#i wait until they’ve been asleep for a few minutes to put them in bedtime jail

[muttsandmustelidae]

“I am calling this business meeting to discuss this ridiculous “bed time” idea of yours

as you can clearly see, my colleague and I are not, in any way-

*yawn*

-tired

…meeting adjourned”

[littledrummeraussie]

It’s still the 20th in my timezone so I wanted to give my request a try: 😍 - it’s so cliche but I’d like to read smth. With being roommates with Ashton (maybe the reader also works in the music industry like his real roommate) and the reader slowly realises that they are in love with him.

1. Ashton overstimulating youu🤤🍭 but like not as a punishment more as a “exploring” and like al the praise he would give uuuu🤤🔥 

2. Ash using a shower head on you?🔥🔥🔥 or maybe he holds ur legs open with his own legs and uses a vibrator to overstimulate you🤤🤤🤤🔥 

3. @ashtondaddy90  Congratulations! You deserve all the followers you got. Your fanfic are all amazing 🍭 with dom! Ashton

When I asked where should we go next with the 1K Celebration prompts Blanca @notinthesameguey simply said that we should combine them. So this is entierly her fault. Thank you Blanca.

I didn’t exactly follow the prompts, but I hope you will still enjoy Ashton and his roommate having feelings for each other, resolving the tension with some naughty sex in the end.

1K celebration masterlist

- - - - -

“Rise and shine!”

“Fuck off,” you laughed into your pillow, burrowing under the blankets as Ashton opened the curtains in your bedroom. “It’s too early for your bullshit.”

“It’s 9 AM and you’ve already missed breakfast,” he climbed over your bed, tugging the sheets down before taking the pillow out of your hands. “No pillow fights, you know I’m right.”

“Didn’t plan on it,” you chuckled and Ashton lovingly rolled his eyes, already knowing that you definitely thought about hitting him with your pillow.

“Coffee’s waiting for you downstairs,” he leaned over and combed the hair back from your face before kissing your cheek. “I need to run some errands, do you need anything?”

“5 more minutes of sleep,” you closed your eyes, giving a light push to his shoulder to give you more space.

“You’re unbelievable,” he huffed with a laugh before scooting off the bed. “Why do I even let you live here?”

“Because I pay rent, not like Calum,” you gave him a sleepy wink, and Ashton laughed again, clicking his tongue.

“True. Alright, call me if you need anything.”

“A new roommate!”

*

It all happened after your previous roommate got a boyfriend for herself and you quickly needed to find a place when they’ve decided to move out and into their new shared home. Ashton’s offer came in the form of a surprise call while you were packing up your stuff. The two of you previously worked on a few small projects and he told you that he had a spare room you could use as long as you needed it. He even helped you transport all your things across town and made you feel right at home in his own house.

You’ve spent the evening catching up on the last few months as you ate takeout and drank cool ciders, setting some ground rules for your new living conditions. Ashton pressed a kiss on the top of your head before he went to bed, making your face heat up. You’ve told yourself that the feeling will pass; after all it was just a friendly gesture from him – he was your new roommate, nothing more.

The first few weeks were spent working out how the two of you could actually live together without being in each other’s space all the time, but you both found that you didn’t mind the other’s presence while you were working. It was way much simpler than you’ve thought it would be, and by the next month you were already working on another project together in your spare time. You’ve felt a strange domestic bliss settle over the two of you as you’ve cooked dinner and washed the dishes, talking about ideas while you ran errands or when you’ve watched TV before bedtime. Ashton seemed like the perfect boyfriend material and you needed to tell yourself to keep your thoughts PG when it came to him. You didn’t want to wake up one morning to awkward conversations about your night activities.

This thought lasted until you started to realize how comfortable the two of you became with each other. Ashton didn’t mind taking off his shirt during the day if it got too hot for him, and most mornings you’ve found him in the kitchen only in his boxers, tan skin and muscles all on display as he made coffee. His smile was always bright and flirty, and on many occasions you felt your panties slightly sticking to your skin by the time you’ve finished your breakfast. He let you borrow his hoodies, still warm from his body with his scent lingering on the fabric, and you felt dizzy whenever you’ve thought about burying your nose in his neck just to really feel him. You slowly started to realize that you had it bad for Ashton – and that you couldn’t help yourself, even if you’ve tried your hardest.

*

It happened during one of those nights when Ash was out with the guys and you spent the majority of your time alone, sipping on a glass of wine and enjoying a hot bath. You were a bit tipsy as you found your way back to your room, ready to turn in for the night and have a long sleep before he woke you up again at the crack of dawn. As you passed Ashton’s bedroom you stopped – the door was left ajar and you peeked inside with a giggle. You’ve been in there plenty of times before, but there was something exciting about looking inside while he wasn’t there. You caught sight of a discarded black shirt on the floor and you had a feeling Ashton kicked it under the bed in a hurry as he was getting ready.

A blush crawled up your neck at the thought of stealing it, and before you knew it you slipped inside, reaching down and bringing the shirt up to your nose, inhaling his citrusy scent that mixed with the smell of sweat and the fabric softener he used. You hugged it to your chest as you made your way back to your room, locking the door before letting the towel fall on the floor, and in seconds you pulled the shirt over your head, pretending it was an actual hug from Ashton. You lay back against the pillows as you buried your nose in the collar of the shirt, a small moan leaving your lips as you clenched your thighs together, a familiar throbbing taking over you. God, you wanted him so bad.

Your nipples hardened under the fabric as you thought about all those times he ran around the house only in his sweatpants, shirt forgotten next to his drum kit after practice, water drops clinging to his skin before running down on his back, soaking the towel riding low on his hips. A hand slipped between your thighs, fingertips teasing your slit as you thought about Ashton’s fingers drumming on the counter or brushing a lock of hair behind your ear, his touch always soft and careful, and more than anything you wished you could feel that touch on your skin right now. You imagined what those long fingers could do to you, all the places they could reach to make you see stars, and you threw your head back as you slowly eased a finger inside.

In your fantasy hazel eyes stared up at you as Ashton slowly moved his finger in and out, a grin pulling at his full lips as he told you how beautiful you looked. Before you knew it a second finger joined the first to stretch you, and you whined as you thought about Ashton doing the same to you, preparing you for his cock. Your other hand slipped down to rub your clit, pretending it was his lips and tongue chasing you towards your pleasure. You let your sounds spill out of you, moans and whines mixed with words begging for something more as you let your fingers bring you to your next orgasm, already working towards the third, not caring about how sensitive you were.

*

What you didn’t know was how the door opened downstairs, Ashton quietly locking it, not wanting to wake you as he figured you’ve already gone to bed. He toed off his shoes and made his way up the stairs, but stopped when he heard moans from behind your door. Ashton held his breath as he listened to the sounds, face hot and cock stirring in his pants as he realized what you were doing. He wished your door was open just a crack.

Maybe he should have been ashamed as he let his fingers curl around the hard-on straining against his jeans but he couldn’t help himself. He’s been doing his best to keep you out of those kinds of thoughts, even though the final image crossing his mind before coming was always one of you. Ashton didn’t want to ruin your friendship and your current living arrangements, but he felt like you’ve put a spell on him all those years ago when you two started working together. He wished that he could figure you out, to find out if the thoughts and feelings he had towards you would be reciprocated if he ever had the courage to just come clean about them.

And God knows he tried to gauge your reaction after the first few weeks you’ve spent together as roommates. There was a reason he forgot to put on clothes in the morning, pattering around the kitchen only in his boxers as you came down for coffee. He was always careful with your conversations, using certain words and themes that would tell him if you would be open for something more between the two of you. Ashton felt a spark of hope whenever he caught you in one of his shirts or hoodies, or those times you fell asleep with your head in his lap – there was something in the air, he was sure about that. You were way too comfortable with each other just to be friends. He just needed to be sure it wasn’t just unresolved sexual tension, but maybe something deeper.

His pants were already hanging open, rubbing his cock through his boxers as he listened to your moans and whimpers, tightening his fist around himself every time he heard you riding out your next orgasm. He was rock hard and leaking precum, soaking the fabric of his boxers as he quickened his pace, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip to keep his own sounds at bay. This was the first time Ashton really let himself think about you like that – naked and writhing on your bed, fingers curling around his biceps or into his hair as he kissed and sucked your neck, leaving his marks on your skin as he took you hard and fast. He wished he could be the one drawing those sounds out of you, making your thighs shake and your body tremble as he made you come again and again.

A high-pitched moan echoed around the house and it took only a few more strokes for Ashton to reach his own orgasm, his sounds muffled by a hand over his mouth. With his back against the wall he gave himself a few seconds to catch his breath before scrambling back to his room. His face felt hot, hair sticking to his forehead as he shrugged off his shirt and jeans, his boxers a mess from his pleasure. He wiped himself before throwing his clothes into the hamper, crawling under his sheets as he tried to wrap his mind around what just happened. Ashton was ready to feel shame, to feel like he had violated your privacy which was one of the ground rules between the two of you – but he only felt the wild thumping of his heart and the pleasure still buzzing through him.

It might have been the first time he heard you through the walls – but it wasn’t the last.

*

From that point on it felt like a game that none of you wanted to really acknowledge you were playing. Some days it was you wearing only a shirt and a short with no underwear on as you’ve made breakfast, wanting to know if the sight would make Ashton finally tick. Other times it was him leaving the bathroom door open just a crack as he took a shower in the morning, his voice dangerously close to a moan while humming to himself. It was flirty remarks with double meanings, sentences cut short as they would give away too much, and touches that lingered on too long on knees and shoulders. It was Ashton leaving his shirts all over the place that you would pick up later and steal to sleep in them, always making sure to put them in the hamper before he caught you. Whenever you thought he was already asleep you’ve let your mind and hands wander, not knowing how he listened to your pleasure as he tried his hardest not to go over to your room and take you right then and there. Both of you wanted the same thing – you were just scared to take the necessary steps, not wanting to face the possibility that maybe you have misunderstood something.

*

Ashton’s been acting strange for weeks, and you started to feel like you may have done something that made him close himself in his office, spending hours on his phone and leaving the house for long periods of time. Then another thought crossed your mind, one that made you want to move out of the house immediately. If Ashton found someone for himself then you didn’t want things to be awkward for any of you – you’ve already spent a good chunk of your year living with him, maybe it was time to finally find your next home somewhere else where you wouldn’t be a third wheel. Again.

But before you could approach him with the question you were dragged away for a quick road trip by your friends, and at least for two days you were able to forget about your feelings and thoughts that all circled around him. The house seemed dark and empty when they’ve dropped you off at home, and you almost asked your girls to let you crash at one of their places as you were sure Ashton was out and most definitely with his mysterious new girlfriend, but they’ve already left the scene, making you look for your keys to enter the house.

What you didn’t expect was the lights turning on the moment you’ve stepped inside, familiar faces cheering and shouting ‘happy birthday’ at you as Ashton tackled you from his place next to the door, hugging you as he bellowed ‘surprise!’, making the both of you giggle. You quickly found out that he’s been organizing your party for weeks now, going out of his way to make it perfect, calling up all of your friends and looking for volunteers to help him get you out of the house until everything was prepared. By the time your road trip team arrived back to the house you were already changed out of your travel clothes, sipping on a glass of champagne and hugging Ashton, thanking him again and again for the amazing surprise.

His smile was wide, eyes sparkling as he pulled you to his chest to dance with him, and for a moment you’ve wished the two of you would be alone so you could kiss him senseless, properly thanking him for all the work he has done. You let your head rest on his shoulder, getting lost in his scent and how he held you, and he pressed a kiss on your temple before announcing that it was time for some birthday cake. You ended up with frosting all over your face, smearing some of it on Ashton and Calum’s cheek before continuing the party which lasted well past midnight.

Ashton wrapped his arm around your waist as he helped you upstairs, both of your tipsy giggles echoing around the house. Most of your friends have already left, but a few were passed out on the couch and fast asleep in the armchairs. He made sure you were put into bed safe and sound, wishing you a happy birthday once again as he closed the door behind himself. Ash stopped before going to his room, thinking about how he wanted to kiss you goodnight, how he wanted to press his lips against yours as one last present for your special day. He shook his head, telling himself that he needed to be sober before making decisions like this, and went to his room to sleep of his drunken haze – confessions can wait a few more hours.

*

Your eyes opened as you felt the mattress dip next to you, expecting to see Ashton with a cup of coffee, but only finding one of your guy friends asking if you wanted him to stick around and help you clean up after yesterday’s birthday party. You gave him a smile, telling him that he can definitely go home; you and Ashton will deal with the rest once you have woken up. He gave you a hug before leaving your room and in a minute you’ve heard the front door closing, signalling his departure.

You peeled yourself out of bed, throwing on an oversized shirt as you made your way downstairs, ready to see what needed to be done. The first step was definitely coffee, and as you waited for it you started to clean up the plastic cups and plates, collecting and throwing them into a bag. A song from last night got stuck in your head, something you have danced to with Ashton, and you bit your lip as you thought of his warm body wrapped up with yours. You hummed to yourself as you reached for two mugs, deciding that you will be the one bringing coffee for Ashton this morning – and who knows, maybe he will invite you to join him in his bed.

“What, is he gone already?”

Ashton’s gruff voice took you by surprise, and you spun around to face him, unsure of what he’s referring to. He was leaning against the wall, hair sleep mussed and arms crossed over his chest, his eyebrows furrowed as he looked you over.

“I don’t follow,” you shook your head, suddenly feeling small under his stare, and he just huffed.

“Right, cause Greg didn’t just leave your room this morning,” he rolled his eyes, voice full of venom as he spit the name out. “Stop playing around.”

“Well, if you need to know, then yes,” you crossed your arms as well, mirroring him. “He did come in before he left. What, am I not allowed to have friends over, especially ones you have invited? And anyway, are you spying on me?”

“Guess you got what you’ve craved? Did he finally fuck you?” he took a step forward, now towering above you. “I remember you telling me you had a crush on him.”

“Geez, Ash, what is up with you?” you looked at him in disbelief. “That was years ago, why would you bring that up now? And God no! No, he just came to ask if he could help me clean up.”

“Well, then where is he?” he quirked an eyebrow. “Doesn’t seem like he’s into the whole housework thing.”

“I’ve told him we can clean up just fine. You and I. Didn’t want him to get under our feet.”

“Yes, but did he get under something else?” Ashton’s fingers curled into the hem of your shirt, eyes on fire as he tugged you closer. “Maybe he did clean you up…”

“Okay, stop that right now,” you pushed Ashton away, annoyed with his nonsense. “I don’t know what kind of weird stuff you’re talking about or why is this sudden interest in my sex life, and definitely don’t understand this… possessive jealous act. Coffee’s on the counter. Find me when you’ve cooled down.”

You’ve stepped around Ashton, ready to go back upstairs and curl up in your room, trying to make sense of his unexpected mood swings and strange words but you were suddenly pulled back by your shirt and before you knew it you were pushed up against the wall, Ashton pinning you there with his body.

“Stop,” he breathed heavily, fingers curling around your wrists before pulling them above your head. “You stay right here.”

“Or what?” you tilted your head up, looking into his eyes. “You revoke my roommate card?”

“No, I wouldn’t do that,” he shook his head before quickly licking his lips. “But I might make you pay your rent in a different way…”

“Fuck it, I’m done with this,” you huffed as you tugged your hands free from his grasp just to curl your fingers around his jaw, pulling him close and crashing your lips together.

Ashton moaned in your mouth, arms sliding around your waist to pull you closer to him, hands resting on the top of your ass. After months of letting the tension build between the two of you it finally broke, and you let yourself curl into Ashton’s embrace as his tongue licked against your lips, pushing it in to kiss you deeper. You were up on your tiptoes as your hands slid down to his shoulders and over his bare chest, tickling his sides before settling on the sweatpants riding low on his hips, fingertips pushing under the fabric. He chuckled against your lips before taking your wrists again and pulling them back between your bodies.

“Cute,” his tone was playful, voice just above a whisper. “But I have other ideas.”

Before you could ask him what he meant Ashton has already turned you around, pushing you up against the wall again, his body melting against your back. A moan slipped out of you as you felt his hardening cock on your ass, his lips skimming on the back of your neck, teeth lightly nibbling on your skin. He pressed a kiss against your ear, his hot breath making you shiver.

“You sound even more beautiful like this. Not muffled by doors and walls and the hallway.”

“Ash–” his name got stuck in your throat when you felt your skin turn hot as you realized what he was talking about. “Fuck!”

“You want me to do that? Fuck you like I’ve wanted to for months?” he rutted his cock against your ass, and you’ve tried to push back to feel more of him.

“Yes! Please Ashton, just… please… wanted you for so long,” you practically begged him to take you right then and there, and you heard him groan against your neck.

One of his hands slid up your chest to cup your breast over your shirt while the other stroked over your inner thigh, palm curling against your heat. Your panties were already soaked and Ashton let out a satisfied hum as he pushed his fingers under the fabric, drawing slow, soft circles around your clit.

“Do your fingers feel this good?” he nipped at your ear, and you shook your head while trying to move your hips to get more friction. “You sure seemed to like them… sometimes it felt like you’ve been fucking yourself for hours…”

“Been thinking about you… how your fingers would feel inside me…” you licked your lips, hands slipping against the wall as you moved back against him. “How you would feel inside me…”

“Why don’t we find out?” his hand tugged your panties to the side, middle finger running through your wet folds until it circled around your entrance, slowly pushing inside. “Better than your own?”

“I can take much more,” you let out a giggle which immediately turned into a moan as Ashton quickly pushed in another finger. “Fuck, that’s good.”

“Let’s see how much more you can take, pretty girl.”

His fingers started moving in and out of you, quickly finding that sweet spot inside you that made your legs shake and your breaths hitching. His name on your lips mixed with moans and whimpers and fucks as his thumb dragged against your clit, never missing a beat as he pleasured you. One of your hands reached for his, and he interlocked your fingers, holding you close to his body with both of your arms around your middle. Your head was thrown back against his chest, his lips kissing your forehead and murmuring praises as he worked you toward an orgasm.

“Wanna see you cum for me,” Ashton picked up the pace of his fingers and you felt the unmistakable clenching of your walls around them. “Show me how you look when you think of me, baby. Cum on my fingers like you’ve imagined.”

“Ashton, fuck! I’m close…” you whined against his neck, and you felt his thumb rub your clit even harder. “Ash–”

In that moment you’ve chocked on your next moan, your whole body trembling against his as pleasure filled you from head to the tip of your toes. His fingers didn’t let up their work as you clenched around them, making you see stars as another smaller shock ran through your body. You leaned against the wall to collect yourself, moaning as you felt Ashton move right behind you, his fingers still deep in your pussy, slowing down their pace but never pulling out.

“Sensitive…” you whimpered when he swiped his thumb over your swollen clit, your hand reaching for his between your legs to make him pull out.

“Oh no, I wasn’t done with you yet…” he pushed your hand back against the wall with his free one, still lightly stroking in and out of you.

“Fuck, I can’t…” you whined between moans, and he clicked his tongue before kissing your ear, hot words whispered against your skin.

“You seemed to like having multiple orgasms during your play times,” he tugged on your earlobe with his teeth before kissing your jaw. “So this is for all those times I’ve heard you getting off in your room and not being able to do anything about it.”

And with that his fingers picked up the pace again, rubbing and stroking and fucking you, not caring how sensitive you were from your previous orgasm. Your vision blurred, toes curling against the tiles as you felt the next rush of pleasure shaking your body, making Ashton push his cock even more against you while letting you ride out your climax on his fingers.

Your ears were ringing, breasts heaving as you’ve tried to catch your breath while Ashton slowly eased his fingers out of you, holding onto your hips to keep you upright. He pressed a kiss against your neck, tugging on the collar of the shirt to feel more of your skin, teeth lightly biting you, leaving the smallest of marks on your shoulder before he turned you around, making you lean back against the wall. You gave him the smallest of pouts and he chuckled, pressing his lips against yours, softly kissing you while your fingers curled into his hair at the nape of his neck, and his into the side of your panties, tugging them down your legs. Before you knew it he was already on his knees, pushing your shirt up to kiss your stomach, making his way down.

“You can’t be fucking serious…” you clutched at his hair as he pressed his lips lower, nose nudging at your bellybutton.

“Don’t say you didn’t think about me like this,” he looked up at you, hazel eyes sparking with mischief as he licked between your folds, tongue slowly swirling around your clit.

“More times than I could tell,” you tugged on his dark hair, not sure if you wanted him to stop or keep going.

Ashton hummed as he licked you again, fingers running down your thigh before his fingers curled around the back of your knee, pulling your leg over his shoulder. He dived back in, lips and tongue licking and sucking at your pussy, practically making out with it as you moaned and trashed above him. He switched between long strokes and teasing circles around your hole, lips closing around your clit as his fingers slipped back inside you. It was too much and not enough at the same time, and you pulled on his hair as he brought you to your third orgasm. You felt your thighs shake as he put your leg back on the floor, and he quickly stood up to wrap you in his arms, not wanting you to fall over.

“You’re killing me,” you panted against his neck as Ashton squeezed your hips, suddenly picking you up and making his way towards the living room.

“And I’m still not done with you. You’ve been a tease for months, it’s time to give you what you really deserve,” in seconds he pushed you down on the couch, climbing over you before crashing his lips against yours.

There was nothing slow or soft about his moves now, he was a man on a mission as he tugged off your shirt, lips closing around your nipple while he thumbed the other, making them harder and even more sensitive than before. You would have pressed your thighs together if he wasn’t between them, so instead you wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him closer like that. A chuckle left his lips as he pulled back, kneeling up on the couch and looking over your body. Heat crawled up your neck under his gaze, your body on fire, your mind hazy, the only thing you were sure about was that you wanted Ashton right now.

He must have felt the same about you as he quickly got up to kick off his sweatpants, his cock hard and curling against his stomach as he climbed back over you, letting you wrap your hand around his length as he kissed you again. You moaned into each other’s mouths, clearly done with your teasing now, and just wanting to feel what it was like when you let your feelings take over. Ashton pulled your legs back around his waist, elbows resting next to your head as his fingers curled into your hair, knocking his forehead against yours. His eyes were dark and full of something you haven’t seen before, but you found that you wanted to see it again and again. You tilted your head up, brushing your lips against his while guiding his cock against your hole, sighing as he finally pushed in.

Ashton took you with one smooth thrust, his groans filling your ears as he felt your heat wrap around him. He rested his hips against yours only for a second before he started moving, lips latching onto your neck to suck a mark into your skin.

“Fuck, Ash, I won’t last…” you whimpered as his cock hit your sweet spot again and again, your fingers leaving small crescent marks on his biceps as you held onto him.

“Cum again, baby,” he pushed his lips against yours, hips quickly snapping into you. “Cum again and make me cum with you. Show me what I’ve been missing by not fucking you sooner.”

His words triggered your orgasm, your whines muffled against his shoulder as you shook under him, your walls clenching around his cock like you wanted him to stay in you forever. Ashton groaned as he pounded into you a few more times, then suddenly his body tensed above you, his cock buried deep inside your pussy as his cum filled you up. He pressed chaste kisses on your cheek and lips before pulling out of you and you whined at the loss of his body heat. He shushed you, his voice sweet as he told you he will be back in a second, and then you’ve lost sight of him.

