah nods. “I don’t know why.”

She knows exactly why.

Eva nods, with a sad shine in her eyes. “I understand,” she says. “I’ll go slow with this, then.” She takes Sarah’s hand and rests it on the leather strap in her hand. “I’m not going to hit you with this, sunflower. This goes around your neck.”

Oh. It’s a collar. Sarah doesn’t know if that makes her feel better or worse about the affair. “T-thank you,” she says, breathlessly. But amid her relief there’s another fear that seeps into her chest. If Eva is replacing the heavy black shock collar she has on now, that means it’s going to have to come off. And she knows what it means when a collar comes off.

Collars are safe. Collars mean you’re wanted. Collars mean you’re good.

Not having a collar means you’re unwanted. It means you’ve been bad.

She gulps.

“It’s okay,” Eva says, not as a guarantee of forgiveness, but as reassurance. She lays the collar in Sarah’s hands while her own move to the hefty black collar Sarah currently wears, has worn since after she signed her contract. The tiny metal nubs have poked at Sarah’s neck for weeks, long enough that she’s grown used to them as much as she’s learned to fear them. One wrong move, and the handler working with her had her at their mercy. She’s never had it off. She’s never dreamed of having it off, even when she’d gone on to live with her owner, but then, she supposes she hasn’t thought that far ahead.

With a gentle click, the shock collar comes off. The metal is pried away from Sarah’s skin, red and irritated and slightly burned from the use, however sparse. She winces.

“I’ll have to get you something for that,” Eva says, gently moving the collar away from Sarah. “Your owner isn’t going to like that if it scars.” She shakes her head, clicks her tongue in disappointment. “I knew I should have switched these out days ago, when your order came in. If she has issues with it, I’ll take the blame. I should have thought about it.”

Sarah doesn’t ask who she is. That could refer to either the Director, who she hopes doesn’t reprimand Eva too badly for the oversight, or her new owner, who she also hopes isn’t too harsh on Eva.

Not that it matters much, Sarah thinks bitterly, looking between the harsh black collar in Eva’s hands and the new on in her own. I have belt scars across my back. Whoever’s getting me isn’t getting me unmarked.

Eva rests the shock collar beside her on the floor and takes the new collar from Sarah. This time, she’s able to get a good look at it, ignoring the fact that the fear she should have over not having a collar on is virtually nonexistent. It’s a plain white leather collar, with blue plating and a gold ring in front. Sarah blinks, wholly surprised. She’d expected something worse, something like the harsh metal prong collars she’d seen on a few frightening-looking trainees, or something simpler, like the plain brown leather collars she saw on some trainees who were either ready to be shipped out or who were placid enough they needed no other disciplinary collar.

It matches me, Sarah thinks with a bolt of shock. White and blue.

“I thought it would be a good look for you,” Eva says, voicing Sarah’s thoughts. “I have a plain leather one, too, but I thought this one might be a little more becoming of you.” She takes care as she fastens the new collar around Sarah’s neck. The inside is soft and comfortable, not rubbing uncomfortably against her irritated skin. It’s not too tight around her neck, either, giving her ample room to breathe. Unlike the shock collar, which was as snug against her neck as could be, pressing against her throat every time she swallowed or breathed.

“I—” Sarah swallows experimentally. The motion isn’t constricted. “It’s wonderful, Eva. Thank you.” And she doesn’t have to fake the gratitude in her voice. She means it, the collar is beautiful, and it feels good. (It makes her want to behave that much more so she can keep it on.)

(What a twisted series of thoughts that is.)

(Sarah hopes she can keep enough of herself intact at this rate that she’ll still be able to recognize Aunt Verna when she meets her again.)

Eva ruffles her hair. “You’re welcome, little sunflower.”

Sarah opens her mouth to say something, then shuts it again. What if it’s the wrong thing to say?

“Question, sunflower?”

Sarah nods. “D-Did-is this from my owner?” she asks, lifting the collar up.

“Yes and no,” Eva says after a pause. “She didn’t buy it for you, but she did specify that we’re supposed to use the least amount of physical force with you as possible. Which, after talking it over with my supervisor, means that the shock collar isn’t necessary anymore.” She sighs. “I’d never thought it was necessary but protocol is protocol. There was only so much I could do.”