You were pretty sure you have blacked out for some time from the intense orgasms you just had because the next thing you knew was Ashton in his sweatpants, a washcloth in his hand as he softly cleaned you up. He helped you back in your shirt, rubbing his nose against yours as he said something about how you have to be careful before standing up. You clearly didn’t listen to him because the next time he came back you were already lying on the floor, giggling about how clumsy you are. Ashton shook his head before kneeling down next to you, reaching for a pillow to put it under your head, and when he was done, he crawled over you, slowly resting his body against yours, his head on your breasts.

“This was… something…” you let your fingers run through his hair, and he nodded, burrowing closer to you.

“Y/N?” he slowly looked up at you, eyes back to their soft hazel colour, and you felt your heart beating just a little quicker than before.

“Yeah?” you bit your lip, suddenly unsure of what Ashton’s next words would be.

“I guess I do need to ask you to stop being my roommate,” he pushed himself up and over you, resting his weight on his arms next to your head.

“I– uhm… I mean, of course, it’s your house and…” you started babbling, but Ashton quickly shook his head, a smile pulling at his lips.

“No, God no!” he leaned forward to press his lips against yours, silencing you with a kiss. “Silly girl. No, I want you to move out of the guest bedroom and into mine. Can’t have you moaning my name across the hallway when you could do it in my bed instead.”

“Ashton Irwin, you’re the most terrible roommate ever,” you huffed out a laugh, your cheeks hot from your blush and his kiss. “You really want me to…”

“Yes. A 100% yes. I would have offered months ago, but I… guess I wasn’t sure about where we stood…” he confessed, knocking his forehead against yours while he rubbed your nose with his. “Didn’t want to ruin our friendship because I started to have feelings for you.”

“Better late than never, I guess,” you cupped his face in your palms, thumbs rubbing his cheeks lovingly. “Did you really get jealous of Greg?”

“God, he ticked me off, didn’t he?” he moaned, face heating up from the memory. “I saw him leaving your room, but didn’t remember seeing him going in, and then you were only wearing a shirt and those panties and I just… I had this thought last night how I want to finally kiss you and tell you how I feel, and then he was there and I’ve thought…”

“There’s only you, Ash,” now it was your turn to press your lips against his. “Don’t need anyone else when I have the best roommate/creative partner/body pillow/shirt supplier/chef/party planner/possible boyfriend all in one package.”

“Would definitely love to be the boyfriend,” he chuckled, fingers tangling into your hair.

“Guess I could upgrade my roommate membership to girlfriend too?” you quirked an eyebrow at him and Ashton started giggling, nuzzling close again.

“For you it’s entirely free, sweetheart.”

- - - - -

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday @ashtondaddy90 @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon

[hannahlily]

Being Malcolm and Dani adopted kid

Warning: Criminal bio-father, food, nightmares, cuteness, long post

-So they’ve been together for a while now

-like a few years

-On one of their cases a little child is left behind by one of the criminals 

-A killer to be specific, who was called in by the kid

-(does this sound familiar)

-The kid (4ish years old)  takes a liking to Malcolm

-Anyways, Jessica’s been not so subtlety hinting at them about grandkids 

-But Gil suggests the adoption 

-Malcolm was very nervous but everyone told him he would be a good dad

-And after a little talk with JT, Malcolm said he would try (Dani was on board from the start)

-But enough set up into the headcannons 

-Malcolm and Dani are definitely good cop bad cop

-And it sometimes bothers Dani that you might not love her as much as Malcolm

-But then you have a nightmare

-Malcolm was awake (obviously) 

-But you insisted on waking up Dani because you wanted your mom

-All fears gone from that point on

-Dani is a great mom

-She loves doing your hair for you 

-She is the parent you go too to vent and get advice, Malcolm is the parent you go to for a concrete solution 

-You and her have matching leather jackets (yes it’s abordable)

-Malcolm was the one who stayed home with you instead of Dani for the first little bit (and from there when ever your sick)

-She hated every minute of it

-They are many, many a time when the house is almost quiet, you doing homework or reading at the island, Malcolm working on a case and Dani cooking

-there are also moments when everyone’s laughing at something or other (Usually Malcolm’s enthusiasm and/or poor judgment)

-Malcolm had the diet of a child to begin with so whenever Dani’s away the only thing your eating is grilled cheese, cookies and twisters (until you can cook)

-Dani and Gil teach you how to cook

-Speaking of which…

-Grandpa Gil! Grandma Jessica!

-Will spoil you ROTTEN

-Going for rides in grandpa Gil’s car to get takeout during sleepovers

-Gossiping and shopping with grandma Jessica

-If auntie Ainesleigh ever babysits then your coming home with several new words (not bad ones just complicated one), a love for writing and the ability to tell when anyones lying (I’m sure you parents love that one)

-!Nighttime takeout and movie with Malcolm!

-Their have been a few times when you’ve woken up to Malcolm muffled screaming (usually only when Dani’s away for the night)

-On nights like those you usually wait a bit before going to find Malcolm, usually his in the kitchen and the two of you will talk until you start to nod off 

-Which feeds I to my next point

-Malcolm loves putting you to bed

-He loves it

-He definitely always needs to know your safe

-He could read you bedtime stories for hours (he would if Dani didn’t stop him or you didn’t fall asleep)

-One time Dani came back from a night out to you and Malcolm asleep in you bed

-And on a night when Dani wasn’t home he fell asleep in you bed again

-And he woke up to you asking him for donuts for breakfast 

-That’s right folk, Malcolm Bright had a decent nights sleep

-Curled up in a tiny bed, hugging his kid

-Edrisa babysits once, never again, she took you to the morgue

-That’s where you became interested in murder…

-It spiralled from there

-(anyone else feel like Malcolm And Dani’s kid would be a horror/true crime author? Is it just me?)

-Grandparents, auntie Aines and the Tarmels are the only ones allowed to babysit you now

-To summarize

-Dani and Malcolm are amazing parents 

-top tier

Thank you for coming to my self indulgent post of the month (I’m sorry it’s been a while). I feel like I should do a part two with a teen reader. There’s so much more I could put. What do you think?

[whump-town]

A Wonderful Life

Why. Does. This. Fic. Just. Keep. Going.

I swear, the next chapter is the LAST chapter. I mean it. 

Warning: talk of a miscarriage 

Part one. Part two. Part three. 

Haley and Hotch were not the kind of couple that managed to get pregnant on accident. They tried for years, long before law school graduations, years with the district attorney, the academy, Seattle… Hotch was worming his way into a nice cozy profiling job when Haley got their first positive test. Dave was still around back then and he’d been overjoyed-- tripping over his own excitement at just the opportunity to see so much emotion out of his prodigy.

Two months later Dave was sleeping on the couch, the future ex-Mrs. Rossi in their bed, when he got the call. He’ll never forget how quickly Aaron worked to compartmentalize everything happening. Dave could hear him softly sniffling, rubbing at his face as he took back slip-ups. Brushing away any comfort Dave might try to provide. Considering the loss he just suffered as nothing-- not a baby, not even cells. Just a stupid, silly idea.

Haley stopped trying to getting him to grieve with her.

They stopped trying after that.

It’s entirely an accident. A slap to the face to the years they spent with their lives measured out on calendars, going to doctors, and throwing money at her uterus and his sperm to magically make them physically compatible. They had both grown desperate but in opposing ways.

He could not rest. Spent the nights tossing and turning.

Haley needed a child, wanted one with all her might. To love it and teach it all the best parts of the world. She wanted to see how something good and kind could come from the two of them. She held him close and imagined a child with his annoying curiosity and her stubborn streak. Of coming to greet him at the door and squint her eyes and inform him of the mischief his child has been into. So that he might spend hours telling that baby silly stories, catching them up way past bedtime having fallen asleep to his nth retelling of how they fell in love.

The announcement could not have come at a better time.

Haley had been at home when Jason Gideon made the call in Boston that would nearly kill her husband. She hadn’t felt it, no cosmic hand wrapping tightly around her heart to tell her that the other half of her soul, the only person she’s ever loved was in mortal peril. It had been Derek Morgan, standing numbly in an isolated hospital wing, watching her husband’s body be shocked back to life, having air forced into his lungs that had been her telling moment.

And there she was with the child she thought she might never have and a dying husband.

She put an expiration date on both their heads and waited. Prepared to bury her husband and lose the only part of him she has the ability to protect. But the days crawled by and she found herself listening to that little baby’s heartbeat, the same slow pace as Aaron’s. Neither died.

But Jack’s birth could only hold off Aaron’s inability to self-preserve minimally. He’d live to see his son’s birth and Haley was certain he’d get himself killed before Jack’s fifth birthday.

Jack’s developmental delays were a point of much dispute, having a lot to do with Hotch’s denial. Hotch had been the smallest in his class, in his age bracket until ninth grade-- spent years as skinny as a rail and not meeting healthy markers for children his age. Haley had, mercifully, bitten her tongue and hadn’t reminded him that why Jack is small and missing delays have nothing to do with why Hotch had. Jack isn’t being abused at home… he’s just autistic.

Their marriage, no matter how strongly they still loved each other, was going down the drain. The news of all this had been a cross of startling and... about as hard to miss as the broad side of a barn.

“Two is-- Two is a good age to get diagnosed.” Reid, like Emily and Morgan, mistook Hotch’s primary concern. Saw his disappointment, his unease and pinned it on Jack’s diagnosis. The autism. And Hotch had smiled, calmly allowing Reid a moment’s tangent to get out what he needs to say. To try and convince Hotch that autism isn’t the end of the world-- because Reid can’t handle it. If Hotch leaves, if Hotch disowns his own son-- the way Reid’s own father had not long after his own “off the books” diagnosis had been given-- he’s not sure he can handle that.

“Reid,” Hotch had softly, placed his hand on Reid’s arm. The faintest touch. “I love Jack. I’m-- I’m not the best father but…” He won’t leave. The autism he can handle, Jack’s always been Jack and that changes nothing but finally provides some answers. Some guidance where’d they had been left blind.

It felt like Hotch was never going to be given a second chance to prove himself wrong. They seemed to turn around and there George Foyet was. Knife in one hand leaving behind a zombified Hotch and Jack. They watched, unable to do anything to help. Jack wanted Hotch and only Hotch but it was like just seeing the boy physically hurt Hotch.

“He’s late.”

They all look forward to Wednesdays. The two hours that they have to just sit and relax-- to let Jack entertain them with his many interest and love for random things he finds on their desks to play with. So they don’t take too kindly to Hotch coming in late and stealing their Jack time.

Emily glances at the clock at the bottom of her computer screen and shakes her head. Her stomach sinks as she realizes that they’re not just late, they’re nearly forty-five minutes late. Hotch abides by a strict, self-imposed schedule one made of utmost importance by Jack’s own intermingled schedule. She rolls her eyes, though, at Morgan rather than admit that it scares her just a little.

“It’s been raining,” JJ reminds them confidently. “I’m sure they’re out catching frogs in the parking lot or looking for washed-up rocks.”

Frogs. Right, Jack loves frogs. He hates to hold them but thoroughly enjoys chasing them and watching his father squirm and fight to hold them. It is pretty funny though, Aaron Hotchner scrambling to keep a tiny frog in one of his hands. Ending up slightly mud-stained, disheveled all to wrangle a frog.

It’s… humanizing (cute but she wouldn’t be caught dead calling the likes of dumbass Aaron Hotchner “cute”).

Morgan yawns, stretching out his arms high above his head. “I’m sure we have nothing to worry about,” he shrugs, tampering off the end of his yawn with the back of his hand. It’s far more likely that they’re getting breakfast-- the two of them love muffins. It wouldn’t be the first time that Hotch has stopped to get breakfast. If that goes in their favor, he’ll probably bring them some too. That’s not to say they’re not walking down the hall right now, Hotch trying to be as patient as possible as Jack hops down the hall.

Besides, if there was anything to worry about Dave would have gotten a call. If not for the simplicity of one of Hotch’s stories-- some long-winded, exasperated thing about Jack weighing down his pockets with rocks, Jack having a bad morning and he’s not going to be in for a few more minutes because he had to clean oatmeal off of himself and kitchen floor. Then, at the very least, something.

Yet, they have only radio silence.

Which is good.

Probably.

“Any word from Monsieur Crabbyass this fine morning?”

David Rossi has always been fascinated with the relationship between Emily and everyone else on the team-- though his typical interest is in the utter insubordination that occurs so effortlessly and flawlessly between Hotch and Emily. Naturally, it’s on his mind. He can’t consider the week complete until they’ve both stormed into his office to whine about the other. It makes him reconsider why came back.

It’s for that fact that he knows this is going to crush her the most.

Morgan and Hotch go about like a match to a candle wick. Burning one another to the ground. Things between them don’t go unsaid. If there’s an issue they get to it and neither can walk away until their hands are clear.

JJ and Hotch make the perfect parental tag team. So much of what they do is hidden but the thoughtless, mechanical way the two work together is never taken for granted. If shit hits the fan, those two are who you want.

Garcia and Hotch may not get a lot of time but they know she’s his soft spot.

Reid and Hotch are the strangest carbon copy of one another venturing to having a little too much in common to nothing at all.

Emily and Hotch have far too much left unsaid. Tension and, what he believes, to be penance for the courses of action they have both taken. In her inability to trust the team, running from them and forcing Hotch to kill her to protect her. His distance from them, which she has always read as distrust and tinged with his ego. Neither are as simple as they prefer to pretend to perceive themselves to be.

Not as mysterious either.

Leaving him, standing on the catwalk watching her little joke hit the others with fond laughter. Monsieur Crabbyass. That’s a good one and Aaron is probably never going to hear it. Never clench his jaw and glare to the side, forcing himself not to react and admit that it’s actually kind of funny.

Dave watches over them for another moment, taking in their innocence. Emily still snickering at her own joke, Garcia and JJ both shaking their heads at her. Morgan shakes his head but there’s no hiding his own amused smirk.

“He’s not coming in.” Dave clears his throat, “there was an accident on the way here this morning.” He can’t even get out what he needs to say, they’re already trying to talk over him. “Jack alright,” he’s standing there, trying to get his piece out. “Jessica’s already made her way to the hospital, sitting with Jack. He’s hardly got a scratch.”

There’s general ease that settles them with the relief that Jack is fine.

“And Hotch?”

On life support.

Laying in the intensive care unit with defibrillator sticky pads on his chest, waiting for the next episode of tachycardia to have the nurses and doctors of the unit holding their breath. Wondering just how many more times his body can take them beating the shit out of it or if he’ll come back this time.  How many more times can he toe that line before he can’t come back?

“I--” Derek is standing numbly at his desk. Arms limp at his side. “What are-- Is Jack-- Jack is alright? How? Can we-- Will they let us back-- back to see him? They have to let us back to see him, right?”

To see what?

That his body is laid out on a stretcher bare of blankets and pillows. Neck held still by a brace. Jaw titled back and pale, cracked lips stretched around an incubation tube. The hiss of which fills the small empty room. To see that he’s covered in crisp white bandages, wrapped delicately around the purple bruises up and down his ribs. His unstable, flail chest.

To see the x-rays?

To have a doctor stand and explain the damage, the history of Aaron Hotchner’s bones. Old cracks and improperly healed aches. By forty, it’s easy to assume that the ghosts of childhood have long since lost their grasp, but today they nearly cost him his life. A decade worth of cheap shots to his sides, his father’s angry tyrannical downpours wore down the bones.

When he hit the steering wheel, those old bones never stood a chance. They gave out on him.

And what of Jack?

It’s one thing to have those words written out “In the event of my death…” but those are just words to be said. Never meant to be used. Jessica doesn’t understand all of Jack’s charts. She won’t ask him what color his socks are and let him weigh his pants down with rocks and carry him when he gets tired. She won’t get muddy and slimy to chase down frogs. But Jack and everything he owns (aside from some silly knick-knacks and stupid things he thought better to go to Morgan or maybe Garcia) go to Jessica Brooks.

In the event of my death…

“If he’s still alive by the time that we get there… it’s unlikely that they let anyone aside from family back.”

They stand in the silence of that. Of the implication. Does a single one of them know how to do any of this without him? Morgan doesn’t want to be fucking Unit Chief. He got his taste, he’s done. And, the most surprising part is that the somber, truth omission of what they are all thinking comes from Emily Prentiss. Righting her shoulders like she’s standing in front of the nurses and defending them right now.

“But we are his family.”

[meetmymouth]

when sunny met harry : harry styles imagine

based on this request

summary: harry and y/n break up but they’re not the only ones suffering. their -now her- golden retriever sunny thinks harry’s coming back.

“Sunny?” She calls from the bedroom when she doesn’t hear the nails on the wooden floor signalling that he’s following her.

As soon as Y/N gets home from work, Sunny would follow her around like a baby duck for a couple of hours, at least until after dinner, before he decides that Y/N’s here to stay.

Harry and Y/N found the lovable Golden when he was only 2, abused and abandoned near their local Waitrose. When Harry noticed and tried getting close to him, the puppy was all teeth and growls. At the end of year, they had the loveliest, goofiest puppy who loved head massages and belly rubs.

Despite Harry’s hectic schedule, Sunny loved him and Y/N even made fun of him and called Sunny a ‘daddy’s boy’. Harry loved being Sunny’s favourite because he was the fun ‘parent’: he found nothing wrong in sneaking him a few more treats than usual, didn’t raise his voice whenever Sunny decided that the bed was his territory and he let him bite and chew on his arms as much as he liked.

So when they broke up three months ago, it felt like a divorce more than anything so to say. Giving up Sunny and having him stay with Harry wasn’t an option not only for her but also Harry since he was rarely in London and whenever he was, he used to stay over at hers.

So when Harry was moving the last box out of her flat, he gave Sunny one last pat and a kiss on the head before leaving for good. Bless him, Sunny didn’t even know what was going on, he probably thought Harry was coming back either with treats or a movie to cuddle up on the sofa like they always did on Fridays.

“Sunny? Come get it,” Y/N tries again, thinking it will make him come to her if he thinks she’s offering him food but there’s nothing.

When she takes off her watch and earrings, she makes her way into the leaving room but she stops at the sound of Sunny’s wagging tail hitting the floor.

“What are you doing silly?”

Sunny turns his head and gives him a quick glance before turning back.

He’s sat in front of the front door, tail wagging happily as if someone showed him his leash which would mean he would go on his ‘walkies’.

Growing frustrated, she gets closer to the chubby dog and pets his bum.

“What are you doing, huh? You wanna go potty,” she muses more to herself and pouts. “Potty?” Her voice comes out louder than before, hoping that the word he’s fully familiar with would get a reaction out of him. But he stays put.

She does have a theory that might explain his behaviour but she really doesn’t want to go there. She starts walking away, just to test if he follows her but he’s still waiting by the front door.

“Are you kidding me?”

She reaches and knocks on door only once and her feelings are confirmed when Sunny replies with an enthusiastic bark.

Her heart sinks at the realisation that Sunny is, in fact, missing Harry and thinks he’s coming back.

Of course, he’s been showing signs of missing him and looking for him ever since he moved out but they weren’t as heartbreaking as him waiting by the front door. He would wait in front of their -her- bedroom door every morning despite Y/N already leaving the room, as if he was still asleep and would wake up, leave the room and give Sunny his morning pets.

Or when it’s time for bedtime and Sunny sneaks into her room and steals the second pillow from the bed, only to lay his head on it while he snoozed on the floor, next to the bed.

When he did stuff like that, Y/N knew it was because he missed Harry. But when he waited by the front door, it felt like he didn’t even know Harry wasn’t coming back. And that broke her heart.

“Sunny...” she tries guiding him towards the living room by his collar but he keeps barking. “Come on, come get treats.”

He doesn’t budge. In fact, he starts barking more and Y/N backs away, hands rubbing her forehead in hopes of getting rid of her headache.

As he barks away, she leaves him by the front door and perches on the sofa, hand reaching for her phone.

She knows he’s on a break and since they have mutual friends, she knows he’s in London. But she also knows how inappropriate and well, bad it would be to call her ex boyfriend because her dog misses him.

It all sounds so pathetic. And sad.

She sighs happily when Sunny stops barking for a moment but he starts again after a minute, making Y/N groan in frustration.

She calls his name, yells, tells him to stop but Sunny doesn’t budge. It’s like he’s doing it on purpose to piss her off.

With a quick decision, she unlocks her phone and find his contact. She doesn’t even hesitate before pressing the tiny icon and it starts ringing. When it signals that he’s picked up, Y/N feels herself starting to sweat.

“Hello?”

Y/N can’t help but close her eyes at the sound of his voice. It’s been longer than two months since they’ve spoken and only for a moment, she wants to pretend like nothing’s happened and she’s only calling to ask if he wants curry or tacos for tonight.

“Hi,” she almost whispers. “It’s Y/N.”

“I know, I have your number,” he chuckles and Y/N wants to feel jealous over the nonchalant response. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah I’m good. It’s just-“ as she tries to explain what’s going on without sounding like a clingy ex, Sunny’s barks become louder.

“Is that Sunny?” Harry chimes in.

“Yeah, he’s just- he won’t stop barking and he’s been sitting by the front door ever since I got home.”

She gets up and peeks her head into the corridor where Sunny’s still barking.

Harry must’ve heard the increasing sound that he signs on the other end of the line.

“Put me on speaker?” he suggests and Y/N obeys, pressing the speaker button and hopes that Sunny will stop barking if he hears his voice.

“Done,”

For a moment, they don’t speak. Harry doesn’t say anything. Sunny keeps barking.

And then they hear Harry shout Sunny’s name.

Then all of a sudden, the barking stops. Sunny starts looking around, trying to spot Harry and it breaks Y/N’s heart even more. He looks so happy, tail still wagging and tongue out as he comes towards the living room where Y/N’s standing with her phone on hand.

“Sunny boy?” Harry calls again and Sunny finally spots the phone and how Harry’s voice is coming from there.

As Sunny jumps up and down, Harry starts laughing at the sound of Sunny’s nails hitting the floorboard.

“He stopped barking,” Y/N starts but Harry starts talking to Sunny again.

“Sunny! Why are you being so loud, huh? Are you being a bad boy for Y/N?”

She rolls her eyes but at the same time his chest feels tight at the way he says her name.

“Do you think... should I FaceTime him? I mean...” he starts blabbering. “I know it’s not ideal but I miss him too and-“

“You can come and visit him when you’re in London, Harry. It’s us who broke up. Not you and Sunny.”

She knows three months isn’t a long time to get over him. She still misses him. She sometimes freezes in her place when she spots the single toothbrush in the bathroom. She still struggles cooking for one rather than two and she still doesn’t know if she should delete his pictures from her phone or not so she sticks to going through them with a wet smile and a glass of white.

“You sure? I feel like I’d overstep.”

“You wouldn’t. Maybe- maybe not now. Like, not at the moment but you can visit in the future. If you want.”

When she looks down, Sunny’s watching Y/N where he’s now laying on the dog bed in front of the TV unit.

“Alright. Thanks. I think- I’d like that I think. I really do miss him,” he mumbles and Y/N can picture him pinching his bottom lip.

She’s selfish so she wants to ask ‘what about me? Do you miss me too��� but she refrains and clears her throat.

“Okay. Okay- that’s cool. We can arrange that.”

“Has he settled down?”

“Yeah, yeah. He’s just staring at me.”

“Good. Good boy,” he calls out again and Sunny’s ears perk up.

“Silly boy. Anyway, uhm. Thanks, Harry. Sorry for bothering you-“

“Don’t be silly. I know how anxious you get when he keeps barking. This was- this was good.”

She smiles gives another glance at the dog.

“Okay, I’ll let you go now. Thank you.”

“Y/N?” He says, voice all rushed and hurried as if he wants to sneak in a last few words before they hang up.

“Yeah?” She asks, feeling anxious over what’s coming next.

Is he going to tell her not to call again? Or only call for things concerning Sunny?

“Can you- I mean. Can you send me a few pictures of Sunny? I haven’t seen him months and well... yeah.”

At his hesitant request, Y/N feels her chest tighten with sadness and there’s a knot in her stomach, making its way towards her throat and she wants to hang up as soon as possible so that she can start crying.

“Of course,” she promises, head tilted to the side and eyes all glassy with tears threatening to fall.

And later when she’s cuddled up with Sunny on the sofa and spamming Harry with some recent pictures of the silly dog who’s snoozing on her, the tears starts falling down as Harry replies with numerous heart eyes emoji.

                      *                    *                         *

                                 *                      *

part two

💌 SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS 📝 MASTERLIST

[littleladymab]

yesterday @thesugarcookieday​ distracted me from being glum by making us both sad over 7yg ldr nrmts+trucy headcanons so i decided to return the favor in between working on things that I should Actually be working on 

i love this fambily, ur honor

----

Trucy is still mostly asleep when they disembark from the plane. Phoenix is used to this, of course — having more than his fair share of handling all of their things one-armed as he carried her in the other. The stewardess is nice enough to help him with their things, even if he tells her he’s fine. (But it’s hard to say no when the older woman seemed to be extremely fond of Trucy, so he lets her help.) 

The line through customs moves smoothly, thankfully, and Trucy remains mostly asleep through the entire process. The one time they did this when she was awake, Phoenix had to keep making sure she didn’t wander off to investigate something or show someone a card trick, and then he’d lose sight of her for a few minutes and it was a whole process. Half asleep, he knows exactly where she is, can present their passports single-handedly, and has perfected the art of stacking their backpacks and single suitcase. 

Not that they’ve made this trip often, but the frequent weekend trips to visit ‘Aunt’ Maya in Kurain have helped hone the skill. 

Phoenix’s phone buzzes in his pocket, and he juggles Trucy carefully as he pulls it free. 

Have you successfully convinced customs that you’re safe to allow into the country? 

“Hah hah,” Phoenix mutters, and Trucy mumbles the laugh back into his shoulder. 

“What’s funny, Daddy?” she asks, becoming a little more awake as they jostle their way through the airport. “Oh. We made it through the long line already?” 

“You slept right through it. Do you want down?” He thumbs out a reply, careful to keep an eye on where he’s walking as he does so. Despite your wishes, I have infiltrated your country once more.

Trucy hums in thought, then nods. “I want to pull the suitcase!” 

“You sure? It’s almost taller than you.” 

She pouts. “I can do it!” 

Phoenix laughs and puts her down, ruffling her hair as she attempts to fix her skirts. 

“Daddy! Stop!!” Trucy’s pout only deepens, though the seriousness of it is greatly diminished by the creases on her cheeks from her travel pillow. “Is Uncle Miles here already?” 

“Should be.” While the text didn’t say as much, Phoenix knows how to interpret most of Miles’ humor. But to be sure, he also sends, Truce and I will be down shortly. 

The reply is almost immediate. See you soon. 

Phoenix can’t help the smile before returning his phone to his pocket. “Alright. Do you need to use the bathroom?” 

“No!” 

“Are you sure? You remember how long the drive was back to Miles’ place, don’t you?” 

She thinks about this, tapping her finger to her chin. “Okay, you’re right, hold on.” Trucy gives his hand a pat, as if telling a dog to wait, then skips off in the direction of the nearest restroom. 

Phoenix takes the time to stretch, pulling off his beanie to ruffle his own hair — knowing that there’s no possibility of making it look even the slightest bit presentable. How Miles manages to step off of a sixteen hour flight looking as immaculate as always, Phoenix has yet to learn. 

Perhaps it’s one of the perks of First Class, though he’s more certain it just has to do with Miles’ inability to look ruffled in front of other people. 

Trucy emerges from the restroom, looking more awake and refreshed than when he put her down. Well, at least one of them will look presentable. 

She rejoins him, pulling her backpack free from the tower he made. “Okay! Let’s go!” 

“Are you sure you want to carry the luggage?” Phoenix asks as he takes his own backpack. 

“I am sure!” she says, and expertly nudges the suitcase with her foot to tip it down in her direction. “I helped Daddy and Uncle Valant move equipment all the time! This is nothing.” 

He laughs and reaches out to pinch one of her biceps, and she puffs out her cheeks in response. “Oh, good, you’ll be able to take care of me in my old age.” 

Trucy flexes her free arm as she starts walking. “Don’t worry, Daddy! Soon, I will carry you when you get too tired!” 

“I’m going to get you to make that promise in writing!” He’s not even thirty, but with his luck, who knows how soon that would be. 

She takes his hand in hers, and proceeds to take the lead in navigating the airport. Even though this is only her third time visiting, and she can’t read German (as far as he’s aware), she has a keen sense for where to go and who to follow. 

They descend into the area near the luggage carousels, and Trucy bounces up on the balls of her feet with every other step.

“You’re going to trip if you keep that up,” Phoenix says, steadying the suitcase after one particularily wild leap sends it skidding to the side and nearly colliding with someone passing them. 

“Can you see him, Daddy?” she asks, ignoring his caution. “I’m not tall enough.” 

“You wanted to be put down.” 

She sticks her tongue out at him and does another bounce to try and see. “Why is everyone so tall?” 

Phoenix scans the crowd as well, trying not to wonder if he is simply looking in the wrong place or if he’s glancing over Miles or— 

The phone in his hand buzzes with an incoming call and Phoenix answers it without even looking at the caller ID. “Do you always look so lost when in a crowd, Wright?” 

He frowns out of habit, and has to tug Trucy back to his side before she can go wandering off in search of the man currently on the phone. “You can see me?” 

“Yes, I can.” 

Phoenix scans the crowd again, frown starting to deepen as he ignores the twinge of panic, but then their eyes meet as a group of tourists parts and his heart jumps as he watches the smile form over Miles’ face. 

Miles’ lips move seconds before his voice floats through the phone. “Ah, you found me.” 

“Of course I did,” Phoenix says at the same time Trucy tugs on his hand and says, “Oh! I spotted Uncle Miles!” 

He lets her tug him a few steps before she simply abandons him and the suitcase to fling herself headlong through the rush of people. 

“Trucy!” he calls, hanging up and scrambling after her. 

Another flood of tourists surges past, and he scoots through the thick of them to come out the other side — just in time to see Trucy being caught up in Miles’ arms and her delighted laughter ringing out. 

“You’ve grown considerably, Trucy Wright,” Miles says with a groan. “What has your father been feeding you?” 

“Haven’t you heard?” Phoenix asks as he gets within earshot. “She’s been working out. Show him your muscles, Trucy.” 

This time, she has both arms free to flex, and Miles gives an appreciative whistle. “I see,” he muses. “It all makes sense now.” 

Phoenix tucks his hands into the pockets of his sweatshirt, resisting the urge to reach automatically for Miles — always afraid of the distance at first, uncertain what might have changed between visits. “She’s volunteered to carry me in my old age.” 

“Well, I certainly wouldn’t be able to manage. I wear myself out with paperwork.” Miles sets Trucy back down and moves to close the distance between them. 

The pull is automatic and magnetic, and Phoenix frees his hands just in time to wrap his arms around Miles. “I’ve missed you,” he says, the sentiment buried into Miles’ shoulder as he tries to tug himself closer. 

“And I, you,” Miles returns, his nose pressed to the side of Phoenix’s head. 

There is a beat before Phoenix can feel Trucy’s arm around his hip, and he looks down to see her clinging onto both of them with a large grin on her face. 

“I want a hug, too!” she says, rocking up on the balls of her feet and giving her most winning smile.

“Dads only hug, sorry,” he teases, and ruffles her hair. 

She pouts, arms crossed over her chest, but the expression doesn’t last that long before Phoenix gives a sigh and scoops her back up into his arms. From this height, she gives Miles another hug, and snags Phoenix’s beanie for herself. 

“Hey!” he says, having to free one hand to try and snag it back. “I’m the one with bad hair, not you!” 

“You keep ruffling mine!” she says matter of factly and tugs the beanie on, even though it’s too big and slips down low over her brow. Doesn’t diminish the large, teasing grin she wears though. 

Miles laughs, and combs his fingers back through Phoenix’s hair (so maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing after all). “Come on, then. Let’s get you home so you can relax.” 

Phoenix swoops in for a quick kiss, hearing Trucy gasp as Miles doesn’t let him immediately pull back. When he looks, he sees that she’s pulled the beanie down over her eyes. “Are you going to pull the suitcase again, or are you going to make me carry you?” 

“I’m tired, Daddy, carry me,” she says, and drapes her arms around his neck to settle her cheek against the top of his head. The beanie is still pulled down over her eyes, so he reaches up to pluck it free. 

“I’ll get your suitcase,” Miles offers, and ignores Phoenix’s protests — and also effectively ends them by taking Phoenix’s free hand in his own. “There. You have Trucy, I have your suitcase. Seems fair.” He gives Phoenix’s hand a fond squeeze. 

“Alright, you win this round.”

Miles leans in to give him another kiss, then leads them out of the airport towards where his car is waiting for them. 

—— 

The drive back to Miles’ apartment takes a bit as it is a few cities over, though they also stop for lunch on the way in. 

Trucy has to fight to stay awake in the back seat, as Phoenix has to remind her to stay awake until it’s bedtime here in Germany instead of responding to her body demanding California time. He gives her his phone to play games on during the long ride — content to sit with his hand in Miles’, the two of them talking softly as they drive. 

The apartment is as clean as always and Trucy gives a delighted whoop as she bounces onto the sofa that will be pulled out for her bed later. She pulls out her deck of cards and barely gives Miles the chance to sit down before she’s already demonstrating her latest tricks for him. 

They spend the rest of the afternoon like that, making plans for the two weeks of vacation. They order take out for dinner, and Trucy picks a movie that they all curl up onto the couch to watch. 

When Trucy’s bedtime finally arrives, Phoenix helps Miles set up the pull-out sofa for her. She’s already back to being mostly asleep, so he has to usher her into the bathroom to brush her teeth and wash her face before carrying her back into the living room. 

The room is dark, illuminated only by a nightlight in the corner, and the light spilling out of Miles’ open door. 

Phoenix tucks Trucy into bed, running his hand through her hair as she gives a huge yawn. “You’ll be okay?” 

“Yeah, I’ll be okay!” 

“You know where to find me if you need anything.” 

She nods, then throws her arms around his neck for a hug. “Goodnight, Daddy.” 

“Goodnight, baby.” He gives her a kiss on her forehead before picking his way carefully across to Miles’ room. 

Miles looks up from his phone when he hears the door click shut. He doesn’t have to say anything — he just sets aside his phone and barely manages to pull off his glasses before Phoenix collides with him. 

He feels like he can finally breathe again the moment Miles’ arms close around him. “Christ, I’ve missed you,” he sighs. 

“Are you alright?” Miles asks, fingers carding back through Phoenix’s hair.

“I am now.” 

“Phoenix—” 

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” It must not sound that convincing because Miles cups Phoenix’s face between his hands and pulls him back far enough to make eye contact. “You do the Disappointed Dad face a lot better than I do. Trucy would listen to me more if I could pull that off.” 

Miles gives a snort of amusement before leaning in to kiss him. “I’m not disappointed. I’m just worried.” 

“Nothing I haven’t already told you.” 

“They’re all valid things to be worried about, and it’s okay to not be fine.” 

Phoenix shifts up so he can sit on the edge of the bed next to Miles. “I know. I just… Everything feels easier here.” 

Miles lifts an eyebrow. “In Germany?” 

He rocks to the side and nudges Miles with his shoulder. “Next to you.”

There’s a breath of silence between them as Miles takes his hand, lifting it to his lips and placing a tender kiss on their joined fingers. “I’m sorry I had to cancel my trip out over Christmas.” 

Phoenix takes a breath, but Miles cuts him off with a kiss — and a second and a third when the first wasn’t enough. “You don’t have to apologize,” Phoenix says instead of it’s fine, because each time he tries Miles doesn’t let him get the words out. “You know you don’t have to apologize for that.” 

“I get so few chances to see you,” Miles murmurs against his lips, and Phoenix turns it into another kiss. 

He kisses across Miles’ jaw, then down his neck — nuzzling the soft skin there to earn a throaty laugh. “Then make up for lost time,” he says, and gives a sharp, delighted grin as he is tugged into Miles’ lap. 

[prouvaireafterdark]

Honey, If You Stay

Enjoy the next installment of my Michael Sanders AU, set sometime between Caught in the Moment and A Father Like That 💜

Also on AO3!

***

Michael has only just put his bedtime reading on irrigation systems on the floor beside his bed and turned in for the night when his phone buzzes loudly on his bedside table. He reaches for it immediately, unplugging the charger so he can pull it closer to his face. He has a single text from Alex, and another comes through as he’s opening it.

Are you awake?

Please tell me you’re awake.

A heavy feeling sinks into Michael’s gut as he reads the words—something doesn’t feel right. He quickly types out his reply.

Yeah, are you okay?

Alex’s reply comes not from his phone, but in the form of a soft knock on his bedroom window. Michael looks over to see Alex standing outside, drenched by the rain that’s been pouring down all night.

Michael leaps from his bed and rushes to the window. He opens it as far as it’ll go and Alex climbs inside. He reaches for Michael immediately, burying his face in Michael’s neck and breathing deep. Michael wraps his arms around him tight without a care for how wet he gets, anxiety buzzing under his skin.

“What happened?” Michael asks him.

Alex just shakes his head and holds on tighter. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

Dread fills him even more, but as Alex shivers in his arms, Michael decides to shove that down and focus on warming him up—he knows what happens when humans stand in the rain too long and he doesn’t want Alex to get sick.

“You’re freezing, come on,” Michael says, tugging Alex toward his bedroom door.

Alex lets Michael lead him out of his bedroom and into the bathroom down the hall. He leans listlessly against the sink while Michael turns the shower on, holding his hand under the spray until he feels it reach a good temperature.

When he turns around, he sees Alex watching him with a complicated expression on his face. Now that they’re in the light, Michael can see he’s not wearing any eyeliner like he usually is. He isn’t sure what to make of that, but he doesn’t have time to dwell on it—Alex is dripping water all over the floor and he still needs to grab him something dry to change into. He just hopes he has a clean pair of underwear for him—he’s been putting off laundry day a little too long.

“Water should be warm enough now,” Michael says as he heads toward the door. “You can leave your wet clothes in the sink, I’ll wash them with mine tomorrow.”

Alex reaches for Michael’s hand as he’s about to leave. He catches him around the wrist, his fingers digging into his skin a little desperately. Michael turns around to look at him and finds Alex’s eyes glassy and wet, his breathing shallow.

Michael backtracks until he’s standing right in front of him again. Alex’s breathing starts to calm when Michael touches him, moving his free hand up to cradle Alex’s cheek delicately in his palm, so Michael leans in to kiss him, soft and sweet, offering him the only comfort he can think to give.

It works, Alex’s grip on his wrist loosening in relief.

“I’ll be right back, okay?” Michael tells him when he pulls away. “I’m just gonna get some pajamas and a towel for you.”

Alex visibly swallows before he nods.

Michael presses another gentle kiss to his cheek before he leaves the bathroom, closing the door behind him.

He sneaks back into his room and grabs his last clean pair of boxers and a t-shirt from his dresser before slipping into the hall to get a couple of fresh towels from the linen closet. When he reenters the bathroom, he finds Alex already in the shower. His clothes are piled in the sink, and his muddy shoes are on the floor near the cabinet.

Michael throws a towel on the floor and uses his foot to haphazardly wipe up the mess before he sets the clothes down on the closed toilet seat cover. He’s just hanging the towel up on the rack by the shower when the curtain pulls back and Michael looks over to see Alex peeking his head out, the color in his cheeks a healthy pink.

“You gonna join me?” Alex asks, and there’s a subtle, flirtatious twist to his lips that doesn’t quite meet his eyes. It makes Michael hesitate, but if Alex wants him close right now, he can’t think of a single reason he should deny him.

“Yeah,” Michael answers, reaching back to strip off his shirt. He lets his bottoms pool at his feet before he steps into the shower.

As soon as he’s inside, Alex crowds him against the shower wall. The tile is cool against his back, a dizzying contrast to the heat of Alex’s hands on his hips and the hot water beating down around them. He feels Alex’s lips on his then, and his skin is soft as always, but he’s anything but gentle as he covers Michael’s mouth with harsh, biting kisses.

Michael usually loves it when Alex kisses him like this, loves to feel how much Alex wants him, how desperate he is to have him, but this… this feels different. It feels a little like Alex is trying to disappear inside his mouth, and it sours the pleasure coiling in Michael’s belly.

Alex didn’t stand in the rain for a fun midnight hook up, he reminds himself. Something’s wrong.

“Alex,” Michael gasps, tilting his head to get the space to speak, but Alex doesn’t stop kissing him. The grip on his hips tightens as he moves down Michael’s jaw to his throat. He sinks his teeth into the join of Michael’s neck and shoulder, and under normal circumstances Michael would find that brain-meltingly sexy, but right now it just makes the pit of his stomach drop. “Alex, stop, look at me.”

Alex does, his chest heaving as he wrenches himself away like he’s been burned.

“Shit, I’m—I’m sorry,” he gasps, eyes wide and devastated as he tries to put some distance between them, but Michael doesn’t let him go far, reaching for his waist to pull him back in.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay,” Michael assures him, rubbing his palms against the smooth skin of Alex’s sides. “I’m not mad, it’s just—you’re upset.”

Alex looks away, swallowing hard.

Michael raises his right hand from Alex’s waist to tip his chin up until he can look him in the eye again. “What’s going on?” he asks, voice pitched low and soothing despite how unsettled he feels.

They stare at each other for a long minute, the hot water raining down upon them, before Alex’s eyes fill with tears and his face crumbles. Michael catches him as he pitches forward, his right hand immediately going to the back of Alex’s head while his left loops around his waist to hold Alex securely against him.

“Shh, I’m here, it’s okay,” he whispers in Alex’s ear, rocking him softly as he sobs into his neck. Alex’s hands slide uselessly against Michael’s skin as he tries to grab onto him, his chest shuddering with each breath he takes. Every gasp, every sob, every whimper is amplified in his ears by the acoustics of the shower, and Michael’s heart fucking shatters for him. He’s never seen Alex cry like this before. “You’re gonna be okay, baby, I promise,” he says thickly, his own eyes burning with tears. “Whatever it is, I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Alex doesn’t cry for more than a few minutes, but it’s long enough for the shitty water heater they’ve got to run out of hot water. Michael turns the shower off quickly in those precious few seconds before it turns from tepid to ice cold and reaches for the towel on the rack by the shower.

Michael towels Alex off first, starting with his hair and then moving down his body. Alex leans into him a little as he does it, allowing Michael the freedom to touch him however he needs to to get him dry. The intimacy of it strikes him—Alex is usually relentlessly self-sufficient, and Michael hasn’t been naked with anyone without some form of sex being involved since he was old enough to shower by himself. It feels important somehow, like they’ve reached a milestone, or a turning point maybe. Michael’s heart aches at how much Alex is trusting him right now.

“Go get dressed, okay?” Michael tells him once he’s finished. “I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay,” Alex croaks and steps out of the shower.

Michael gets himself dried off as quick as he can and pulls on the clothes he’d been wearing before.

When they’re both fully clothed, they tip-toe into Michael’s bedroom. Alex climbs into Michael’s bed without a word, his back facing him. Michael slides right up against his back, and pulls the covers over them both. He nuzzles his face into the back of Alex’s neck and secures his arm tightly around his waist.

They’re both quiet for a long time, the only sounds to be heard their breathing and the soft patter of rain against the roof. Michael wants to ask him what happened again, but he doesn’t. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning. There’s only one thing Michael needs Alex to know before he loses him to sleep for the night.

“I love you,” Michael whispers, pressing a kiss to the spot behind Alex’s ear. “Whatever’s going on, I love you, and I’m here for you. I’m right here.”

Alex doesn’t respond, but Michael can hear his throat click as he swallows, so he doesn’t think he’s fallen asleep. A moment later, Alex reaches down to entwine their fingers together before bringing their joined hands to rest against his chest, right over his heart.

Michael thinks that’s the end of it, so he drops another kiss to the back of his head and closes his eyes. He’s just on the edge of sleep when he finally hears Alex speak.

“He hates me,” Alex says, so soft Michael barely hears it, but it sends ice shooting through his veins all the same.

Michael doesn’t need to ask who he means. When Alex doesn’t say anything else, he asks, “Did he hit you?”

Michael’s suspected for a while that Alex’s dad beats him, but Alex always shrugs him off whenever he brings it up. He’s never actually seen any marks on him to prove it either, but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. Michael wasn’t in the foster system for long, but it was long enough for him to learn that there’s plenty of ways to hurt people without leaving any evidence.

Alex huffs a bitter laugh. “He didn’t need to.”

Michael pulls him back against his chest a little more firmly. “I’m sorry,” he whispers, not knowing what else he could possibly say to make Alex’s pain disappear.

Alex lifts their joined hands toward his mouth so he can kiss Michael’s fingers and keeps them there. The position is a little awkward for Michael, but he’d rather cut off his own arm than move an inch.

“I just don’t understand,” Alex continues a moment later, his voice sad and frustrated. “Flint can fuck around and get a pat on the back for pulling C’s in every class, but I get one fucking A- and he’s tearing apart my room and making a bonfire out of my posters? Why is nothing I do ever good enough? Why doesn’t—“ Alex cuts himself off abruptly, swallowing the emotion thick in his throat. “Why doesn’t he love me?”

An aching fury unlike anything Michael has ever known rises inside him; he wants to scream, wants to cry at the unjustness of Alex—the beautiful, wonderful boy who has shown him nothing but love and kindness as long as he’s known him—having a father capable of such cruelty that he would make him feel so unloved. Michael’s vision blurs with tears, but it’s not his pain that matters right now, so he bites his bottom lip harshly between his teeth to keep from crying out until he regains his composure enough to answer.

“Because he’s a psychopath who doesn’t even deserve to know you, Alex,” Michael says.

Alex sighs, but otherwise doesn’t react.

“How often does he do stuff like this?” Michael asks, fearing the answer.

“Often enough,” Alex says, and he’s vague enough that Michael gets the feeling this happens far more often than Alex has ever let on.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Michael asks, trying hard not to let it come out like an accusation. He’s relieved when Alex doesn’t take it as one.

“I don’t like thinking about him when I’m with you,” Alex answers.

“What about Liz and Maria? Do they know?”

“A little,” Alex says. “They walk on eggshells around me whenever I say anything, which is really fucking annoying, so I don’t tell them much anymore.”