Something about it makes Sarah’s stomach churn. Something about every piece of information that comes out of Eva’s mouth. It’s too much to unpack, and Sarah doesn’t have the mental energy for that.

“I bought both of them,” Eva adds. “But I thought your owner might like the blue and white on you a little better.”

Sarah forces her discomfort away enough to answer, “If she likes it, then so do I.” And then something twists in her chest, because as long as she can frame her own desires as something her owner could want, she could get away with saying almost anything.

“I’ll bet,” Eva says, and it’s not without a shine to her eyes that tells Sarah she knows exactly what Sarah’s getting at.

How has she let me get this far? She knows I’m faulty, she has to.

Why is she letting me get away with it?

“Well, I think this is a fine way to start the day,” Eva says, and Sarah agrees. “I hadn’t had anything particular in mind for today’s training, and none of your classes are until tomorrow. In the meantime, is there anything particular you’d like to do?”

Sarah doesn’t answer right away. She knows this is a test. Eva does that to her sometimes. Tests her, just to see if the training is sticking—or maybe to see if Sarah is being as genuine as she acts. Either way, Sarah knows when she’s being tested. She ducks her head, just a little, glances up at Eva, gives her that gentle smile she’s figured out the handlers like to see, and answers, “I want what you want.”

(It’s a dangerous answer, she knows that, but it’s the right one.)

There’s a look that comes to Eva’s eyes. Sarah can’t tell if it’s disappointment or relief. Or both. “On that note, then,” she says, and it’s not without an off tone to her voice, “why don’t we run through your positions and phrases? You don’t ship out for couple weeks, but it’s not something I want you to lapse on.”

Sarah nods, but a feeling of discomfort settles under her skin. The upper-level positions, the ones above twenty still make her nauseous. She doesn’t like the way she feels so exposed, so vulnerable, so…vile. Those positions make her skin crawl. Every time she forces her body into one of them, she feels as though she’s going to be violated.

Twenty-three is the one that scares her the most.

What would Aunt Verna say if she knew?

Those are the standard positions. It’s not just her that’s learning them. It’s everyone, regardless of their designation.

“Alright,” Eva says. She rests her hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “I know the upper ones are…

“I’ll do them,” Sarah says quickly. “I’ll do them, I won’t complain—I never do. I’ll do them.”

“I know you will, sunflower.” Eva pats her shoulder. Sarah swears she sees sadness flash across Eva’s face. “Why don’t we start at twenty-five and work our way down, hm? Get the hard ones over with? How’s that sound?”

Sarah finds herself perking up a little. Her new collar sits comfortably on her neck; the shock collar is on the ground, forgotten. She’ll never have to wear it again. “Sounds good, Eva.”

“Alright.” Eva pats her shoulder again. “Up and at ‘em, trainee. Position Twenty-five.”

[sign-from-god-complex]

take care

Summary: Roman is bad at self-care, especially when he's struggling with video ideas, and so Logan takes it into his own hands to make sure he’s properly looked after. And if maybe he went a bit overboard? Well, Roman deserved it.

Pairing: Logince

Warnings: Bad self-care (not eating or showering for an extended period of time) and a tiny bit of negative self-talk.

A/N: Every so often my brain will just want me to write the fluffiest, softest, most sappy thing it can think of. The last piece of writing produced from that was “The Purpose of Marriage, To Know That You Are Loved” and the next one is this, so here you go. Maybe it’s out of character, but maybe sappy, fluffy, dumbass logince is underrated and we should have more of these flustered idiots.

And hey! I finally wrote some logince!!! Took me long enough honestly.

Tag list <333: @mutechild @super-magical-wizard

AO3 Link

Roman couldn't think of a single creative idea.

Things had been pretty stressful for everyone recently, really. Thomas had done quite a bit of socialising over the last couple weeks, meeting up with old friends and trying to spend time with some newer ones, and it was reaching the point where even Roman was getting exhausted.

However, the unfortunate truth was that videos needed to be made no matter how busy Thomas's schedule became. Roman couldn't afford time off to relax, not when there was still so much to do before they were able to upload the next video. The fans were getting impatient and he absolutely needed to do right by them, but no matter how hard he tried, he simply couldn't come up with anything good!

Roman had casually pitched two or three ideas to the other sides over the course of the week, and every single one had been shot down for one reason or another. It was either too expensive, or there wasn't enough material, or it was too similar to something that they'd already done, etc. etc.