“So you just deal with it all on your own?” Michael asks, rubbing his thumb against the back of Alex’s hand.

“Yeah,” Alex shrugs. “Always have, I guess. When it gets bad, I just go to the shed behind my house to be alone.”

“But not tonight,” Michael comments.

“No,” he says softly. “Not tonight.”

Michael lets that hang in the air between them for a moment before he asks, “What changed?”

“I, um…” he says, voice wavering. He sniffles when he pauses. “I just needed you, I guess.”

Michael’s chest clenches at Alex’s admission, and he presses a soft kiss to the back of Alex’s neck. He’s about to tell Alex how mutual that need is, but Alex starts to speak again.

“And I didn’t…” he says, his voice soft and hesitant like there’s something he needs to vocalize, but isn’t quite sure how.

“Didn’t what?” Michael prods gently.

“I didn’t feel safe there, with him still in the house,” Alex admits after a brief, pregnant pause and, fuck, Michael wants to cry again.

“You’re safe here,” Michael assures him, a desperate edge to his voice as he draws his arm tighter around him. “You’re safe with me. You’ll always be safe with me, Alex.”

Alex is quiet for a few seconds before Michael hears him sniffle. “I know,” he whispers. “But I’m not always here, am I?”

“You could be,” Michael insists, untangling his fingers from Alex’s to move his hand to his shoulder in an attempt to make him turn around. When he doesn’t budge, Michael slides his right thigh over Alex’s hips and lifts himself over him so he’s lying in the narrow space between Alex and the wall. Alex won’t quite meet his eyes, so he tips his chin up with a gentle touch. “I’m serious, Alex. Don’t go home. Stay here with me.”

It’s dark in his room, but Michael thinks he can make out a wistful expression on Alex’s face as he sighs. Michael waits for his answer with bated breath.

“I can’t do that,” he says finally, shaking his head. Michael tries to fight off the hurt his answer brings, but it’s easier said than done.

“Why not?” Michael asks.

“Because if he finds out where I am—and he will—he’ll hurt you, and I can’t—that’s not an option, no matter how bad things get,” Alex explains. “I can’t risk you like that, Michael. I won’t.”

“And, what, you think I can risk you? You just told me you don’t feel safe in your own home, Alex,” Michael says, his frustration growing. “Why won’t you let me protect you?”

“Because I love you,” Alex says, his voice breaking over the words, “and if he gets his hands on you, I will never forgive myself.”

They stare at each other for a long time, neither one of them willing to back down. Michael understands where Alex is coming from, he does, but the thought of him spending even a single minute somewhere he doesn’t feel safe makes Michael feel like he can’t breathe.

“What if we made a compromise?” Michael asks at last.

“What kind of compromise?” Alex asks warily.

“Forget the shed—you come here if it gets bad,” Michael proposes. “If anyone asks, you’re at Liz’s or Maria’s. You already do that when we’re together anyway, so it’s not like it’s unbelievable.”

Alex doesn’t look entirely convinced.

“I don’t know if—“ Alex starts, but the desperation curdling Michael’s stomach has him interrupting.

“Please, Alex,” Michael begs him. “Let me have this. I need to know you have an exit plan if you need one. I need you to feel safe.”

Alex studies his face as best he can in the dark for a long, terrifying moment.

“Okay,” Alex says at last and Michael feels such a strong rush of relief that he starts to tear up again.

“Thank you,” he says, and a few tears leak from his eyes as he captures Alex’s lips in a kiss. “Thank you.”

Instead of answering with words, Alex rakes his fingers through Michael’s curls and drags him in for another kiss, this one sweet and tender and everything Michael needs right now. It settles him more than he can say, makes him feel safe and warm and loved. He hopes his kisses make Alex feel the same way.

“What about your dad though?” Alex asks when he pulls away, distractedly twirling Michael’s hair between his fingers.

“What about him?” Michael asks.

“Will he be okay with me spending the night?”

“Yeah,” he answers with marginally more confidence than he really feels before he adds, “And, I mean, it’s not like you haven’t spent the night before.”

“Sneaking into your room every once in a while to fool around and then leaving before dawn is not the same thing as a sleepover and you know it, Michael Sanders,” Alex tells him, and he can’t quite see it but he’s sure Alex just rolled his eyes at him.

Michael sighs. He has a point.

“I’ll talk to him to make sure, okay?” Michael promises, reaching out to lay his hand on the side of Alex’s neck.

“Okay,” Alex relents.

Michael snuggles closer and leans in to kiss Alex’s forehead. Alex yawns sleepily as he pulls away and Michael laughs softly under his breath.

“Okay, time for bed,” Michael says, and Alex doesn’t fight him on it.

It takes a little maneuvering, but eventually Michael winds up on his back with Alex’s head resting on his chest and his fingers pressing into Michael’s bare skin where they’ve slid up under his shirt.

“Thank you,” Alex murmurs against his collarbone.

“For what?” Michael asks, dropping a kiss onto the top of Alex’s head.

“For being here,” he answers, like it’s a kindness he never expected, and Michael can’t help but kiss him again.

“I’ll always be here for you, Alex,” Michael tells him, feeling the truth of those words as he whispers them into Alex’s hair. “All you need to do is stay.”

[babywinkz]

The Four Month Sleep Regression

The Four Month Sleep Regression

As a professional sleep consultant, I hear the term “regression” used in regards to just about every imaginable circumstance.

Essentially, if your baby doesn’t sleep well for a couple of nights, parents start dropping the ‘R’ word.

Some people subscribe to the idea that there’s an eight month regression, a 9 month regression, a 1 year regression, as well as teething regressions, growth spurt regressions, and so on.

Others see these as simple hiccups caused by extenuating circumstances.

Is There Such a Thing as Four Month Sleep Regression?

But the four-month regression, everybody agrees on, and for good reason. It’s the real deal, and it’s permanent.

So to understand what’s happening to your baby during this stage, first, you need to know a few things about sleep in general. So here’s the science part, told in plain English.

Many of us just think of sleep as an on-or-off situation.

You’re either asleep or you’re not.

Sleep Cycle in Plain English

But sleep actually has a number of different stages, and they make up the “sleep cycle,” which we go through several times a night.

STAGE 1 – Initial Stage

Stage 1 is that initial stage we’re all familiar with where you can just feel yourself drifting off, but don’t really feel like you’ve fallen asleep.

Anyone who has ever seen their partner nodding off in front of the TV told them to go to bed, and gotten the canned response of, “I wasn’t sleeping!” knows exactly what this looks like.

STAGE 2 – True Sleep

Stage 2, which is considered the first “true sleep” stage. This is where people tend to realize, once woken up, that they actually were sleeping. For anyone taking a “power nap,” this is as deep as you want to go, or else you’re going to wake up groggy.

STAGE 3 – Deep and Regenerative

Stage 3 is deep and regenerative. Also known as “slow wave” sleep, this is where the body starts repairing and rejuvenating the immune system, muscles tissue, energy stores, and sparks growth and development.

STAGE 4 – REM (rapid eye movement

Stage 4 is REM (rapid eye movement) sleep. This is where the brain starts to kick in and consolidates information and memories from the day before. It’s also the stage where we do most of our dreaming.

Once we’ve gone through all of the stages, we either wake up or come close to waking up and then start over again until the alarm goes off.

So what does this have to do with the dreaded regression we were talking about originally?

Well, newborn babies only have 2 stages of sleep; stage 3 and REM, and they spend about half their sleep in each stage.

But at around the third or fourth month, there is a reorganization of sleep, as they embrace the 4-stage method of sleep that they’ll continue to follow for the rest of their lives.

When this change takes place, baby moves from 50% REM sleep to 25% in order to make room for those first two stages.

So although REM sleep is light, it’s not as light as these 2 new stages that they’re getting used to, and with more time spent in lighter sleep, there’s more of a chance that baby’s going to wake up.

Waking Up Is Normal During Sleep

That’s not to say that we want to prevent or avoid baby waking up.

Waking up is absolutely natural, and we continue to wake up three, four, five times a night into adulthood and even more in old age.

As adults, however, we’re able to identify certain comforting truths that baby might not be privy to.

When we wake in the night, we’re able to recognize that,

“Hey, I’m here in my bed, it’s still nighttime, my alarm isn’t going to go off for another three hours, and I’m reasonably certain that there are no monsters lurking under my bed. I can go back to sleep”

And we do. Usually so quickly that, the next morning, we don’t even remember the brief encounter with consciousness.

A four month old baby, of course, lacks these critical thinking skills.

To a four month old baby who fell asleep at her mother’s breast, the reasoning could go much more to the tune of,

“OK, last thing I remember, there was a familiar, beloved face, I was having dinner, and someone was singing me a soothing song about the Teddy Bears’ Picnic. Now I’m alone in this dark room, there’s no food, and there’s probably at least three, possibly four, scary monsters in the immediate vicinity.”

That’s probably an exaggeration, but who knows what goes on in the mind of a four month-old baby?

Understanding Four Month Sleep Regression

Anyways, now that baby’s suddenly realized that Mamma’s not around, and they’re not entirely sure where they’ve gone, the natural response is to do a little freaking out.

That stimulates the fight-or-flight response and, next thing you know, baby’s not going back to sleep without a significant amount of reassurance that everything is OK.

The other major contributor to this 4 month fiasco.

I find, is that up until this point, parents have either been putting their baby to sleep with a pacifier, or by rocking them, or by breastfeeding them, or some similar technique where baby is helped along on the road to falling asleep.

Sleep Associations Don’t Help In the Long Term

Now that baby’s spending more time in light sleep, and therefore has a higher probability of waking up, this suddenly becomes a much bigger issue.

These sleep props or sleep associations can be very sneaky indeed.

Because although they may be helpful in getting your little one to that initial nodding off stage, the lack of them when they wake up means that baby’s not able to get back to sleep again without some outside help.

Cue the fight-or-flight, the crying, and the adrenaline.

When this starts happening every half an hour, parents can find themselves in a nightmarish situation.

So, the good news for anyone experiencing the dreaded Four Month Sleep Regression is that it’s not, in fact, a regression at all.

What is Regression?

A regression is defined as “reversion to an earlier mental or behavioural level,” and that’s actually the opposite of what your baby is experiencing.

This would be much more aptly titled the “Four Month Sleep Progression.”

So, onto the big question.

What can you do to help your little one adjust?

First off, get all of that light out of baby’s room.

I’m not kidding around here. You might think that baby’s room is dark enough, or that baby might not like the dark, and that it’s comforting to have a little bit of light coming through the windows or seeping in from the hallway.

Nope.

1 – Eliminate All Light

Baby’s room should be dark, I mean coal mine on a moonless night kind of dark.

Tape bin bags over the windows if you have to, or cover them with tinfoil. (Just be prepared to explain it to the police when the neighbours accuse you of running a grow-op.)

Newborns and infants are not afraid of the dark.

They are, however, responsive to light. Light tells their brains that it’s time for activity and alertness, and the brain secretes hormones accordingly, so we want to keep that nursery absolutely pitch black during naps and bedtime.

2 – Eliminate All Noise

The other nemesis of daytime sleep, (and nighttime for that matter, although not nearly as often) is noise.

Whether its UPS ringing the doorbell, the dog warning you that the squirrels are back and for sure going to attack the house this time, or something falling on the floor three rooms away.

With baby spending more time in lighter sleep, noises will startle them easily and wake them up, so a white noise machine is a great addition to your nursery.

“Wait, isn’t that a prop,” you’re asking. Well, in a way, it is, but it doesn’t require any winding, resetting, reinserting, or parental presence. It’s just there and it can be on as long as baby’s sleeping, so it’s not a prop we need to avoid.

3 – Create Bedtime Routine

Bedtime routines are also an essential component to getting your baby sleeping well.

Try to keep the routine to about 4 or 5 steps, and don’t end it with a feed. Otherwise, you risk baby nodding off at the breast or the bottle, and that will create the dreaded “association” that we talked about earlier.

So try to keep the feed near the beginning of the routine and plan the songs, stories, and getting into PJs towards the end.

The whole process should be about 20 – 30 minutes long, and the baby should go into their cot while they’re still awake.

If you’re noticing your baby getting fussy before bedtime, you’ve probably waited too long. Four month old babies should only be going about two hours between snoozes, and bedtime should be between 7 and 8 at night.

We Aren’t Perfect – Baby Growth Plays a Role

Now, there are going to be regressions, actual regressions, later on in your little one’s youth. Travelling, illness, cutting teeth, all of these things can cause your little one to have a few bad nights in a row.

But when it comes to the four month “progression,” I’m happy to report that this is a one-time thing. Once you’re through this, your baby will have officially moved into the sleep cycle that they’ll essentially be following for the rest of their life.

Four glorious stages repeated multiple times a night.

Give Your Little One a Gift

And by taking this opportunity to teach them the skills they need to string those sleep cycles together, independently, prop-free, without any need for nursing, rocking, or pacifiers, you’ll have given them a gift that they’ll enjoy for the rest of their young lives.

Of course, some kids are going to take to this process like a fish to water, and some are going to be a little more resistant.

If yours falls into the former category, count yourself as lucky, take delight in your success, and go ahead and gloat about it on Facebook.

For those of you in the latter camp, I’m happy to help in any way I can.

Just visit my website or give me a call and we can work on a more personalized program for your little one.

The most common thing I hear after working with clients is,

“I can’t believe I waited so long to get some help!”

So if you’re considering hiring a consultant, now is absolutely the time.

I offer a free 15 minute evaluation so I can get to know the specifics about your little one’s situation, so book a call now and we can move forward as soon as you’re ready to get your little one sleeping through the night!

Read next >>>

Helping your baby to sleep – NHS

Is This the Right Time To Sleep Train?

Is Sleep Training Safe

Thank you so much for reading, please comment below if you have any questions.

[theladyofdeath]

Rags & Riches {6}

Summary: An A Court of Thorns and Roses Fanfiction. 19th century AU. Based on the prompt sent in by @cat5313 All characters belong to SJM, I am just a fan with a plot.

Warning: Mature content strung throughout.

A/N: In case you were missing your dose of Feysand.

Leave a comment to be tagged & tell me what you think! :)

Nesta’s door was locked. 

So, naturally, Feyre began pounding on it.

A minute later, Nesta swung open her door, wrapping a robe around her nightgown, looking exhausted and utterly annoyed.

“What could you possibly need at this hour?” Nesta snapped, before taking in her sister's apparel. “What on earth are you wearing?”

Feyre pushed past Nesta and made her way inside before she spoke a word.

“By all means,” Nesta sighed, “make yourself comfortable.”

Feyre strode to the ignited fireplace and began to pace. “So, I was downstairs, right? And guess what I saw.”

Nesta groaned, shutting her door and leaning against it. “What? And this better be good, because you woke me from the most lovely dream.”

“Elain and the butler.”

Nesta blinked as Feyre stared at her, awaiting any sort of reaction. “So?”

“No, you don’t understand,” Feyre began. “They were outside, holding hands, laughing, walking...somewhere, I don’t know, I didn’t wait to find out.”

Nesta lifted a brow. “You think Elain is sneaking around with a butler?” She scrunched her nose. “Which? They’re all old-“

“Azriel’s not,” Feyre said.

The two sisters stared at one another.

“I don’t understand,” Nesta said, at last. “Is this a dream? I’m certain I’m still asleep. It’s the only logical explanation as to why you’re wearing men’s clothing.”

“Elain and butler Azriel have...a thing,” Feyre said, as if it were obvious. 

Nesta sighed, rubbing her temples. “Can we do this in the morning? I’m exhausted.”

“Do you not have any concern?” Feyre asked, incredulously. “Elain is outside in the middle of the night sneaking around with the help!”

Nesta shook her head. “And since when did you become so prim and proper?” 

Feyre’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t go judging me. I’m just saying, we have no idea where they’ve gone or what they’re doing.” 

“Go to bed, Feyre,” Nesta sighed, pushing herself off the door to trek back toward her bed. “It’s late and you’re seeing things.”

“I know what I saw-”

“You always do this when father leaves,” she said. “Try to cause chaos. Well, it will not work, not tonight. Go to bed and let me sleep.”

“I’m being serio-”

“You are delusional,” Nesta said, removing her robe and hanging it up. “Go to bed.”

“But I-”

“Bed,” Nesta demanded. “Unless you’d like to further explain your choice of wardrobe.” 

It took everything within Feyre not to grab her eldest sister by the shoulders and shake her until she listened, but it would do no good. Nesta was as stubborn as she was cold. Feyre should have known she would not believe her. 

“Fine,” Feyre said, through gritted teeth. “I’m leaving.”

Nesta did not bother to say goodnight as her sister left her room and slammed the door behind her.

Feyre did not go back toward her room, however. Instead, she hurried back downstairs, out the window, and into the woods. As she began her walk toward the village, she saw no sign of Elain or the butler, making her second guess herself.

Perhaps she had been seeing things. Perhaps she had been going mad. 

Or perhaps the pork roast from supper had just been settling wrong, which was always a possibility. 

She put the thought in the back of her mind once she arrived at the gambling house, her mind now ready to swindle drunk idiots out of their money. She quickly found a seat at a table and joined the fun, careful to keep her cap pulled down low.

Hours passed before a young barmaid approached her, although the girl did not have a cup.

“A gentleman asked me to give you this,” she whispered, pressing a small letter into Feyre’s hand.

Feyre blinked. “Which gentleman?”

She took a quick look around, but saw no gentleman, just the usual crowd that hung around there. 

Without a word, Feyre took the letter and nodded her thanks. The maid scurried away as Feyre broke the seal. In perfect penmanship, it read,

I figured it was you or a boy out past his bedtime. You do know that gambling is illegal, do you not? And surely not appropriate for a Lady. Meet me outside. Try not to attract any hoodlums in the alley. I am wearing a new pair of boots and would hate to scuff them fighting for your honor.

Again.

She tore the letter in half before grabbing her winnings, pushing herself from the table, and storming out the front door.

She looked around frantically, suddenly feeling violated. Had he been following her? She thought he had returned to Velaris after the ball. 

Yet, there he was, leaning against the building across the street that had been closed for the night. His black waistcoat made his violet eyes glow brighter as they caught Feyre, storming toward him.

“What is this?” she demanded, holding up the torn letter.

The young Lord Rhysand lifted a brow. “A pleasantry.”

“A pleasantry?” Feyre laughed, humorless. “You offend me then demand that I meet you outside. And do not go on acting as if you are a hero.” 

“It worked,” Rhysand grinned, “did it not?”

Feyre’s lips snapped shut before she threw the letter into his chest. “You are……a complete ass!”

Rhysand’s head tilted to the side. “I have never met a Lady with a mouth such as yours, Feyre darling.” 

“What are you doing here?” she asked, crossing her arms. “Why are you here? Had you not gone home?”

“I was going to, but then I received word just before we were to leave that kept me local,” he shrugged, saying no more. “I shall be around for a few weeks, yet.”

“That sounds shady,” Feyre said, words clipped. “Are you a mercenary?”

Rhysand chuckled. “Yes, I am a Lord and a mercenary. Many frown upon it, but I have come to accept the judgment.” 

Feyre shook her head. “Well, I do not care that you remain here. All I care about is that you leave me be.”

She went to take a step back, to go back inside of the gambling house, but a broad hand reached out and stopped her, wrapping around her slim wrist.

“You cannot go back in there,” he said, voice low. “Allow me to take you home.” 

She attempted to snatch her hand away, but could not get free from his grasp. “Let go. You have no right to order me around.” 

“No,” he said, eyes growing uncharacteristically dark. “Trust me.”

“But I do not trust you,” she spat. “I do not know you.”

That grin returned, although it did not meet his eyes, the eyes that bore into her own. “I’m taking you home.”

“Let go!” 

As the word escaped her, an explosion sounded.

Feyre was thrown to the ground, Rhysand’s broad frame lying on top of hers. A ringing in her ear told her the explosion had been near, and when she opened her eyes, she saw through Rhysand’s arm that a wall of the gambling house had been blown out. A moment later, the world caught up with her, and men and women were screaming as dust and debris covered the street around them.

“Gods, did you plan this?” Feyre screamed, although she was hardly heard above the chaos. “You are a mercenary!” 

Rhysand said nothing as he hauled her up, tossed her over his shoulder, and hurried down the street. No matter how much Feyre fought against him, no matter how much she screamed, he did not budge, and no one bothered to stop the pair. From an outsider’s eye, they probably saw a man dragging his little brother home, kicking and screaming. Besides, people were bleeding out and injured, or in complete and utter shock. They had much bigger things to worry about. 

When they had gone further down the street, Feyre was thrown onto the back of a horse, and the moment she brought herself to sitting position, Rhysand was already behind her, his arms wrapped around her, digging his heels into the horse’s side. They rode for a moment before the horse was brought to a casual trot, and Rhysand let out a long, loose breath.

Feyre, just now gaining her composure, yelled into the silence, “What the hell was that? Who are you? Why-”

“Do you truly think I am capable of such madness?” Rhysand asked, quietly and calmly.

Feyre tossed her hands into the air. “How should I know? I do not know you!”

“I had overheard a pair talking about it in the tavern,” Rhysand explained. “I went to see if you would be there, which I did, and figured I could either storm in and take you out, most likely provoking a public fight, or write you a letter that angered you enough to get you out the door. Which worked, it seemed, although I got the timing a little bit off. The explosion happened sooner than expected. Either way, you are safe, so we shall mark it a success.” Feyre’s mouth hung open, utterly speechless. “You- I- what? Why do you even care? We do not-”

“If you tell me that we do not know each other one more time, Feyre, darling, my heart will truly break. I could not have my future wife being blown to pieces in a lowly gambling house, could I?”

Feyre looked over her shoulder to glare at the Lord, but her eyes soon softened. “You are bleeding.”

Rhysand followed her gaze and reached to his forehead. True enough, his fingers pulled away, the tips covered in crimson. “I have had worse injuries.” 

“Allow me to clean the wound. It is the least I can do.”

Rhysand’s eyebrows lifted. “Your words are kind, but your tone is not. I am confused.”

She turned away from him. “Fine, you do not want my help? I will gladly-”

“There is an inn up ahead,” Rhysand explained. “We can stop there a moment.”

From Feyre’s home to the village was but a twenty minute jog through the woods, but traveling along the winding road did add some time, even on horseback. 

“Very well,” Feyre said, the night’s events having exhausted her. She was all out of fight. 

The inn appeared a moment later, a lantern lit next to a sign that read, Isobel’s Inn. Feyre had never noticed it before and she instantly felt awful, considering she must have passed it a thousand’s times.

Was she truly so shallow that she did not pay attention to local businesses?

Rhysand helped her off the horse and handed the reins to a stableboy, who led the mare away. There were no judgemental looks as Feyre followed Rhysand up the wooden staircase and into a far room. 

The room was small, certainly not one made to house a Lord. A simple desk sat against the wall, holding a book and a stationary set, and aside from the bed, the fireplace, and a wardrobe, nothing else remained. 

“Most would deem this inappropriate,” Feyre said. “A Lady and a Gentleman alone together at an inn.”

Rhysand chuckled, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I promise not to steal your virtue.” 

“My virtue is not what I am worried about,” Feyre mumbled, taking a bowl from the desk and scurrying down the hall. She was back a moment later, the bowl half full of warm water. Once she set it down, she tore off a piece of the bottom of her undershirt.

She dipped the fabric in the water, then brought it to Rhysand’s forehead. He cringed but did not move as she cleaned off the blood around his cut.

“You said you overheard of the explosion at the tavern,” Feyre began, her voice sounding far louder than expected among the silence. “Who were the men? Why an explosion? I have lived here my entire life and there is not much violence.”

Rhysand chuckled, although he did not seem amused. “There is violence everywhere, Feyre. Perhaps not for people like you and me, but for most, violence is everywhere.”

Feyre let his words sink in a moment, realizing just how much of a little world she had been living in within her manor. Except for the past few months where she had begun sneaking out of the house at night, Feyre’s outings consisted of social calls, parties, and dress fittings. 

“But, I do not know the men who did it nor the motive,” Rhysand said. “I heard explosion and gambling house and came hurrying.”

He was watching her work, and Feyre tried her hardest not to meet his eyes, even as her cheeks turned pink.

“Well, it’s done bleeding, so that is good,” Feyre mumbled, dabbing against his skin. She dipped the rag in the water, the liquid turning a soft shade of pink as she brought the rag back to his skin. “But, it was a deep cut. You should no longer throw yourself over women. Being a hero could seriously endanger your handsome complexion.”

“So, you think I’m handsome?” he grinned. “And, you have changed your mind: you now admit I am, in fact, a hero.” 

Feyre glanced down at the man sitting on the foot of the bed below her. “I think you are an ass.”

“So you have mentioned,” he chuckled, allowing her to finish cleaning his wound.

The room was silent as she worked, but once a moment passed, she said, “Thank you...for helping me. I have done nothing to deserve that.”

“You deserve more than you believe you do,” he said, quietly. “I would know.”

“Oh?” Feyre asked, putting the bloodied rag in the bowl, having finished cleaning. “And why would you know?”

Rhysand watched as she took a step back and observed his newly cleaned wound. It would surely leave a scar, but certainly did not have to be sewn up. His smile softened, and Feyre did not allow him to see the effect such a look had on her. 

“I cannot share all of my secrets,” Rhysand said, quietly. Feyre suddenly felt as if the room had shrunk in size. 

Feyre chuckled, wiping her hands on her trousers as she sat in the wooden chair by the writing desk. “Why do I feel like you have many secrets?”

Rhysand lifted a brow. “Perhaps I do. But, secrets are not all bad.” 

“No?” Feyre asked. “I beg to differ.”

Rhysand chuckled. “Is that so?”

Feyre shrugged. The silence resumed, but Feyre could not sit still. “Well, I suppose I shall head home.”

“I’ll-”

“No, thank you,” Feyre interrupted, rising to her feet. “The manor is only a few miles up the road. I will cut through the woods, and all will be well.” 

“But I can-”

“You injured yourself for me,” Feyre said, shaking her head. “Rest. I have gone through the woods a hundred times, nothing has happened to me yet, and nothing will happen to me now.”

Rhysand opened his mouth to argue, but Feyre would not have it. “Goodnight, Rhysand.”

Before Rhysand could say goodnight, Feyre was already out the door, walking down the hall of the inn.

~~~~~

The sisters all came together the next morning for breakfast.

It was quiet as they picked at their plates.

Elain seemed overjoyed while Feyre seemed exhausted.

Nesta, however, eyed them both suspiciously. 

“Did you come to wake me last night, or was that just a dream?” she asked, quietly, staring at her youngest sister.

Feyre mumbled something that she could not quite make out, so she let it slide. 

“You were wearing men’s clothing,” Nesta went on.

Feyre scoffed. “I would do no such thing.”

“And you said that Elain was running off with the butler.” Elain dropped her fork, the silver clattering loudly against her plate. “Now, that is an interesting dream, Nesta. One that mustn’t be shared out loud.”

Nesta watched Elain suspiciously as her shaky hands grabbed her fork to resume eating her scrambled eggs. She swore she saw her sister glance at the butler along the dining room wall. 

“Hmmm,” Nesta said, taking a bite off her own plate. “My mistake. Must have been a dream after all.

“I hear there was an explosion at the gambling house in town last night,” Elain said, abruptly changing the subject. “Alis said there may have even been some deaths. Is that not horrible?”

Feyre looked at Elain. “Someone died?”

Elain cut up her smoked ham. “That is what Alis heard.”

Feyre said nothing more as she set down her fork and fiddled with her napkin.

“Truly horrible. If only people knew to stay away from such obscene places,” Nesta began. “Anyway, I hear Lord Rhysand is back in town, Feyre. Were you aware?”

Feyre sighed. “No.”

“Well, I just sent out a letter not long ago, inviting him over for supper. I even told him he could stay here, if he so wished.”

Feyre’s eyes darted up and she stared at her oldest sister. “Pardon?”

Elain chewed slowly, staring back and forth between the two of them.

“Since papa is gone, I thought it my role, as the eldest, to decide such matters,” Nesta said.

“You could have asked,” Feyre said, between clenched teeth.

“Truly, Nesta,” Elain began. “It would have been respectable of you to at least ask Feyre before-“

“Lord Lucien has been invited, as well.”

Elain blinked, words falling short. “Has he?”

“He has. I know father wishes for us all to be wed as soon as possible, since the days are going on and we are not becoming any younger.”

“How thoughtful of you,” Elain said. She smiled, but it looked forced. “When will they be joining us?”

“This evening, of course,” Nesta said, dabbing her mouth with her napkin. “Supper will be served at seven.”

~~~~~

Elain looked in the mirror, admiring Alis’ work. 

She had pinned up her hair with emerald pins in perfect ringlets. Her lips were tainted a soft pink, as were her pale cheeks. She was dressed in a golden evening gown. 

It was beautiful.

She was beautiful.

She was dressed to impress her future husband. 

Azriel hadn’t pulled her aside all day, and she had made herself perfectly scarce in all of their familiar places. Whether it was because he was busy or angry over Nesta’s announcement at breakfast, she wasn’t sure. She continuously hoped it was not the latter.

She heard the clock chime throughout the house, announcing it was half past six. Their guests would be arriving soon.

Lord Lucien would be arriving soon. 

She so desperately wished she could run to Azriel, could throw her arms around his neck, to sneak him away and share another beautiful night together, as they had for the second time the night before. 

The second time had been even greater than the first. They were not as shy, no longer tentative. There was no holding back as they made love beneath the stars, then lied awake in the silence and the peace that often ended far too soon. 

And it had ended, that peace, the instant Nesta had announced she had invited Lucien to supper. Because tonight Lucien would charm her. He would gain her trust and hope to further advance their courtship, because he was a kind, genuine soul, and their fathers had come to an understanding that this match was a sure thing.

He would propose.