And those were just the ideas Roman had suggested; Roman had been brainstorming on and off for two weeks. Nothing he thought of was good enough and the increasing pressure as he became more and more aware of his time running out was not helping the situation in the slightest.

He scrunched up the notebook page he'd been writing on and flung it at all the wall, watching as it bounced for a moment before landing with the other scraps of paper he'd launched in that direction. Could they make a video related to throwing balls of paper around? No, Thomas was terrible at throwing things with any sense of accuracy, and anyway, that was hardly an idea. You can't make a video out of that.

Roman let his head fall against the desk—hard enough that he felt it, but not hard enough that he was giving himself permanent brain damage (like he needed any more obstacles in the way of a good idea). He let out a groan, hands coming up to tug at his hair. This was ridiculous! He was creativity! He should be able to do better!

No, he was sure he was able to do better. He just had to keep trying.

There was the distant sound of the door opening behind him as Roman began writing down more words in the hopes of sparking something. A video to do with... fruit? Something similar to the "No Sugar" Awkward Adventures video, but with eating fruit? No, that was a terrible idea. What about another Disney mashup? Shit, no, they just did one of those. They couldn’t-

"Roman...?"

Roman turned around at the sound of his name, aware that he likely looked absolutely atrocious. He hadn't slept all night—too busy brainstorming—and he couldn't remember the last time he'd taken a shower, which was honestly disgusting if he thought too long about it.

In the door stood his boyfriend, cautiously adjusting his glasses as he took in the scene before him. Roman, feeling self-conscious about the state of his room and the state of his attire, suddenly wished he'd had the forethought to lock his door. Not only would it have prevented this exact scenario, but it also would have resulted in less potential distractions. Ugh, what an idiot he was! It seemed he couldn't get anything right recently.

Logan's brow was furrowed and Roman wanted to go over there and kiss his forehead to smooth it out, prompting that fond look Roman so adored. He didn't get up though, too aware of the fact that it had been over a day since he'd eaten and if he passed out now Logan would never let him hear the end of it.

"Are you quite alright?" Logan asked, eyes bouncing around the room for a moment before landing on Roman.

Roman gave a facsimile of a confident smile. "I'm perfectly fine, my love! Just thinking through some new ideas, you know how it is."

As Logan crossed his arms, quirking a single unamused eyebrow at him, Roman knew that he was caught. Well, it’d been a good run. So much for doing YouTube because Logan was going to force him to rest and Roman was never going to have another good idea ever again. Thomas was going to lose every single one of his subscribers and they were all going to die because Roman couldn't come up with one creative idea.

"I know that look," Logan said, making his way over to Roman's desk, "You're catastrophising again. Stop that. You're not Virgil; you do not need to act as if the world is going to end with every minor inconvenience."

Roman threw his hands into the air and Logan ducked back to avoid being inadvertently punched in the face. "This is not some 'minor inconvenience', Logan! This is my entire purpose! If I can't bring inspiration to Thomas then what in the world am I good for?!"

Logan gathered up Roman's hands into his and brought them to his chest. Then, slowly, he leaned down and pressed his mouth to Roman's.

It was delicate and affectionate and Roman felt his entire body collapse, hands tugging away from Logan's grip to wrap behind his neck. After a moment, Logan pulled away. He hovered his face in front of Roman's and Roman watched as he scrunched up his nose.

"You really need to brush your teeth."

In a different scenario, Roman might have thought that Logan looked adorable when he pulled that face, but as it was, he was too busy being offended. To be fair, Logan was definitely right—brushing his teeth was another one of those things that’d been thrown to the wayside during his brainstorming—but he still shouldn't say it.

Logan straightened up and stared at Roman with a contemplative look.

"Come," he said, grabbing Roman's arm and dragging him in the direction of the bathroom, "We're going to get you cleaned up and then you're going to get some rest, and tomorrow I will help you with your next brainstorming session."

Roman raised his eyebrows. He'd been expecting the first part of course, but Logan virtually never helped with brainstorming. He said he found it too creative and unstructured for his liking and instead preferred to come in in the planning stages since that was when he was the most helpful. Logan had probably realised just how badly things were going for him—and his boyfriend wasn’t the most perceptive person, so Roman must really look terrible.