And Elain, Lady Elain, would have to accept.

~~~~~

@throne-of-ashes-and-beauty @mariamuses @a-happybird @amusicalbookworm @manoncrochanblackbeak @alifletcher2012 @candid-confetti @fandoms-everywhere-united @mis-lil-red @littlehoneyybee @abillionlittlepieces @impossiblescissorspeachpaper @awesomelena555 @theoverlyenthusiasticwriter @tswaney17 @jemma-nessian-and-elriel @rhysandsrightknee @gendryaforthemasses @dayanna-hatter @thebluemartini @welcometothespeaknowworldtour @julemmaes @christiashadows @sleeping-and-books @itsme-malin @agnez312 @cat5313 @amren-courtofdreams @chemica @empress-ofbloodshed @islamonna @illyrianbeauty  @sleeping-and-books @queenofxhearts @sleeping-and-books​ @aedionashryver-wolfofthenorth​ @queenofillea1​ @mynewdreamwasyou​ @levivlio​ @hellolenas​ @burritowithfeels​ @that-other-pineapple​ @girl-who-reads-the-books​ @raghad-50725 @musicmaam @rowaelinforeverworld​ @negativenesta  @welcometothespeaknowworldtour​ @gloriouspaintercreatorbandit​

[utterlyinevitable]

hey i know you fell asleep but thank you for the bed time story 🥺🥺🥺

always here to send you fever dream fics on wa 💕 i know it’s not the m fluff you wanted but i did say TBC 👀

transcript under the cut ❤

Post-Bakery Bedtime Story

Mason gets back to the warehouse still dazed and confused as to why the bit at the bakery affected him so much. He doesn’t know why but his feet take him to the library instead of to his room. Nate is sat on his favorite chair by the large window with a tome, Felix is lying on the floor tossing a ball up and down.

“Ah you’re back. The detective make it to work okay?” Felix said with a wink that fell flat when he looked at his friends sullen face. 

Mason shrugged “assume so” 

Nate perked up at the uncertainty in his voice. “Assume so? What do you mean? Did something happen?” 

“I don’t fucking know” m said with such terrifying venom. 

Felix pulled a face and stealthily bolted out of the room. He was not going to stick around for hurricane Mason. Nah ah ah

Nate closed his book and studied the now pacing vampire. Masons hands shoved deep in his pockets and not a cigarette in sight. Not even the faint smell of tobacco that’s synonymous with him tainted his scent and the air. Nate knows it’s because of the detective he stopped smoking. Whether Mason realizes it or not.

“What did you say?” Nate asked knowingly. He wasn’t fully sure Mason said something to upset the detective but 100 years together and his ironclad intuition give him the lead.

“The truth”

“Which is?” 

“It’s not my fault that vile cupcake was sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong” 

“Mason.” Nate all but scolded, speaking volumes with his tone and causing Mason to stop pacing for a moment.

“I think I fucked up” he muttered. All his thoughts culminating to this conclusion.

Nate said nothing. Just waiting for Mason to elaborated on his revelation.

“Lia stomped away. I think she was upset...” But nothing came. Nate watched as Mason’s brows knitted further together and his frown cemented among his freckled features. Whatever happened took it’s toll. 

So Nate asked, “Did you apologize?” 

“Why would I? I didn’t say anything that wasn’t true” 

“If shes upset, you apologize. That’s the right thing to do” 

“Well I damn well didn’t get the chance! She ran right to the station”

“What did you say” Nate basically growled. 

“That all we’re doing is sleeping together. The only ‘seeing’” - he did air quotes with his fingers - “happening is of one another naked”

“Mason...”

He gave Nate a scowl at the sad and patronizing use of his given name.

Time passed silently as the two collected their thoughts. Mason still unsure why he cares so much and Nate afraid for both of them.

Nate breaks the tension. “Is that all that’s going on?”  

“Why would-“ Mason begins to retort, a natural reaction to challenge him. He takes a breath and a pause and then sighs “I hope so.”

Nate nods slowly as he mulls the confession over. He knows exactly why the closed off vampire feels this way and battles whether to break the news to Mason or not. 

Instead he chooses a gentler approach; 

“You care about her. As do we all.”

And then Nate leaves Mason to his own devices

***

That evening Nate volunteered to check up on the detective instead of just simply patrolling, unseen. 

“Oh. Hey” she gave a half hearted smile when he enters her office 

“I’m here to escort you home, if you’ll have me” 

“Thanks. Just need a few more minutes to finish this” 

“Of course.” Nate takes his seat at the table in the corner like usual and gazes around the room trying to assess Mason’s emotional damage. The beat of her heart isn’t consistent with anger. But her demeanor implies somethings amiss

On the walk home he asks “How was your day?”

“Fine” 

“Anything eventful happen?” 

“No. Thankfully.” She takes a pause and kicks a rock. “Actually...” 

Nate perks up, thinking how lucky it is that she’s the one to bring it up and be able to talk about masons mishap. Nate did spend most of the afternoon batting around the implications of the situation on the team, and then the implications of his intervention. 

But then she says, “Verda knows.” 

Nates brows furrowed. Lia notices.  

“About you guys,” she clarifies. Before Nate can respond she quickly adds “his partner eric came by. He’s a supernatural too apparently.” She huffs in disbelief. “and he wants me to convince verda everything’s okay so he can tell him”

NaTe doesn’t really know what to say. The agency needs to know of course. But he also knew Eric is supernatural after their encounter at the carnival - he got the sense. 

Nate wasn’t prepared to have this kind of conversation this evening. 

“How do you feel about that?” he simply asked. 

“I’m glad he knows. That I’ll have somebody to talk to about all this weirdness. But what if he doesn’t come around? What happens if Eric can’t ever tell him, you know? What kind of relationship is that to keep such a big part of your life from the one you love?”

They talk more about this and soon enough they’re at her apartment

And Nate decides to do something out of character. He decides to confront her with his preferred knowledge; “Were you crying earlier?”

She’s taken aback. It’d been hours and she put on a ton of concealer. Damn vampire senses. 

“It doesn’t matter.” There was a fragile finality to her words.  

“Your feelings matter. WhAtever it is”

“It’s stupid.” She shook her head to reaffirm. “My heart got away from me for a moment. It won’t happen again” 

Nate WISHES he could play Cupid. All they needed was a push in the right direction. But they needed to figure this out on their own.

“For what it’s worth, in all my years, listening to your heart is the greatest strength” 

Nate didn’t miss the near inaudible scoff that escaped her

 * * *

So she doesn’t see ub for 4ish days. They’re around. They patrol frequently but no ones come around to say hi and she’s thankful. More time to focus of wtf her heart is trying to tell her and how to deal with verda

She ends up going to the warehouse to pick up Nate. They’ve been texting about the verda situation. Dressed up and ready for the dinner she saunters through the halls and finds him waiting for her in the living room. 

“Damn Lia! You look stunning!” Felix chimes as he takes a look at her in her black dress and matching suede thigh high boots and make up. Very different from the smart dressed detective he sees daily. 

“Thanks” she blushes. She turns to Nate “you ready?” 

“Let me grab my coat” he exits to his room

“Is this a date?” Felix asks innocently enough 

“More like an intervention. Nates good with people and will be able to help verda understand” 

“Makes sense” he agrees. Then nudges her with his elbow “Mason would be the worst option huh” 

“Probably” 

Luckily Nate is back before Felix could read more into the situation and her noncommittal tone. 

“Ready!” He calls and smiles after making sure everything is in order. 

Just as lia is about to meet him in the hallway she nearly collides with Mason entering the room. 

“Hey,” she mumbles politely as she sidesteps him

Mason doesn’t say anything too shocked by her close presence. 

She thinks she hears him grunt and tries to hide her eye roll

As Nate and Lia make their way out of the warehouse mason watches her every movement. Every step. Every sway of her hips and brush of her air in the wind she creates. 

“Feel like groveling yet?” Felix whispers besides him pulling Mason out of the trance. 

“Fuck off”

Masons chest tightens. And he realizes he misses her. Not just her body and her touch but her presence. Her companionship.

Shit

He needs to apologize.

Later that evening, more like in the dead of night, Masons on the roof after patrolling a little earlier than normal but he needed the reprieve at the time. Needed the solitude and distraction patrolling provided. 

Now he’s tuned into nature and so at ease

Until he hears an irregular sound coming from floors below

Not irregular, not really. Not foreign, no. But a familiar thumping

No it couldn’t be.

He’s imagining things

He lights up another cigarette to make it go away

But it persists. It’s still there when he’s done

So he goes downstairs to get a beer to numb the pain. But he takes the route past the room that’s been empty nearly every single night since they moved in.

and it’s there

The steady, calm drum of her heartbeat

And he doesn’t need that beer anymore

He goes into his room two doors down and rests his eyes and body to the sound of her

* * *

The next morning she’s in the smaller, functional kitchen at the table eating an omelet she made along with some coffee. She has a full day of combat training and needs the calories.

Mason waited until he was sure she was relaxed and not distracted to enter. Tbh he’s never been in this room before. No need when human food smells worse than garbage.

He plops himself on the edge of the table opposite her. She doesn’t look up from what she’s reading on her phone. He doesn’t say anything either.

Eventually she takes in a very long very deep breath shuts her eyes puts her phone and fork down exhales and looks at him. Masking her features as best she can in close Proximity

Her left eyebrow raises, silently questioning

He doesn’t know what to say

He didn’t think this far ahead

She has his mind in complete disarray. Everything on his mind in his thoughts is her her her

But she won’t crack first. He can see that. He can feel how cold she is

“Look -“ is all he manages to choke out before she interrupts

“Save it.”

His mouth slams shut at the indifferent hostility

She continues, “what you said was out of line and frankly embarrassing.” 

He gives a tilt of his head in agreement. 

“I don’t need the entire town knowing my business.”

Instinct told him to make a sex joke, but he knew better than to break out the comfortable banter right now. Had enough awareness to see they weren’t back on good terms -- were they ever? 

Lia continued, “I also shouldnt have stormed out. So sorry for overreacting.”

Eventually she allowed for Mason to speak more than one word, “sorry For saying it”

She gave a tight smile. Forced and lacking all the things he’s come to look forward in that toothy grin of hers. 

She pushed her chair out and stood. Mason followed, standing three steps from her. He waited for the hug that she was bound to give him. She must be just as touch starved as he is he hopes.

But instead she picks up her dishes and puts them in the washer and walks out.

-TBC-

_____________

A/N: if you’re not ayla and you’re reading this, thank you for making it this far. and sorry it’s shit. this is just a thing i wrote over whatsapp at midnight because my friend asked for a fluffy m fic 😅

[zmediaoutlet]

in support of Black Lives Matter, @petitgateau911 donated $25, and requested weecest first time. Thank you for donating!

to get your own personalized fic, please see this post. (no longer taking prompts)

They’re just outside Wheeling, and Dad’s been gone for twenty-four days, and it’s friggin’ cold outside but it’s going to be 1999 in an hour, and Sammy’s--

“Dude, are you drunk?” Dean says.

“No,” Sam says, with affronted dignity. He puts his beer down in the snow and stands on one leg, easy balance. “See. You’re drunk.”

“Sure thing, squirt,” Dean says, laughing, and Sam grins at him in a total unexpected bloom out of nowhere, and it warms his gut just as much as the bonfire’s doing. It’s not much of a New Year’s Eve, but he’s got himself with no broken bones, and he’s got Sammy smiling, and Dad’s in the wind but they’ve got a twelve-pack and bottle of five-buck champagne waiting and a fire, out back of the trailer, and things aren’t all right with the world but, shit, Dean’s known them of a hell of a lot more wrong, so. He lifts his beer in a little toast, to Sam’s balance and to the world in general, and kicks his boots out into the snow. “You let me know if we’re up too far past your bedtime.”

Sam sticks his tongue out, kinda proving Dean’s point, but hell. He’s cheerful, which can get in short supply most days. No school to miss, with everything closed for the winter break, and Dad’s top-secret-no-sons-allowed hunt’s been keeping the boat unrocked, since Dad pretty much just calls Dean every few days to check in as proof of life, and so it’s just been them, and the woods out here, and the trailer. No job in this town, but Dad left enough cash that they’re floated for a while, and Christmas was pretty lame but Dean made a mega-batch of brownies from a box mix that turned out pretty good and Sam nearly ate his weight in ‘em, and there was enough cash left in Dean’s budget to do New Year’s right. Sammy’s even unbent enough to have some drinks, which frankly Dean’s surprised didn’t take more wheedling, but Sam shrugged and said, “It’s traditional, right?” and Dean could’ve just hugged him, but he settled for a noogie instead.

Sam’s still insisting on his sobriety. Dean can’t stop laughing, from his tree-stump that’s serving as a seat. “Shut up, watch,” Sam says, and does the whole rigamarole of the DUI stop to prove it. Walks a straight line, and stands on one foot, and recites the alphabet backwards while touching his nose. “See?”

“Sammy, how the hell do you know all that stuff?” Dean says. “You drunk-driving when I’m not around?”

He keeps holding his balance, looking up at the dark sky with his finger still on his nose. “DARE class, when we were in New Mexico,” Sam says, and finally drops the stance, shrugging. “Figured it couldn’t hurt to be good at it, just in case.”

Just in case. Dean’s little brother, ladies and gents. “You’re such a freak,” Dean says, glad, and Sam rolls his eyes but stumps over through the snow in his too-big boots, shaking his empty can. “Oh, and now you want a refill?”

“How long until we can open the champagne?” Sam says, practical, and Dean checks his watch. 47 minutes. “So, beer,” Sam says, and Dean shrugs, and gives him one.

“All right, short stuff,” Dean says, getting to his feet. He really is getting kinda tipsy--five beers to Sam’s two, that’s maybe understandable. “One thing about being a Winchester--you gotta hold your liquor.” Sam snorts, which Dean ignores. “Second thing, though, is that no matter what, you gotta be able to handle yourself. No matter what.”

“You said no matter what twice,” Sam says, helpfully, and Dean tugs his hat down over his face.

“So,” Dean says, and hops inside for their pistols, and a box of rounds. When he comes back out into the cold Sam’s resettled his hat and his face is pink and his eyes bright, and Dean does hug him then, a one-armed sling around his neck that makes Sam squawk but drags him all warm and bony up into Dean’s side, and then Dean drags them to the other side of the bonfire, where the light starts to fade as the trees encroach on the yard. The fence is kinda falling apart, but it’s steady enough to hold their empties.

Dean sets it up while Sam’s making skeptical-face. “You’re making me do training now?” Sam says, and Dean jumps back over through the deeper snow, crunching into the holes he already made. “Dude, this is lame.”

“Dude, it’s gonna be great,” Dean says, “because check it out: every can you take out, you get to take a drink!”

Sam sighs, like he’s aggravated, but he’s just being fifteen, because he’s grinning right after. Dean stands a pace behind him while he loads, professional, checking his weapon right just like Dean taught him--and he lines up, skinny shoulders square, and sights along his strong arm just like he’s supposed to. Shot--whipcrack sound that ricochets through the clearing--and-- “Yes!” Dean says, punching Sam’s shoulder, and he grabs their beers and toasts Sam, clunking the cans together, and even Sam going wait, you don’t get to drink yet! doesn’t dim Dean’s cheer.

“Okay,” Dean says, waggling his eyebrows, “my turn,” and Sam squints at him thoughtfully and then stoops and flings at handful of snow at Dean just as he’s lining up to fire, and he sputters and the shot goes wild into a tree, and he yells “Dude!”, scraping snow off his face, but Sam’s dancing backwards, laughing, saying, “Hey, you never said that was against the rules!” and oh, it is on.

Snowball fights aren’t supposed to involve gunfire, Dean’s pretty sure, but sometimes the Winchesters play on different rules than other people. All bets are off after Dean dumps a handful of snow down Sammy’s jeans when he’s aiming for his next can, and Sam’s girly-ass scream could probably be heard down at city hall. Dean makes his next shot even with Sam jumping around behind him making crazy monkey noises, and he drains his beer that time, and watches Sammy do the same. There’s a brief stand-off when Dean’s got two snowballs packed and ready, tossing them back and forth between his gloved hands, and Sam keeps watching him instead of raising his pistol to fire--solved when Sam raises--Dean throws--Sam immediately ducks and rolls forward in the snow, and fires closer--and totally misses, but Dean’s so impressed at the shitty attempt at ninjahood that he says Sam earned a drink anyway, and before long they’re laying on the ground, laughing and breathless, the cans all shot and the beer mostly gone, things pretty much perfect.

“How long,” Sam says, and Dean checks his watch.

“Eight minutes,” he says. Sam hums, sits up. He’s still got on his hat, somehow, but his nose is bright pink with cold. “Damn, kiddo. You’re gonna turn into a popsicle.”

Eyeroll, very obvious over Sam’s shoulder. “You’re the one who’s not wearing a hat,” he says, and Dean shrugs. Some things are just too dorky. When Sam’s a little older he’ll know it. “Anyway, whose fault is it that I’ve got snow in my boxers.”

“Um, yours,” Dean says, and Sam raises his eyebrows outraged and Dean says, “Hey, you started it, squirt,” and Sam says, “Only because you cheated first!” and Dean scoops a little clump of snow up and tosses it at Sam’s head, and Sam squawks and launched a full out tackle at Dean, and it’s on, yet again.

Sam’s wriggly and he’s got the bony elbows, but Dean still has five inches on him and the reach to match, and also he’s been fighting dirty way longer. He gets Sam pinned in pretty short order, an armbar over his chest and Dean grinning down into his face, and Sam puffs in irritation but then melts back into the ground--Sam’s special way of losing where somehow he tries to make it seem like it was always his idea, and he doesn’t care, anyway. “Uncle?” Dean says, and Sam says, “Whatever,” and Dean roll his eyes but sits up, straddling Sam just in case he tries anything else, and checks his watch again.

“Hey, one minute!” he says. “Got any resolutions planned?”

“Yeah,” Sam says, quiet. Different, to his usual moody Sam-ness, and Dean frowns, looks at him. His face is still all pink, nose and cheeks and what Dean can see of his ears where his hat’s not tugged down, and he doesn’t look--sad, or anything. Sam licks his lips, looks back at him like he wants to say something, but doesn’t know how to get it out.

“What?” Dean says, and Sam’s mouth twitches, and then he grabs Dean by the lapels of his leather jacket and pulls him down, and kisses him.

Dean catches himself with one hand in the snow to stop from toppling forward. He hovers there, shocked, and Sam--Sam holds on tight, presses their lips clumsily together. Like he has no idea what he’s doing, but he’s determined to do it anyway. “Sam,” Dean mumbles, brain still not quite together, and Sam huffs against his mouth and kisses him again, this weird smoochy noise that makes it really click in Dean’s head--Sam, kissing him. Sammy, kissing him. He blinks, pushes up, and Sam lets him go, back in the snow, face bright red and his mouth set like he knows he’s lost a bet but is determined not to care.

“Sammy,” Dean says. Everything’s static, two-am test pattern in his head.

Sam looks at him, then at the fire. “Midnight,” he says, and Dean glances at his watch to see that--yeah, jesus, it’s midnight, happy 1999, and Sammy fucking kissed him in the snow and that’s not--

“I just wanted to,” Sam says, quiet. Dean sits there, uncertain. “Just one thing, for me. Doesn’t have to be a big deal, Dean.”

“It doesn’t?” Dean says, and Sam gets redder somehow, his face all washed-out warm in the firelight, and Dean thinks--just one thing. For him. For all those days and days of curling up on the fold-out together and elbowing each other through Escape from LA and Sam falling asleep in the curve of Dean’s arm, that time, and Dean touching his cheek and thinking--wondering--

“Can we open the champagne?” Sam says, fake cheerful, pressing his hands down against the ground to squirm backwards, to get away, and Dean leans down and kisses him right--full contact, spreading himself over Sam’s body, a hand on Sam’s cheek and pressing Sam’s mouth open, wet touch of beery heat and Sam full-on gasps against Dean like a girl having her first time, and Dean pulls back for a second, turned upside down, inside out. Sam shudders, grabs at him, says his name.

“Sammy,” Dean says back, and then, weird and raw, “you never did this before?”

Sam stares at him, four inches away. Shakes his head, and the ends of his hair are wet with snow, clinging to his cheeks, and Dean licks his lips and tastes--beer--and tugs Sam up, and over, and when he sits down on the stump Sam collapses into his lap in total and ongoing surprise, like having started this he had absolutely no idea it could go further. “What?” he says, dumb, which is a nice change for once, for Dean to be the one who knows what’s going on, and Dean says, “Shut up, Sammy,” and tucks his hands on either side of Sam’s jaw and kisses him again, and again, soft and slow like he learned to do with the nervous chicks, and Sam just melts into his lap, grabbing at him awkward but eager. Wanting, and that’s just--Dean can’t think about that.

He gets an arm around Sam’s waist, keeps him close, and Sam squirms, his weight shifting in Dean’s lap. “Yeah?” Dean says, and his dick--jesus, his dick’s on board, has been, rocking a half-chub since Sam started wrestling with him but he’s been able to put that away--has always been able to put that away--only this time he doesn’t have to and it’s got his head spinning, his body moving on weird autopilot, since Sam wants it, Sam’s been wanting it. He grabs Sam’s ass and Sam jerks, gasping into his mouth, and Dean squeezes, instinct telling him that that’s a good thing, a good turned-on sound, and Sam shivers and his hips push back, and then cringe forward against Dean’s stomach, and then he jerks and says, “Oh,” soft, and Dean doesn’t get what that means until Sam’s hiding his face in Dean’s shoulder, shaking, and Dean realizes that Sam came in his pants, just from Dean touching him and having him in his lap, and his whole body feels like it about catches fire, right then.

Sam’s still quivering, though, and Dean’s not a dickhead. “Sammy,” he says, and tugs off a glove with his teeth to touch Sam’s bare skin--his neck, exposed to the cold, and the silky hair at the base of his skull.

“I didn’t--” Sam mumbles, clutching at Dean’s coat, and Dean doesn’t know what that means but he’s got a lot of experience reassuring his little brother, and even if this situation is--insane--world-ending maybe--well, he knows what to do here.

“Probably got jizz on my jeans, freak,” he says, super soft, and Sam pulls back and looks at him horrified, and then sees his expression and punches him in the shoulder, hard. “Ow,” Dean says, obligingly, and then touches Sam’s jaw, easy. “Hey. It’s cool.”

“Is it cool?” Sam says, echoing, and Dean bites the corner of his mouth, knowing he doesn’t really have an answer. Sam snorts, bitter. Dean doesn’t know if he was ever so bitter. “Yeah, see? I--I shouldn’t have--”

“Shut up, Sammy,” Dean says, again, and Sam looks at him, miserable. Dean shrugs. “New year. We still got that bottle of champagne. We could go inside. Whatever--whatever you want to do, man. Night’s still young.”

Sam stares at him. “Really?” he says, and Dean says, maybe more honest than he can ever remember being with anyone, “It’s all good with me,” because--it is. For once. Maybe for the first time in Dean’s whole life--everything is completely, totally, bizarrely, freakily--good. He blames it on the beer, and on how Sam starts, even if uncertainly, to smile.

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

if anon hasn't swung by yet, i'm here to ask what happens when remy realizes when he's in love with patton

Yes hello!! Welcome to: so you’re a gay bastard who’s just met a literal ray of sunshine who’s as fluffy and soft and sugary sweet as a marshmallow. falling in love’s inevitable, but how does the gay bastard recognize when it’s happened to him??? come find out!

set in the Mindscape because I Said So

Remy exists as a function of Thomas

Most functions just live in the Imagination but he’s active enough he gets his own room with the sides

(Technically it’s just a guest bedroom that’s in Thomas’s house- Remy took the memory of it and put it in the mindscape to use, which is why Thomas can never accurately remember the room or its layout when he’s not in it sjdbfhjsd)

That’s not super important but I wanted to say it

Anyways

Remy interacts with the other sides, of course

He doesn’t always get on amazingly with all of them, though

As a technical ward of the Imagination, Remy feels… slightly awkward dealing with Roman or Remus extensively. It’s not like he can’t, it just feels off

He and Virgil can be snarky and sassy together but they also clash a good amount when it comes to bedtime for Thomas

He’s not really ever up against Logan or Deceit, and they get on well enough, but it’s not like they click like natural friends or anything (shocking, I know, given my losleep agenda, but shhhh I haven’t gotten to the good part of this bullet fic)

Patton, however, is the exception

Sure, Remy may not be a happy-pappy optimist like Patton is, but surprisingly enough… he appreciates Patton’s brightness, his sunny outlook, his big smiles and sweet offers

And Patton is surprisingly accepting of Remy’s snark and sass and snap. He finds them amusing, enjoys entertaining his quips and returning them with puns and wordplay and giggles

Their friendship’s a quick-formed one, one that’s usually found chatting in the kitchen while Remy abuses the coffee machine and Patton bakes, but also in the Commons watching various shows you’d never expect them to watch, and in each other’s rooms when it’s late and they should be sleeping but they can’t for one reason or another so they waste the time sipping hot cocoa and talking together instead, and more

It’s good. They’re good.

Remy really should have seen this coming

He has a lot of chances to fall in love with Patton

And he takes all these chances very happily

But there’s only one where he realizes that he’s fallen, and fallen HARD

There were many moments that could have been ‘the one’

Like one of the few times he chose to bake instead of just watch with his coffee, him complaining about the mess while Patton laughed and showed him how to do it

They always ended up with something edible smeared on his face- chocolate or frosting or cookie dough, just a touch normally dashed against his chin or cheeks

And that always ended with Patton carefully wiping away the substance (and once or twice, on more memorable substances, kissing it off- normally when it was a smear of Patton’s favorite cookie dough)

One of those times, when Patton and Remy’s faces were stupidly close, Patton tenderly wiping away whatever mess was left on Remy’s face, Remy’s sunglasses useless to hide his gaze when this close, eyes both on each other, would have been a perfect time for Remy to remember that he was very gay and Patton was very cute

But he normally only remembered the ‘very cute’ part without any context, and another day passed with him left in self-ignorance

He could have realized it one of the times a movie marathon of cheesy romcoms (Remy and Patton both loved the cheese for different reasons) ran long and Patton fell asleep against him, head against Remy’s shoulder and body tucked against Remy’s side

He only got closer to Remy the longer he was asleep, but that was okay. Remy knew a sleepy Patton was a cuddly one. He just wrapped his arm over Patton and held him closer

Patton was always mumbling something when he was sleeping, which was cute, Remy had considered, cute how he scrunched up his nose as he thought before spilling out nonsense words and phrases

Cute how he would smile at whatever his sleepy thoughts were

Cute how sometimes he’d just… happy wiggle. Remy wasn’t sure why, but one minute Patton would be pressed against his side and the next he’d be doing a lil wiggly-shake and then he’d be back to trying to meld his body with Remy’s. It was cute.

Eventually, Patton would open his eyes, just a little, looking tired and sleepy, blinking blearily at Remy but not trying to move away from his side

He’d ask what had happened, when he’d fallen asleep, and Remy would just chuckle quietly and run a hand through Patton’s hair and say it’s alright, go back to bed, he’d take care of it

And Patton would just nod and lie his head against Remy again and be asleep almost immediately

And soon enough Remy would slowly, carefully, gently pick Patton up and move him to his bed, staying just long enough for Patton’s blankets and sheets to warm up and mimic his own warmth- hence making Patton willing to release him- before leaving

And if he lingered a moment in the doorway before leaving, wishing he could stay, could curl up with Patton and kiss his forehead and fall asleep with him?

Well… Patton was warm and cute and cuddly. Who wouldn’t want to sleep and cuddle with him? That was a Normal Friendship Thought to have. It didn’t mean anything!

And once more, His Sunglasses Make Him Oblivious Remy strikes again

Incidents similar to the baking ones and the sleepy ones continue to happen

Remy spends a good two hours doing nothing but trading horrible puns with Patton because they make Patton giggle and chuckle and LAUGH and for some reason Remy just realized he could listen to that laugh for weeks and if puns causes it… then puns he shall tell

He learns to do basic sewing because Patton accidentally rips his catigan a lot and yes Patton can sew and he does fix his own tears but Remy likes to sneak in and fix them when Patton’s busy (Patton always gets excited, later, having decided that he’s got some sort of guardian angel looking out for him but unsure who. Patton’s happiness over the whole thing’s enough for Remy- he never admits it’s him)

When Patton’s doing something/is distracted, Remy will sneak up behind him and pick him up and spin him in a half-circle and Patton will giggle and Remy will never feel more alive than he does every time he does it

There’s a lot of moments like these, where Remy turns into an absolute sap over Patton doing something as impressive as Smiling, and yet Remy throughout it all, Remy refuses to just realize ‘oh hey shit I’m in love’

Finally, however, not even Remy’s thick dark sunglasses and mindset of ‘what is love (baby don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, no more)’ can stop him from realizing how lost he is on this boi

It all happens one late night

Remy’s sleepless and up and wandering

He notices, eventually, that the light’s on in Patton’s room, and he figures, hey! late-night buddy, let’s say hi

The hi was well-timed, but not for the reasons Remy had hoped

Remy peeks in the crack and finds that, yeah, Patton’s up, but he’s also hugging a body pillow and his eyes are a little red and there’s a tiny bit of sniffling and okay someone’s not having a good night and for once it’s not Thomas as Virgil slowly goes through decades-old memories

Remy had been looking for someone to goofy off with at two am but now it is Comfort The Fluffball time and he is READY for this mission

He doesn’t go in immediately- pulling away and quietly making his way downstairs first, quickly making two mugs of hot cocoa, putting in plenty of mini marshmallows in Patton’s (and bringing the bag of them as well, for when Patton inevitably wants to snack on them)

Then he goes back upstairs, lightly bumping Patton’s door with his foot until he hears a loud sniffle and Patton hastily whisper-shouting to give him a moment