As they entered the bathroom, Roman realised for the first time just how exhausted he truly was. He let himself be positioned on the closed toilet lid as Logan began running a bath, meticulously running his hands through the water every so often to check that the temperature was appropriate.

Roman always favoured extremely hot baths and showers—as opposed to Logan, who mostly took showers that almost bordered on freezing—so when Logan winced as he put his hand into the water, Roman knew he'd found the right temperature.

After prompting him to brush his teeth, Logan went to gently remove Roman’s top. Roman was glad for the first time that he wasn’t wearing his usual princely attire; that shirt was a bitch to get on and off. He stood shakily as Logan went to tug down his sweatpants and as Logan pulled his underwear off, Roman looked down and gave him a wink.

Logan rolled his eyes. “You are extraordinarily fatigued and overworked, Roman. As if either of us could be thinking about sex at a time like this.”

“You underestimate me, darling,” Roman smirked—or at least he attempted to, but his face wasn’t doing any of the things he wanted at the moment.

Logan just gave a breathy laugh before helping Roman into the bath, kneeling at his side as he settled himself.

Roman sighed deeply and closed his eyes, the warmth of the bath seeping into his bones and establishing a home under his skin. He could hear Logan running something through the water beside him and he was startled slightly by the feeling of water running over his hair.

He opened his eyes to see Logan filling up a mug—Roman’s, with cartoon birds on it—with the bath water, before pouring it carefully over the back of Roman’s head. Logan pushed his hand through Roman’s wet hair before cupping his cheek and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

Roman only had a moment to grumble that Logan was stealing his move before Logan whispered, “Shut your eyes, love. Let me worry about everything for now, alright?”

Logan didn’t use pet names very often, so Roman felt his blush was entirely justified. He did as Logan asked, however. It was hard to give up control—especially when he was as stressed as he was—but if there was one person Roman trusted to take care of him, it was Logan.

The bath passed in a haze of warmth and gentle fingers running over his skin. Occasionally Logan would murmur something under his breath, but Roman was too lost in complete exhaustion to really process any of it.

Once the bath had ended, Logan wrapped him in a big fluffy towel and tried to pat him dry, Roman lazily moving his limbs in a weary attempt to help out. He shivered slightly from exposure to the cold air and silently wished Logan would hold him until he was warm again.

“Here,” Logan said, presenting Roman with a set of pyjamas—and when had he had the time to get those?—”Put these on. I will be back momentarily.”

Roman watched Logan slip out the door before holding up the pyjamas to take a closer look.

Logan had grabbed his favourite pair of pyjama pants, decided upon as not only were they incredibly soft, but they matched his aesthetic perfectly—red and covered in cartoons of little gold crowns. Roman couldn’t exactly remember who’d given them to him. However, he had a vague memory of preteen Roman receiving them as a Christmas gift, followed by him immediately putting them on and not changing out of them for a week.

In place of the matching pyjama shirt, however, Logan had given him a hoodie. Upon closer inspection, it was revealed to be one of Logan’s two hoodies—the blue one Roman got paint splatters on. He chuckled lightly. His boyfriend was a dork. To his credit though, Roman was known to “borrow” items of clothing from Logan on occasion, and this hoodie was very cozy. Plus it smelled like Logan—like pine and paper and clean and safe and home (and probably a little bit like paint).

By the time Roman had thrown the clothes on, Logan had returned. He grabbed Roman’s hand, trying to carefully maneuver them across the bathroom floor to avoid stepping in any puddles and Roman could feel his face heating up again. It was silly to feel as flustered as he was over something that small, but his boyfriend was treating him so gently and he just couldn’t help it.

As they reentered Roman’s bedroom his blush only intensified.

The entire room felt transformed.

His bed had been made, adorned with layers of fluffy blankets (with some around the headboard so he could wrap them around his shoulders if needed) and his laptop laying in the centre. The piles of scrunched up paper littered around his desk had been removed and instead, his desk was clean with his notebooks stacked into a neat pile. And on his bedside table sat two mugs and a plate of toast, with what Roman would assume was Crofter’s spread on top.

But the most wondrous thing was that the lights were dimmed, any brightness he could see instead emanating from fairy lights that had been strung up around almost every surface. Roman also spotted a few candles and he could smell the faint scent of rose filling the room.

It was soft and awe-inspiring and Roman was absolutely astounded.