Remy waits, listening to the shuffling noises, well-aware that Patton’s cleaning his face off, trying to hide his self-perceived sin of feeling bad

Eventually, the door opens, Patton’s eyes still red as he refuses to meet Remy’s, aware the function has likely already guessed he’s not doing amazingly

His eyes light up, a bit, however, when he sees the cocoas and the marshmallow bag beneath Remy’s elbow and Remy’s gentle ‘I’m here’ smile, and Remy feels his heart light up at that

Patton lets him in, taking his mug and the bag of marshmallows from Remy as he does so, moving back on to the bed and leaning against the body pillow he had been crying into a moment ago (Remy can tell because the top of it’s damp) and he gestures for Remy to join him

And Remy does, sitting down right next to him, pressing against his side and resting his head against Patton’s

They don’t speak, just sipping their cocoas and being close

They’ve talked about it before, Patton’s tendency to repress his bad emotions and isolate himself from help

And Remy knows Patton’s trying

Patton letting him in is trying

So Remy’s not going to talk about it, because that’s not what Patton needs now. He needs to be able to be safe with someone. To be comfortable, to be un-judged despite the tear tracks on his cheeks

Remy’s halfway done with his cocoa when he lightly bumps Patton’s foot. He’s wearing bright mis-matched socks whereas Remy’s got black ones with coffee cups on them, the steam coming out of them in the shape of z’s (Patton gave them to him, and ever since, Remy’s always worn socks at night)

A smile twitches onto Patton’s face as he bumps Remy’s back

It’s small

It’s important

Eventually, they finish their cocoas

Patton places his mug on his bedside table, automatically accepting Remy’s and moving it there too

He takes the marshmallow bag, then, pulling a few out and squishing them between his fingers as he pops a few in his mouth

Remy smiles, watching Patton amuse himself with the marshmallows for a moment before asking, softly, ‘do you want to watch some tv? or do you think you’re ready to go to bed?’

‘bed’ Patton answers immediately. he knew the question was coming. Remy always asked it on nights like this.

‘of course’ Remy answers easily, beginning to stand up, moving to take the mugs away and part with a few words of reassurance and a reminder that Remy’ll find someone to cover making breakfast in the morning, please, Patton, sleep in

He’s stopped when Patton grabs his arm, just lightly tugging on his arm and pulling Remy back to sitting beside him

‘please stay’ Patton asks, quietly, but still fiercely, as if if his voice wasn’t strong enough, his want for this not there enough, Remy would say no (Remy knew he never would’ve so much as dreamed of saying no)

‘of course’ Remy repeated as the moral side tossed the marshmallow bag onto his bedside table. ‘how long do you want me to stay?’

‘until- I mean- until I fall asleep?’ Patton settled on, hesitantly

Remy frowned as he gently reached out, cupping Patton’s cheek with one hand. he didn’t press, since he knew Patton wouldn’t tell him what he really wanted if pressed. he’d clam up and stick to his lie. he had to be given time.

Patton leaned the slightest into the touch, letting the silence hold for a moment before he said, quietly, ‘I don’t want to be alone’

‘you won’t be’ Remy murmured back, easily coazing Patton into his arms, happy to let the moral side fold into his chest, pressing himself ever closer to Remy as Remy held him ever tighter

He slowly tugged Patton over, pulling Patton’s duvet over the two of them as he settled them down amongst the pillows of Patton’s bed, the lights in his room turning off at Remy’s mental urging

Patton moved with him easily, happy to be held, snuggling close against Remy and tucking his head beneath Remy’s neck and tangling their legs together and more or less enuring that Remy wouldn’t be getting up until he did (not that Remy minded)

Soon enough, they were still, Patton breathing deeply, very quickly falling asleep as Remy rubbed circles into his back

‘hey, Remy?’ Patton asked, words slurring as he fought the call of sleep to say whatever he had to say

‘yeah, babes?’

‘thank you, for... for everything’

Remy smiled, a stupidly sappy smile, safely hidden in the dark. ‘of course, Pat. always happy to help.’

Patton hummed in agreement to that, nodding a bit against Remy’s chest. when he didn’t say anything more, Remy thought he had fallen asleep, until Patton said one last thing,

‘I love you’

It wasn’t that surprising- Patton had said it before, and so had Remy, normally after Remy had complimented Patton’s cookies or after Patton showed a complete lack of shame for a rather terrible pun- but he had never said it like this before, so quietly, so simply, so meaningfully

It took him a moment to collect himself enough to respond, and by then Patton had fallen asleep, but it didn’t matter, because Remy still said it,

‘I love you too’

And that, dear reader, is when Remy realized just how heavy the weight behind those words was

That’s when Remy realizes he’s in love

Anddddd because I’m a bastard (and also tired and said I’d post this today) that’s where this ends, even though I now remember the question was ‘what happens when Remy realizes he’s in love with Patton’ and not ‘how’ he realizes, but shhhhhhh enjoy what I gave you

And like,,,, I’m not saying I’ll give this a part two if y’all want to see what happens after Remy finally comes to terms with the fact that he’s in love with the sun, but like... I def will just hmu sometime sdfjsvfsdf

[littledrummeraussie]

At Christmas All The Roads Lead Home | part 1

Christmas morning finds Ashton and Y/N reminiscing about their very first holiday together – with both of their flights cancelled the strangers make the hasty decision to rent a room until they can leave for their own destinations. The pair soon finds out that there’s much more than they’ve bargained for when there’s only one bed in their hotel room. story masterlist. | masterlist. word count: 4492 words tags/warnings: past: missed flights. some swearing. slow burn flirting. room sharing. “there’s only one bed”. & present: dad!Ashton. fem!mom!reader. married fluff with kids and a dog. Christmas morning cuteness. tooth rotting fluff. nostalgia.

Ashton wasn’t sure what woke him so early in the morning – it definitely wasn’t Tyler bouncing on the bed with Bailey hot on his heels, barking from the door because he knew he wasn’t allowed in the master bedroom. And it wasn’t Henry either because he would have been already up if he heard his younger son crying for one of you. He found that the house was dark and quiet, and that his back was cold even though the sheets were wrapped around his body the way he liked them. He squinted an eye at the clock on his nightstand, the green digits showing 4.38 AM, slowly ticking towards Christmas morning.

He reached backwards, fingers looking for the body that was never too far away, wanting to wrap his arm around his lover and go back to sleep. But the bed was empty, the sheets almost cold where he grasped them, and he sleepily turned around, furrowing his eyebrows. Propping himself up on his elbow Ashton looked around the room, searching for any sign where you could be, and when finding none he kicked off his blankets, reaching for his discarded shirt on the floor to look for you.

There were no sounds coming from the closet or the bathroom so he checked the guest bedroom where he usually found you curled up in bed with the boys and Bailey for an afternoon nap. A smile pulled at his lips as he saw his sons sleeping soundly in the big bed with the dog keeping them company, guarding their dreams. Ashton still remembered the day he brought home the puppy as a gift to you, just a month before finding out that you were pregnant with Tyler. For a while he wasn’t sure that keeping the dog was a good idea, especially as he grew bigger by the day and with Tyler’s due date drawing closer he needed to realize that he was scared how Bailey would react to the new addition to the family.

But Bailey was in love with his new little owner from the moment you brought him home from the hospital, and the two of them were inseparable to the point that you let go of all the previously set rules and let him climb up on the sofa to curl around the little boy while he slept. When Henry was born you let Tyler introduce his brother and the dog to each other, ready for every possible outcome, and happily finding out that Bailey loved the new baby just as much as he loved Tyler.

Ashton stepped closer, tucking the sheets back around his sons, lightly chuckling as Bailey snored next to the sleeping boys. Tyler begged you to let them all sleep together in the guest bedroom since it was Christmas and neither of you could say no to him as he hugged the dog’s neck, both of them giving you puppy eyes and an all too familiar pout that Ashton was sure was your genetics. Henry fell asleep during the first five minutes of your bedtime story, and Tyler wasn’t far behind as he clutched his favourite stuffed animal with Bailey snuggled behind him. With the boys sleeping it was time to put all the presents under the tree and stuff the stockings you hung over the fireplace, both of you giggling as you shared the cookie and milk left for Santa. You fell asleep the moment your head hit the pillow, and Ashton buried his face in your hair, mumbling one last ‘I love you’ before closing his eyes.

He made his way back to the hallway and down the stairs, ready to look for you in the living room or the kitchen. The lights were already up on the Christmas tree in the corner of the room, and another smile pulled at his lips as he finally found you snuggled up in front of the window, a big fluffy blanket wrapped around your legs with an empty mug sitting on your lap. When you heard his footsteps you looked up at Ashton, smiling back at him as he leaned closer, pressing a kiss on your cheek.

“There you are,” his voice was slightly scratchy, still heavy with sleep, and he nuzzled his nose against your skin, smearing a kiss on your lips. “Was scared Santa took you because I was a naughty boy this year.”

“I like a naughty boy,” you giggled, kissing his pouty lips, fingers tangling into the hair at the back of his head. “Just wanted a little peace and quiet before the boys wake up. I love them, but they are little firecrackers.”

“Wonder where they’ve got it from,” Ashton grinned, knocking his forehead against yours. “Can I join you?”

“Only if you bring me more hot chocolate,” you tapped a finger against your empty mug, making Ashton chuckle.

“Of course, hot mama,” he blew a raspberry on your cheek before going to the kitchen, your giggles making his heart skip a beat.

He busied himself with making hot chocolate for the both of you, his eyes meeting yours every now and then, sharing smiles and winks as he put an extra dose of marshmallows into your mug and a little more whipped cream than necessary on top of his own – after all, it was Christmas. You held onto both mugs as he settled behind you, legs bracketing you in, pulling another blanket around his shoulders as you snuggled up together. Ashton rested his chin on top of your head, taking small sips of his drink as he held you close, enjoying the quiet moment he got to spend with you.

“Remember London?” Ashton asked, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, knowing all too well that you could never forget about London.

“I kinda miss the snow, you know,” you tilted your head back onto his shoulder, looking up at him. “Makes me wish the kids could have a white Christmas.”

“I think we could take a trip next year. Maybe not London, but definitely somewhere where there is snow.”

“Yeah, I would like that,” you reached for his free hand, fingers tangling together in your lap, and you felt Ashton’s ring knock against your own, making you smile.

“I would miss a thousand flights for you,” he whispered against your temple, pressing a kiss onto your hairline while squeezing your hand.

“We both know you did not miss your flight, Ash,” you gave him a cheeky smile while tapping his nose, making him scrunch up his face in a giggle. “But I appreciate it nonetheless.”

“Thank God for snowstorms, right?”

*****

“You’ve got to be shitting me!”

Your eyes lifted from the book you were reading, trying to kill your time while you waited for news about your delayed flight. The terminal was packed with confused and irritated people, all of them wanting to get real information why the planes weren’t landing or taking off. The guy sitting from across you mumbled another curse as he listened to the woman talking on the loudspeaker, announcing that the flight to Sydney will be delayed for another two hours or so. He ran his fingers through his hair as he tapped his phone, rapidly texting someone before pocketing it again, legs bouncing nervously. You knew the feeling all too well – your plane back to Los Angeles has been delayed three times already, and deep down you were ready to spend the night at the terminal, curled up in a plastic chair; you already knew you won’t make it back home on time.

Another 30 minutes passed before the announcements finally came – one after the other flights got cancelled because of a snowstorm hitting London. The crew worked hard to at least help the planes land, but you caught word that there won’t be any take offs for the next few days. You still held onto the little bit of hope you had that your trip back home will happen; they did not say anything about cancelling your flight yet. Your handsome stranger wasn’t so lucky – as they started listing off another set of cancelled flights he realized that the one to Sydney won’t be taking off, making him kick his chair as he scrambled for his phone again.

He paced the floor in front of you as he called one person after the other, quickly going to the front desk for more information before coming back and continuing his phone calls. You kept an eye on his things while you’ve read just to be sure he doesn’t come back to missing bags and another misfortune to deal with. A series of colourful curses caught your attention as he plopped down in a chair, pushing the button on his phone and trying to make it work, and you were sure he was seconds away from throwing it to the floor.

“You wanna borrow mine?” you found yourself asking, and his head snapped up, blinking at you. “Or if you need a charger I can give you one.”

“Uhm– yeah. A charger would be great, thanks,” he closed his fingers around the phone before standing up and stepping to you, and you reached into your bag to hand it to him. “Thank you.”

“It’s nothing,” you gave him a smile, nodding to the wall behind you. “You can plug it in here. I don’t mind.”

He mumbled another quick ‘thank you’ before plugging in his phone, and as he waited for it to switch back on he brought over his bags, settling down next to you. Another set of phone calls were made, apologies spilling out of him as he tried to let everyone know that he will be a few days late, don’t worry about him, he will figure this out, he just won’t be home for Christmas.

“Still hoping that plane will take you to Sydney?” you rested your head back against the wall when he finished yet another call. “Or are you planning on set up camp here for the next 3 days?”

“You don’t seem like someone who plans on leaving either. So where’s gonna be your tent?” he quirked an eyebrow at you, making you chuckle.

“They did not cancel my flight. Yet,” you added, knowing that it was a possibility that you have to spend the next few days here.

There was static coming from the loudspeaker again, making everyone turn quiet as the woman from before announced that unfortunately the weather was so bad that all flights got cancelled for the next few days. You looked back at your stranger who gave you a knowing look, a small smile playing at the corner of his mouth.

“What did you say? I couldn’t hear you over all of this.”

“That my name is Y/N.”

“Ashton,” he held out his hand and you shook it, both of you holding onto the other just a little longer than it was necessary. “Should we set up camp now?”

*****

“Whose clever idea was it to rent a room and share it?” you scooped a melted marshmallow onto your spoon, holding it up to Ashton’s mouth.

“Probably mine,” he mumbled around the sticky sweetness, licking the rest off the spoon. “Not that you objected.”

“I really didn’t want to sleep at the airport,” the confession wasn’t anything new, but still to this day it made you blush. “I just wanted a shower and a few hours of sleep.”

“And you ended up with a bed full of me,” grinning Ashton pressed a series of kisses along your cheek, nuzzling close to you and rubbing his scruffy chin against your skin, making you laugh. “Shh, don’t wake the kids!”

*****

“Are you sure about it?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here.”

There was much less commotion now that people started to accept the fact that the snowstorm over London was no joke and that all flights were cancelled. You’ve spent another two hours sitting in your chairs with Ashton, talking about whatever came to mind as you waited for things to calm down, contemplating your options. He offered to buy you a warm drink and both of you moved to the Starbucks that was mostly empty now, your little corner secluded and quiet in the place that never seemed to stop.

He was scrolling through his phone for a long time before finally looking up at you, and you rubbed your eyes, trying to stay awake. Your plans originally included a long nap on the plane, followed by another 12 hours of rest to sleep off your jetlag. Cancelled plane rides and being stuck in London wasn’t on your list, yet here you were, drinking hot chocolate with a stranger who was just as lost as you were.

“I’ve found a hotel room nearby,” Ashton announced, pushing his foot against yours under the table. “We could split and stay until we can both travel home.”

“You don’t even know me,” you rested your chin in your hand, playing with your empty paper cup. “I don’t know you. Sharing a room sounds like a crazy idea.”

“What I know is that you’re about to fall asleep right at this table, and that I don’t plan on staying here for 3 days if I can help it. I also don’t plan on leaving you here since you were really nice to me and I could use the company,” Ashton shrugged his shoulder, a faint blush colouring his cheeks. “And… it’s Christmas. No one should be alone.”

“So you don’t think I’m a crazy fan trying to take advantage of you?” you raised an eyebrow at him, smiling and kicking your foot against his, making him huff out a laugh.

“Geez, you’re so weird,” he shook his head. “You couldn’t even remember the band’s name even after I’ve told you it five times. Five times, Y/N!”

“You’ve also told me it was 500 Years of Winter and made me listen to a song that was called Pizza.”

“That look on your face was priceless,” his smile was wide, making dimples appear on his cheeks, and you needed to remind yourself to start breathing again.

“Are you sure about it?” you stirred the conversation back to the topic, biting your bottom lip. “Do you really want to share a room with me?”

“It’s not like planes are going to magically take off just because we’re stubborn and wait here,” he took both empty cups to throw them away, holding his hand out to you in invitation. “So – are you coming?”

“You know… I could really use a shower,” you slipped your hand in his, letting him help you up.

Something caught both of your attention, eyes meeting before slowly looking up above you, finding a mistletoe hanging from the ceiling, placed perfectly over the table you’ve shared. His eyes were hazel with green and gold flecks, and you’ve realized you were staring at him for longer than you should have. Ashton’s lips were slightly parted, teeth sinking into the bottom one before quickly licking over it, another blush colouring his cheeks. A moment passed, and you both let out an awkward chuckle, stepping away from the table, mumbling about silly holiday traditions. But it was too late – the spark was already there.

*****

“I really wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe,” Ashton wrapped both arms around you, and you burrowed against his chest, head resting over his heart.

“I wanted you to kiss me,” you pressed your lips against his throat, following the line of his shirt to the back of his neck, turning so you could straddle his thighs. “I remember getting lost in your eyes.”

Your fingers played with the short curls at the nape of his neck, foreheads knocked together as you stared into each other’s eyes. Ashton tilted his head forward, brushing his lips against yours in an almost kiss, tongue poking out to lick the corner of your mouth. You both giggled and Ashton curled his palms around your jaw, pulling you in for a real kiss, one that took both your breaths away.

“I wonder if you would have tasted like this back then,” he mumbled against your lips, voice full of longing and nostalgia.

“You’ve bought me a hot chocolate, so I would like to think so,” you pecked his nose, brushing the stray curls back from his forehead. “I wonder if you’ve looked for mistletoes after our missed chance.”

“I was ready to drag you under one for a kiss,” Ashton squeezed your hips, pulling you even closer to himself. “But I guess we didn’t need one in the end.”

*****

“Hey, I’ve called ahead to reserve a room for two,” Ashton lightly tapped his fingers against the counter, smiling at the girl behind the desk. “Under Fletcher Irwin.”

The lobby was heavily decorated with Christmas ornaments and sparkly garlands, and you could see a tall Christmas tree behind a set of glass double doors, probably leading to the other side of the hotel and the restaurant. You felt slightly overwhelmed by the place and the fact that you’re gonna spend the next few days here with a man you barely know, but you’ve tried to tell yourself that this was an unexpected emergency case, and anything was better than sleeping at the airport. Ashton said something and the girl giggled before looking at you, a knowing smile spreading across her face as she handed the keys to him, wishing the both of you a pleasant stay at the hotel.

Ashton stepped back next to you to grab both of your heavy bags and suitcases, ushering you towards the elevator. The ride up to the 7th floor was quickly over, and you dragged your stuff to the room at the end, ready to drop for the night. Ashton opened the door for you, letting you go in first.

“They’re sending up some dinner in half an hour,” he said as he closed the door, locking it behind his back. “In case you’re hungry.”

“If I can stay up that long then I’m sure gonna appreciate it,” you nodded, giving him a small smile.

“Come, let’s settle down and then you can shower first,” he tugged off his jacket, moving behind you to help you with your own coat. “Here, let me help you.”

“You’re way too nice to me,” you chuckled, giving him a pointed look. “I’m onto you.”

“My Mom taught me manners,” he rolled his eyes with a chuckle of his own, hanging up your coats before kicking off his shoes. “It’s just who I am.”

“I’m sure she’s proud of you,” there was a bashful smile on his face as he rubbed the back of his neck, and to take the attention off of him he nodded towards the bedroom. “Let’s check that out, shall we?”

You turned around and stepped into the dark room, fingers fumbling for the light switch. When you’ve found it you flicked it on, making the room light up. You felt a blush heat your cheeks as your eyes looked around the room, biting your lip in the process.

“Uhm– Ashton?”

“Yeah? What’s that?” he stepped next to you and you saw the moment realization hit him as well.

“There’s only one bed.”

*****

“Do you think we were set up?” your forehead rested on his shoulder, fingers drawing over the lines on his palm, and you felt Ash push his cheek against the top of your head, humming slightly.

“You still think the girl at the front desk did it?” his other hand settled on your waist, drawing the same patterns on your skin.

“Maybe,” you chuckled, tangling your fingers together. “Maybe not. But I do remember you asking for separate beds. Twice.”

“I did tell you I was okay with sleeping on the couch,” Ashton moved so he could pull your interlocked hands to his lips, kissing over your knuckles and your ring. “More than two times.”

“I just didn’t think it would be fair, you know?” you still played with his fingers, giving him a pout. “You offered me that we could share a room, so making you sleep on the couch after that… no, I couldn’t do it.”

“Y/N…” Ashton nudged his nose against yours, tilting your chin up to press his lips to your lips, whispering against them. “Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

*****

There were phone calls made down to the front desk, but it was clear that they couldn’t do anything about the situation – all the other rooms were full already. You pulled your legs under yourself on the couch, hugging a pillow to your chest as Ashton asked once again if they were sure, but as he finished the call you knew he did not succeed.

“Look, it’s… it’s fine,” you’ve tried to break the sudden tension between you two, not wanting to spend the next few days awkwardly stepping around each other. “The bed’s big enough, I’m sure we can figure this out.”

“No, look, I– I’ve promised you your own bed, and I’m gonna keep my promise,” Ashton ran his fingers through his hair, giving you a forced smile. “I’m just gonna sleep on the couch. I’ve done it a hundred times before, it’s nothing new.”

“I’m not sure I like this idea,” Ashton quirked an eyebrow at you, and you shrugged your shoulder. “My Mom also taught me manners and told me to share what I have with those who have less than me.”

“Trust me, it’s no trouble at all,” he shook his head, standing up when there was a knock on the door. “It’s probably our dinner, I’ll go get it.”

While you ate your food you’ve tried a few more times to make Ashton change his mind, but he brushed off your offers even though you could sense a small crack in his armour when you gave him a pout. He made a joke about how you should stop with the puppy dog eyes, and you were quickly back to teasing each other like the discussion about your sleeping arrangements didn’t happen at all.

An hour later you were out of the bathroom, freshly showered and feeling like a brand new person. Ashton was lounging on the couch, getting used to his bed for the next few days; he gave you a smile when you passed him, eyes lingering on your form just a second too long before going back to his phone. You pretended that you did not just blush under his gaze as you pulled the robe tightly around your body.

“I think I’m gonna go to bed now,” you leaned against the doorframe as he looked up at you again. “I see you’ve already taken your side of the bed to the couch.”

“I promise you I’ll be fine,” he chuckled, sitting up. “Stop worrying about me.”

“Are you really sure…?”

“I’m sure, trust me.”

“Alright,” you held his gaze for a few seconds before dropping it to the floor. “Good night, Ashton.”

“Good night, Y/N.”

You could feel his eyes on your back as you closed the door, almost turning back around to ask him one more time. You heard as he was moving around in the small living room, probably setting up his makeshift bed before going to the bathroom to shower. With the blanket pulled up to your chin you listened to Ashton’s sounds, letting them slowly lull you to sleep.

But your rest didn’t last long as you found your eyes opening in an hour or two, trying to work out where you really were. Then it all came back to you – the delayed and cancelled flights, your handsome stranger and how he bought you coffee and offered you to stay in a hotel room together. How there was only one bed and how Ashton promised you that he was absolutely okay with sleeping out on the couch. You could hear a slight bit of moving coming from the living room, quiet snores breaking the silence around you. Another moment passed and you slipped out of bed, opening the door and looking out into the next room.

Ashton was sprawled out on the couch, one arm thrown over his eyes, a leg hanging off to the side as he slept. It didn’t look comfortable at all, and without thinking twice about it you slowly moved to the couch, crouching down next to him on the floor. You felt your heart beating in your ears, your throat working around silent words as you tried to speak them. A finger brushed against his forearm, stroking over tattoos you didn’t know were there, and he moved his arm above his head, burrowing against his pillow.

“Ashton,” your voice was only a whisper, knuckles lightly running down his arm again, slowly moving to his forehead to brush the hair back from his face. He hummed in his sleep, leaning into your touch before his eyes fluttered open.

“What’s wrong?” he furrowed his eyebrows, rubbing his eyes to wake up a bit more.

“No, nothing, I just– just come to bed, please,” your hands fell into your lap, nervously playing with the hem of your shirt as Ashton propped himself up on his elbow.

“I’ve thought we were over this,” his fingers ran through his hair, a confused expression on his face.

“I know and I’m sorry, but please understand that my conscious won’t let me sleep until you’re out here on the couch,” you were well-aware of the pout on your lips, the one that seemed to work on Ashton, and he let out a sigh. “The bed is big enough for two. We can sleep on the two ends, I really don’t mind.”

“Only because my back is killing me,” he finally sat up, moving his neck and shoulders to work out some kinks in it. “Alright, lead the way.”

He pulled the blanket around his shoulders while you grabbed the pillows from the couch, shuffling back to the bedroom with Ashton following you. You moved your bedding to the far side of the bed, piling his pillows onto his side before sliding back under your sheets. Ashton climbed up next to you, quickly finding a comfortable position for himself as he buried his face in his pillow.

“Will you be able to sleep now?” he yawned, smacking his lips as he burrowed into his blankets.

“Mmhh, yeah. Good night, Ashton,” you turned so your back was facing him, and you heard him do the same.

“Night-night,” he whispered, probably already falling back to sleep, and you closed your eyes, trying to do the same. He shuffled around a bit, lightly jolting the mattress until he settled down then a moment later you heard him mumbling. “Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you for not letting me sleep on the couch.”

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

» part 1 » part 2 » part 3 » part 4

taglist.

@mymindwide @loveroflrh @sadistmichael @notinthesameguey @babylonashton @talkfastromance4 @dead-and-golden @fuckyeah5sostakemehome @karajaynetoday  @myfavfanficsever @myloverboyash @suchalonelysunflower @sexgodashton @rebelwith0utacause @creampiecashton @irwinkitten @allthestarsandthemoon @castaway-cashton @spicycal @wontlastimokwiththat @luckyduckydoo @sunshineeashton @2fangirl4u @talkfastdrummer @pastelbabygirl19 @istantommoandtpwk @perfectlieirwin @thesweetness-irwin-archive @c-a-l-m-hood @youngblood199456 @tiannaxox2 @caffeinecalum

[accioharry]

daughter | bellarke au | ch 1 

She could hear her mom’s voice in her head, walking her through the shock just as she walked other women through it on the Ark.

The missed periods, nausea, the fatigue…

She’s pregnant with Bellamy’s baby.

read on ao3 | word count: 1.6k

She realizes it twelve weeks after the end of the world, after the end of everything.

Clarke knew something was wrong, she just didn’t know what. She felt nauseous for weeks, couldn’t keep food down (she barely could find food as it was), and honestly just felt terrible. At first, she thought it was part of the radiation exposure, considering it almost killed her when she tried to save her friends. The problem was, instead of adjusting to the exposure, her body just felt worse and worse as each day passed. She’s washing some clothes in the river not far from the valley when it hits her.

Her friends left months ago, she should’ve gotten her period multiple times by now. She didn’t. The first time had to be from radiation exposure, but the second? The third?

Her hand drops the shirt she’s holding into the water as she holds her stomach, her breath escaping her.

No, there’s no way. It was one time, there was no way…

She could hear her mom’s voice in her head, walking her through the shock just as she walked other women through it on the Ark. The missed periods, the nausea, the fatigue…

She’s pregnant with Bellamy’s baby.

“This is ridiculous. I keep making these radio calls thinking you’d hear me, but now more than ever I really need you to listen, okay Bellamy? I think I’m pregnant…well I know I am. It’s hard to tell how far along…but at least twelve weeks give or take. Jesus Christ, we’re having a baby, and you aren’t even here. How am I gonna do this?”

Of course, Madi is overjoyed at the thought of Clarke having a baby. It’s been just the two of them for a little over a month now, and she’s picking up english a lot quicker than Clarke expected. Though she’s only six, she understands that soon there will be a little baby around. She flips through Clarke’s sketchbook before her bedtime in a cabin in the little village Clarke found, and Clarke can’t help but glance to the empty space across the room, a space that will hold a handmade crib in a few short months. She’s terrified of doing this alone, without Bellamy, without her Mom.