“You… did all this for me?”

Roman ripped his eyes away from the scene in front of him to face his boyfriend. Logan was watching him with an attentive look, eyes flitting up and down Roman’s face, seemingly searching for something. He must have found it because he cut his gaze away, ducking his head slightly.

“I had some help from Patton and Virgil, but I thought a more pleasing and relaxing environment would be conducive to helping you “unwind,” so to speak,” Logan said, failing to hide his blush in the wake of the adoring look Roman was sure he was giving him, “I also felt it imperative to bring you something to eat, as the likelihood that you were keeping up the recommended- mmph!”

Roman crashed his lips into Logan’s, cutting off whatever speech he had planned about Roman’s terrible eating habits. His chest was warm as he wrapped his arms around Logan’s waist, pulling them closer together and he smiled a little into the kiss.

Logan might seem at first glance like he doesn’t show any kind of affection. His endearments were sparing and though he may put up with Roman’s incessant need for physical contact, he rarely initiated anything himself. However, to claim that his boyfriend was uncaring would be—to borrow a term from Logan—an absolute falsehood.

Logan showed his affection in much more subtle ways that Roman did, and since the beginning of their relationship, Roman had learnt to look for them.

Logan liked to be helpful. If there was something you had to do but didn’t necessarily want to, Logan would almost always be willing to assist you. On occasion, he would even do the entire task for you, citing that “it wasn’t a big deal” and “it was really more for my sake than yours” in order to save face. Roman saw through that though, exactly the same way Logan saw through him.

On top of being helpful, Logan also just appreciated spending time with the people he cared about. He didn’t need to be doing anything in particular, more often than not Logan was simply reading, but his passive company almost meant more than his active company.

More than once Logan had arrived in Roman’s room, apropos of nothing, and sat down on Roman’s bed to continue his Agatha Christie novel. This usually occurred when Roman was working, so Roman would simply resume his work, distantly aware of Logan’s presence behind him as he did so.

Not a single word would be spoken between them until Patton called them down for dinner, but regardless, Roman would feel closer to Logan somehow. He knows how important time alone is for Logan. His boyfriend regularly gave up his personal private time to be around him instead and it made Roman almost giddy to think about what that really meant.

Looking at this evening through that filter, Logan’s actions were a blatant declaration of love. And so he’d responded the most Roman way he knew how.

He drew away, watching as Logan’s eyes fluttered open, the shock on his face made even more evident by the blush covering his cheeks. Roman wanted to kiss him again almost immediately, but he managed to refrain.

“It’s perfect. Thank you, Logan.”

Roman whispered the words into the small space between them and watched as Logan’s face went through about 5 different iterations of pleased and shocked, before settling on poorly faked indifference. Roman tried his best not to laugh; it really would have ruined the moment.

Logan cleared his throat. “Yes, well… you’re welcome, of course.”

Roman pulled his boyfriend over to the bed, instantly getting comfy under the blankets and ordering Logan to do the same—more because Roman wanted to use him as a pillow than anything else. In return, Logan handed Roman the toast, insisting that he eat. As he began to do so, despite his protests that he’d rather not get crumbs on his bed, Logan pressed play on the Disney movie he’d set up on Roman’s laptop.

Crofters, cuddles and Disney. God, his boyfriend knew him too well.

By the time the movie had finished, the toast was long since eaten, the hot chocolate Patton had supplied had been drunk and Roman was on the verge of falling asleep. His head was resting on Logan’s chest, Logan tracing patterns delicately over all the skin he could reach and Roman could feel himself tearing up slightly from all the emotions he held.

He let his eyes fall shut. “I love you.”

Roman faintly recognised that it was the first time either of them had said it from a romantic standpoint, but sincerely it didn’t matter because it was so overwhelmingly true that Roman just couldn’t keep it to himself anymore.

Roman could feel Logan stiffen underneath him before relaxing with an exhale.

“I love you too.”

And he’s sure that in the morning Logan will have some kind of lecture prepared about not being able to come up with creative ideas if you don’t take care of yourself first and foremost, but Roman wasn’t thinking about that. That was for tomorrow’s Roman to worry about.

No, for now, Roman simply let his awareness of his boyfriend’s breathing—the sound of his heartbeat and the steady rise and fall of his chest—lull him into a peaceful, dream-filled sleep.