Madi talks to Clarke’s stomach every night, even though there is no sign of a bump yet or at least an actual baby bump. Clarke plays along with the excitement for Madi’s sake but finds herself crying every night after she tucks her into bed.

Bellamy and Clarke slept together the night they made the list of the ones who would make it into the bunker. It was a one time, just because the world is ending, type of thing. Except now, there’s a physical, lifelong memory growing inside of Clarke. She’s alone, has no doctor, no medicine, and no idea if the baby is even healthy. She just has to wait, and hope her body does what it’s supposed to do.

She starts showing at around fifteen weeks. 

The bump is still pretty small, but enough that Madi notices. She’s working on copying sentences Clarke had written for her when she notices.

“Baby!” She gets up and points to Clarke, who’s cooking dinner. She runs over and puts her hands on Clarke’s stomach. “I see the baby!”

Clarke looks down at her, at this wild child that she’s come to adopt in the last few months. Madi’s excitement about having a baby almost takes the fear of losing Bellamy away, almost. She smiles and runs her hands through Madi’s hair.

What Madi doesn’t know that after Clarke put her to bed, she went out of the village and screamed into the rain, her hands cradling her tiny bump as she fell to her knees. “Please,” she sobs, “I can’t do this without him.” She sits there in silence, letting the rain wash over her. “Please don’t make me do this alone,” she whispered, because maybe, just maybe, he was still alive.

She never gets a response.

They start the nursery towards the end of Clarke’s second trimester.

She’s worried about so many things, the birth going wrong, the baby not making it, the baby not having nightblood—even though it should. There’s too much stress, and having a distraction makes it a little easier. She moves herself and Madi into a bigger cabin further into the valley, a cabin that has three rooms instead of just one. She’s decided eventually she will change all the cabins for her friends, but that’s for months, maybe years after the baby is born.

There’s no way for Clarke to know the gender of the baby because there’s no way to do an ultrasound. Madi is convinced the baby is a girl and has started throwing names out there, mostly names from the stories she’s heard. Clarke can’t bring herself to come up with a name, boy or girl, because that just makes it feel real.

They use berries to paint the wall of the nursery where the crib will go. Surprisingly, Madi knows more than Clarke expected from the seven-year-old. Her birthday was a few weeks ago, and all she wanted was to meet the baby. She was more excited than Clarke and was fearless about it. They find a crib in another empty cabin, though run down and falling apart. It doesn’t take long to fix it, and Madi puts it under a window in the nursery. She also brings clothes and toys from other parts of the village that had yet to be explored. There isn’t much, but it’s enough.

Clarke goes into labor as soon as she hits 38 weeks.

She’s sitting on the floor, sketching a picture of the baby’s nursery, when she feels the flood of water from between her legs. She tries to stay calm, knowing Madi is asleep down the hall in her own room, but by that morning, Clarke is having her first contractions.

Madi is up by dawn as usual, and she remembers everything Clarke had told her. They had prepared a corner of the cabin for labor, with pillows and blankets and other towels. Clarke refuses to sit there until she knows it’s time to push, which wouldn’t be for a few hours. She spends the day on the couch, timing contractions with Madi, who has decided to write it all down on a page in Clarke’s sketchbook. Madi brings her water and sits with her, but she’s restless and impatient. For once, Clarke agrees.

The baby is born shortly before dinner.

It’s a long thirty minutes of pushing, screaming, and crying from her and Madi until they both finally hear the tiny baby cries they’ve waited six months for.

“It’s a girl!” Madi squeals.

She’s got the baby in her arms, and Clarke tears up at the sight of it. In an instant, Madi grew up before her eyes. She hands the baby to Clarke before cleaning her off with a towel, and Clarke smiles at the big brown eyes staring up at her, Bellamy’s eyes.

She walks Madi through clamping and cutting the cord, even though Madi is scared that cutting it will hurt the baby. Clarke manages to push the placenta out, much to Madi’s amazement. She was so worried Madi would be grossed out, or worse, terrified, but the little girl just watches the baby in amazement as it holds onto her finger.

Clarke recovers in her bed that night, the baby sound asleep in her lap after feeding. She’s shocked that everything went well, that the baby looks healthy, it’s latched with no problems, and Madi was such a trooper.

She looks over when she feels the bed dip to see Madi crawling up to her.

“Did you name her?”

“Not yet,” Clarke mutters, passing the baby to Madi. She gently rocks the baby in her arms before leaning against Clarke herself.

“I have a name,” Madi whispers, and Clarke chuckles.

“Oh do you?” She knows Madi has wanted to name the baby Octavia for months now, even if it was a boy. Clarke considered Octavian for a boy’s name, but that’s all she had come up with.

“Athena,” Madi says, giggling as the baby grabs her finger again. “We name her Athena because Bellamy named Octavia after Augustus’ sister. Athena could be similar to Augustus, maybe?”

It really isn’t, but the sentiment behind it makes Clarke love it even more. Madi has grown into her own person in just the eight months Clarke has been with her, it’s amazing.

Clarke kisses the top of her head, pulling Madi closer to her. “How do you remember that?” Clarke asks.

“I just do,” she shrugs. “So can we?”

Clarke stares at her daughter for a moment. She’s awake now, watching Madi intently with her brown eyes that have the same intensity as Bellamy’s. She wants to honor Bellamy, knowing there’s a good chance her baby will never know her father. She wishes she could share this moment with him, for him to see the miracle they created. He’s not even on the planet, maybe not even alive. Clarke feels her heart break. “Yeah,” Clarke whispers as Athena falls asleep in Madi’s arms. “We can name her Athena.”

“Bellamy, if you’re alive, I did it. I don’t know why I always question if you’re alive, it doesn’t make this much easier. But I did it Bell, I gave birth today, and she’s perfect. Yeah, she’s a girl. Madi wants to name her Athena for you, and I really couldn’t argue with her. She’s got your eyes and I wish you could see her, see both of them. I did the math today, she’ll be a little over four years old when you meet her and Madi will be eleven. If there’s any chance you hear these, and can’t answer, I’ll tell you all about her, about both of them, every day until you get here. I promise.”

[mandelene]

England is taking care of young America and Canada but comes down ill. Cue overly concerned colonies calling France to come and make him better. England is secretly a bit glad that France cared enough to come. Bonus: Stubborn and in stiff upper lip style, England keeps insisting he is fine when it is clear he is not. Bonus 2: America and Canada try to help on there own first. Bonus 3: America and Canada weigh up the pros and cons of calling France (eg. Making England angry or upset vs having a

Here it is! :) Hope you enjoy it. 

Unlikely Ally 

Word Count: 1658

“England! I’m so hungry I could eat a whole buffalo,” America whines, swinging his feet back and forth from his seat at the kitchen table. 

“I can’t keep up with your voracious appetite,” England grumbles in response as he starts serving them the chicken, potatoes, and carrots he cooked for dinner. 

Cooked is a generous term, in Canada’s opinion, but he admires England for his effort nonetheless. The food his caretaker puts in front of him is laughable compared to the mouthwatering culinary delights France once fed him, but being wasteful is rude and childish. Thus, Canada forces himself to swallow a forkful of dry, unseasoned chicken. He has offered to help cook before, but, as with most things, England always insists that he’s too little and shouldn’t worry — he has it under control. 

“Yum!” America exclaims, digging right in. He has a stomach of steel. Does he not mind England’s cooking? Or is it all just for show? “This hits the spot!” 

England manages a soft smile and picks up his glass of water with a pale, trembling hand. “I’m glad.” 

So, Canada wasn’t imagining it then…

England has been acting strange since yesterday night. It seemed he had a headache before bed, and he must have felt quite weary because he didn’t have the same amount of enthusiasm and energy he normally exudes when reading their nightly bedtime story. 

Today, there are gray bags under his eyes, his nose is faintly hyperpigmented with tones of red and pink, and he looks disheveled rather than tidy and put-together. His shirt is wrinkled, his hair is untamed, and he’s been wearing his wool coat indoors. 

Canada doesn’t think America has noticed any of this, given that he’s not exactly a very perceptive person. He wants to ask England if he’s all right, but he doesn’t want to anger him, and besides, if he was well enough to cook, then it must not be anything serious. 

Still, Canada can’t untangle the knot of worry tightening in his gut. He’s started growing closer to the man — not nearly as close as America is with him — but close enough to not want any harm to come upon him. 

So when England tucks them in that night and asks if they can postpone their bedtime story because “I have important documents I really must finish tending to,” Canada is immediately concerned that he is going to overwork himself and become more ill. 

America shrugs it all off and goes straight to sleep, but Canada stays up a bit longer. No more than twenty minutes after England has left the room, he hears the man coughing in his study. 

Canada promises himself that if things aren’t better in the morning, he’ll devise a plan of action.

*******************************

As he feared, England worsens. The bags under his eyes darken significantly, his nose turns cherry red, and he doesn’t change out of the clothes he slept in. 

At breakfast, even America begins to realize there’s a problem.

“England? You okay?” he asks without any hesitation, giving voice to the question that’s been hanging off Canada’s tongue for two days now. 

“Yes, why wouldn’t I be?” England instantly replies in a nasally voice.

“You don’t look okay…” 

“Oh, it’s all right. I think I’ve caught a chill. Nothing to concern oneself with,” England assures, but given how downright exhausted he looks, Canada has a tough time believing him. 

“Are you sure—?

“Why don’t you boys play by the river today? It’s a beautiful day for a swim,” England interrupts America, quickly changing subjects. “Just be cautious.”  

“Yay!” America cheers, his concern already forgotten. “Hurry up and finish eating, Canada. I’ll race you there!” 

Canada frowns. If they leave to go play, then England will be all alone in the house, and is it a good idea to leave him when he’s like this? 

Unfortunately, he doesn’t have a choice in the matter because as soon as he swallows his last bite of charred eggs, America drags him outside by the arm, blissfully unaware. 

*******************************

This is bad. Very bad. 

When they return for lunch because America complains of starvation again, they find England fast asleep in an armchair in the sitting room, looking even more ragged than before. His breathing has become louder and shallower and he’s flushed with fever. 

“What do we do?” America asks, eyes glistening with tears. “What’s wrong with him? Should we wake him up?” 

“I think it’s probably better to let him sleep,” Canada reasons. ”We should get him a blanket or something…France used to put a cold rag on my head whenever I had a fever.”  

“Okay. Let’s do that.” 

Canada fetches a quilt and covers England with it, pulling it up to the man’s shoulders. America, meanwhile, readies the damp rag and places it on England’s forehead, but the dramatic cold sensation rouses him. 

England’s emerald eyes snap open, and he immediately jolts into a more dignified, upright position in the armchair.

“What’s all this?” he demands, and Canada takes several fearful steps back. 

“We’re trying to make you better since you’re sick,” America explains, rocking on his heels. 

“What in the world are you talking about? I’m fine.” 

 “No, you’re not. You need help,” America says more firmly, standing his ground. 

“I am fine. A bit tired, but that’s all…I think…I think I’ll have a brief lie down and then I’ll prepare lunch.” 

“You shouldn’t be cooking when you’re ill,” Canada timidly adds. 

“For the last time, I’m perfectly all right! What has gotten into you both? You’re being pests,” England gripes, casting the cold rag and quilt aside before standing on his unsteady legs.

He’s absolutely hopeless. 

*******************************

“He’s been sleeping in his room for three hours.” 

“I know,” Canada says, just as anxious. He wrings his hands and tries to think. “Hey…France should be here any day now. He’s supposed to be meeting with England about a trade negotiation soon, right? He might even be somewhere in town already. He’ll know what to do.” 

“France? But England hates France. He’d be angry at us for even talking to him.”

“I don’t think he really hates him…And we can tell one of England’s officers in town to send France over if he’s here.” 

“I don’t know…Maybe he’ll feel better after he wakes up.” 

Canada shakes his head. “He’s just getting worse.” 

America angrily rubs at his eyes, trying to hide his tears, and says, “Okay. I’ll go into town and find out if he’s here or when he’s gonna get here. You watch England.” 

“Okay.” 

While Canada is terrified by the idea of having to be alone with England when he’s clearly not in the best of moods, having to go out and speak to one of the British officers would have been even worse. 

While America goes off on the search, Canada brings a wooden chair into England’s bedroom, places it by the window, and sits down. If he bites down hard on the inside of his cheek, he’s distracted from his anxiety.

England’s breathing is labored—another worrisome sign that his health is continuing to deteriorate. Why would he be so ill? Economic or political trouble at home? Or is it just an ordinary human virus? 

Please hurry, America, he thinks. 

*******************************

“Where is he?” 

“In here.” 

“It’s going to be all right, Amérique. Don’t cry or fret."

France comes barging into the bedroom, startling Canada but also making his heart swell with glee. 

It’s been over a year since Canada has seen France, and while he would like nothing more but to hug the man, he knows it will have to wait. There will be time to reconnect later. 

“Salut, Canada, mon cher. What has this old fool done to himself now, hmm? Let’s see…Angleterre? Mon Dieu, he has a high fever…Arthur…Wake up.” 

England stirs slightly and groans but doesn’t open his eyes. 

“Big Brother France is here now to nurse you back to health, dear. I’m going to bring cold compresses and water.” 

It’s unclear whether England registers anything that’s said to him. He merely continues heavily breathing. 

It isn’t until France starts running another wet rag down his arms and chest that he finally becomes more alert. 

“What’re you doing here?” is the first thing he mutters. 

“The little ones called for me and said you’ve been ill. You haven’t been taking care of yourself and it shows.” 

“Ughhhh.” 

“You’re fortunate that Amérique and Canada have more sense than you do. Here, take a few sips of water…You’ve caught something again, haven’t you? You’re so prone to human illnesses. Or is there something deeper going on?”

England wheezes and coughs. “Just a cold…”

“Hah—a cold. Look at yourself. It’s more than a cold. You owe the boys an apology—they’ve been worried.”

“M’sorry to have frightened them…” England tiredly looks over at Canada first and then America before offering them a strained smile. “Thank you both…” 

He then has a coughing fit, and for a split second, Canada genuinely believes that the man will stop breathing. 

France sits him up, pats his back, and passes him a glass of water again. “Finish it all, and I’ll bring tea. A spoonful of raw onion with honey will have you feeling better in no time.” 

 “God no. Please.”

“Works every time,” France promises, squeezing his shoulder. Then, he looks at the clock and glowers, “Is it that late already?”

“Are you leaving?” England whispers, and it almost sounds like he wants France to stay.

“No. Not until you’ve recovered. But I do have to go into the kitchen to cook for the boys and prepare your medicine, so go back to sleep and shout if you need me.” 

“…Don’t need you.” 

“Of course not,” France grins. He gives England’s back a final pat, helps him lie down once more, and beckons for Canada and America to follow him to the kitchen. 

Nothing seems scary anymore. 

[angelic-holland]

Puzzle Pieces // th x fem!reader

Summary: 

Sometimes puzzles don’t quite fit, it’s almost perfect, but that almost perfect doesn’t make a puzzle whole. 

Falling out of love wasn’t earth-shattering, it wasn’t a big revelation that hit you all at once, your world didn’t crumble to the ground around you quickly. Falling out of love was almost as painful as falling in love. Filled with many of the same moments, your chest tightens when you see them, your eyes grow wide when you think about your future, unsure and so wickedly unaware, you wonder if they ever loved you at all, or if that was the piece of the puzzle that didn’t quite fit. Defective. A factory mess up. Wasn’t meant to be. 

Warnings: angst, fluff, smut if you squint

Word Count: an excruciating 10k

A/N: (***) indicates a time skip, long groups of italics indicate a flashback

One night you came across a Spiderman puzzle in the window of a toy store.

The look of pure excitement when he came back from filming Spiderman: Homecoming to see you laying on the carpet with Tessa, the puzzle box sat in front of you was all he needed to know that he was home. 

“Hey baby, what’s this?” He asks, setting his suitcase by the door and greeting Tessa who ran up to him, jumping up and slobbering kisses all over his face. 

“Thought it would be fun, a little puzzle for us to do while you’re here,” you shrug, “saw it in the window of the toy store on my way to work and thought of you.”

“Tessa’s gonna destroy this in a minute,” he laughs as he settles on the floor next to you, Tessa curling up by his side.

“Then we’ve got one minute to appreciate our work of art,” you grin, dumping the puzzle pieces out of the box.

It’s 100 pieces but it’s been a while since either of you have completed a puzzle so you and Tom spend the rest of the night giggling and playfully fighting over which red piece fits where on the spidersuit. 

“It’s 2am,” you groan, Tom’s foot playing with your own as you push down the last piece of the puzzle.

“We’re like two pieces of a puzzle, fit together perfectly,” he says, fingers running over the last piece you added.

“That’s cute,” you smile, looking at your work.

Tessa was sound asleep next to Tom, stirring slightly as he moved to kiss you.

You rolled onto your back, Tom straddling your hips, “missed you,” He says, leaving kisses along your cheek to your mouth.

“Missed you more,” you sigh against his lips before your hands slid into his hair, letting yourself get lost in the feeling of his weight on top of you, one hand holding himself up, the other softly stroking your cheek.

His tongue met yours and you giggled as you heard Tessa rustling above you and the inevitable crack of the puzzle getting torn apart as she walked over it, wet tongue licking a stripe up Tom’s cheek, causing him to pull apart from you, body shaking with laughter. 

“Tessa! Mum and dad are getting busy here,” he grins, rolling off of you and standing up, offering his hand to you.

“Are we locking her out of the room tonight?” You say excitedly as he pulls you down the hallway.

“Technically it’s morning, but yes, Tessa, it’s bedtime, we’ve got important business to get to.”

“Wait! She’s gonna eat those puzzle pieces if we don’t pick them up,” you say, pausing in your path.

“I’ll put it away, you go get naked,” he says, pointing at your bedroom and giving your ass a light slap before running back to the living room.

You laugh as you hear him greet Tessa again, the sound of the puzzle getting put back in the box moving to the back of your mind as you quickly pull your clothes off, laying on the bed and waiting for Tom.

“Tessa!” You hear him shout and you see the grey dog run into your room, jumping on the bed as Tom scrambles in, too late.

You’re in stitches as you pull the sheet over your naked form, giving Tessa a belly rub as Tom leans against the door. Eyes twinkling as he watches you both. 

“My two favorite girls,” he teases as he tosses his jacket on the ground.

“Can we kick one of your favorite girls out, the other’s got a welcome back present for you,” you smirk and Tom nods.

“Get lost Y/N, Tessa and I have some cuddling to make up for.”

“Tom!” You scoff, tossing the sheet aside and crossing your arms, which may or may not have pushed your breasts up front and center.

“I’m kidding, pretty girl, now what’s that welcome back present you had in mind?” He laughs as Tessa jumps off the bed to greet him again. 

Tom ushers Tessa out, giving her one last cuddle before closing the door, raising his eyebrow as he slowly strips for you.

“Hurry up mister, I’ve missed you,” you say, holding your hands out to urge him into bed.

“As you wish pretty girl,” he smirks.

You two spent the rest of the early morning rolling around in the sheets, making up for lost time, whispered and breathless “I love you” as you both took turns making each other feel just right. And you both were giggling, giggling when his elbow accidentally smacked the headboard or when you told him to “use your spidey strength”. 

You remember telling your friend how you and Tom would usually find something to laugh about during sex and at first she said that was weird but then she quickly changed her mind.

“If you're able to find someone who can make you feel really good AND make you laugh while doing it? You must be in love.”

And you smiled because she’s right, you were head over heels in love.

***

And so it became a thing. Tom would leave for a little bit, you ignored how long he was gone, because it didn’t hurt as much if you weren’t constantly counting down the days until he’s back.

You would go about your normal routine, finding more and more elaborate puzzles for you to piece together when he got home. 

“Hey gorgeous, I missed you,” He says, laying on his stomach next to you, hand gently resting atop your own as you smiled at him, Tessa vying for his attention on the other side, nose nuzzling his head as he gives you a quick kiss.

“How was filming?” You ask as he pets Tessa with his other hand.

“Tiring, but nothing would make me happier than making this puzzle, what’ve we got today?” He asks, eyes twinkling with interest as your hand sifts through the small puzzle pieces in front of you.

“The Iron Man mask,” you nod at the box in front of you.

“Using the box is cheating!” He says hand moving to shove it away.

“Is not! It’s just a tool we can use if we get stuck.”

“But we never get stuck, not really, we work too well to not be able to figure out a little puzzle,” Tom smiles, breaking out into a chuckle when Tessa nudges a piece of the puzzle with her nose towards him.

“I think she wants us to start,” you smirk, and Tom nods, his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as the two of you concentrate on putting the puzzle together while you talk about the fun times he had on set with the cast and crew of Endgame, the conversation quickly turns to the best villain in the MCU, which he argues is “totally Thanos since they’ve been building it up for years and years.”

“Nope,” you grin, confident in your pick. 

“Then who?” He asks, hand fiddling with a puzzle, only a few pieces left.

“Ego!”

“What? No way,” he says, shaking his head.

“Okay hear me out, you think he’s a good guy to start with right? Quill’s dad, finally found him after years and years of searching for him. You’re rooting for him and you keep rooting for him as he tells the story of how Quill’s mom and him fell in love, and you see Quill slowly let his guard down, his wall crumbles, he’s got a dad and he just wants to know more about him, who he is, what he can do. And it turns out who he thought was his dad was the villain all along. Absolutely devastating, nobody cares about Thanos or whatever shit backstory they’ll give him.”

“Okay, okay, I think you won this round, reminds me, let’s rewatch the guardians movies sometime okay? We can have a movie night?”

“I’d love that,” you say as your hand holds the final piece of the puzzle.

His hand covers your own as you gently place it where it belongs, the edges matching perfectly with the surrounding pieces.

“We’re like two pieces of a puzzle,” Tom starts and you erupt into giggles as his hand tickles you.

“We fit together perfectly,” you are able to finish as he kisses along your neck.

How something so perfect could fall apart so easily? 

The answer to this question kept you up at night.

***

“Hey,” Tom huffs out as he collapses on the couch next to you, a small smile adorning his lips when Tessa sneaks from across your lap to lay between the two of you. 

“Hi,” you grin, head resting on his shoulder as his hand intertwined with your own.

“Missed you,” he mumbles and you smile.

“Missed you more,” you breathe out. It was all seemed so easy. The little moments like this, the moments right after he returned, seeing him after he’s gone made your heart flutter. You were just so happy to have him home you wanted to spend every second he was back with him. Unfortunately, that wasn’t possible, you had work, you both had friends and family, but regardless, you carved out as much time as possible to spend with him. That’s why these silly little puzzles were so important to you. Because it was something the two of you did together, you always did, and it was something to look forward to. 

The puzzle is sitting on the table in front of you, open but not disturbed.

“Shall we?” You ask, nodding towards the puzzle on the coffee table in front of you, a new addition to your living room. You should’ve had a coffee table when you first moved in together but it wasn’t something either of you thought much about until your mom jokingly chastised you about it. 

“Where would you put your drinks, where would you put popcorn and snacks while you watch movies? And your coasters, just get a coffee table, you won’t regret it.”

And so you did, went on a furniture run and picked up a small coffee table that Tom and you put together one day. You smile at the memory.

***

“I can totally help,” you say, holding up the directions as Tom’s gentle hands build the coffee table.

“You’re holding the instructions upside down,” he laughs, turning them in your hands.

“I totally knew that,” you huff, smiling at him before showing him the next step. 

He looked so hot building it, sweat beading on his forehead, eyebrows knitted in concentration as he built. Biceps flexing as he moved. 

The second it was finished you practically jumped him, kissing him deeply.

“Did this turn you on?” He laughs as he sets you on the coffee table.

“Careful! We don’t want it to break!” You say, about to get up when his hands spread your thighs.

“Nah, I built it, it’s pretty sturdy, promise, we can test it out right now,” he says, kissing up your thigh. 

“Great plan,” you breathe out.

***

“Guess so,” Tom says with a shrug, eyes no longer glimmering in excitement.

You watch as he kneels on the floor, you follow suit and sit next to him. You move to rest your head on his shoulder and he leans back to stretch at the same time, making you almost fall into his lap.

Maybe before it would be funny, you’d laugh and lay there as he played with your hair. The vibration of his body from his laughter comforting you. Now you just sat back up, head tilting curiously at the man next to you, seemingly a stranger as he fumbled around with the puzzle pieces, slowly placing each one in their spot. It was a big picture of dogs, one of which reminded you of Tessa, which was the reason you bought it.

“This puzzle’s boring,” he sighs as you're about halfway finished. The conversation at a stalemate, neither of you had much to say. You never did anymore. Telephone conversations while he was gone were now short and to the point. You started counting down the days until Tom was home, each day filling your heart with a sloshy mix of impending doom and heartache. Your mind wasn’t sure whether to be excited about his return, or afraid that the inevitable was quickly approaching.

“We don’t haveta finish it now, let’s just go to bed, you’ve had a long day,” you say, moving your hand to rest on top of his. His hand is tense and stiff under yours. Cold.

“Okay,” he mumbles, getting up, your hand drops to the ground, neglected. Before he would pull you up with him, kissing you like he did on your first date, short but sweet and passionate. Now it was a mumbled goodnight as you both turned in opposite directions on the bed, Tessa squeezing between the two of you. An unspoken barrier as you slept.

***

“Maybe another night,” Tom smiles as he greets you, hand tugging you into the bedroom when he got back from filming reshoots of Chaos Walking.

You figured he wanted to spend the night doing something else, something a little more R rated than a puzzle. 

You sigh into his hug, his arms no longer bone crushing, lung squeezing, just limp around your waist.

“Missed you,” you mumble into his neck, kissing along it while his hands tighten on your hips. You think he’s going to pull you to him, make his body flush with your own, having you panting and moaning his name until the sunrise reminds you that you have other things to do.

Finally.

“Not tonight,” he says, hands pushing your body gently away from him. 

“Okay,” you nod, head dropping to look at the ground, the empty space. Feeling the wall between you get thicker, once paper thin it’s now tough concrete.

“Just tired,” he sighs, stripping off his T-shirt and laying on the bed.

You follow suit, brushing your teeth, taking a very hot and very long shower to mask the tears you let trickle down your face. 

When did his body start to feel so cold against your own? The hot water running over your bare skin reminds you of the heat you’d feel rise to your cheeks when he said he loved you, even after 4 years those three words managed to make you blush. It reminded you of his fingers dragging along your skin as you welcomed him home, an activity that wasn’t very common now. 

When you got back he was fast asleep, body curled up with Tessa behind him. 

You smile at the sight, something that never failed to make you smile even when you felt like this.

You changed into your sleep shorts and one of his shirts, carefully climbing into the bed so you didn’t disturb him. 

As you lay, breath shallow, heartbeat fast against your ribcage, you faced the wall, staring at the window as the stars twinkled outside, wishing you were anywhere but here.

You freeze when you feel his hands pull you closer to him, head resting on your shoulder as your back rests against his chest. 

Your body relaxes as his fingers run up and down your arm, goosebumps erupting along your skin, heart slowing to normal. 

He’s silent, maybe he’s asleep, maybe he was just waiting for you to fall asleep so he can roll to the side and ignore you for the rest of the night. 

You pushed aside the fear you would wake up next to an empty spot, covers pushed down, cold where Tom used to lay. You wanted to appreciate the now. Because you honestly didn’t know how much of this you had left. 

As your breathing slowed to normal, your body much more relaxed against his own, you felt his lips mouth something against your skin, the words barely there, hardly scratching the surface of reality.

“Like pieces of a puzzle,” he says, voice groggy and sleep riddled. 

That had to be the only way he’d say it now, in his sleep, he hasn’t said it in what felt like ages, why say it now? 

“fit together perfectly,” he says, voice soft against your neck, legs intertwining with your own.

Perfectly.

You let out a shaky breath, “love you.”

“Love you too,” he mumbles against your neck, kissing it gently.

He’s not asleep. You feel the concrete wall start to crumble.

***

Tom had to stay an extra day in Korea. Which would’ve been fine if he called and told you. You got home from work earlier last night, changing into a pretty dress, the same dress you wore on your first date, long and floral printed. You and he had plans to go to a fancy restaurant near your flat, he’d meet you there once his flight landed. 

The embarrassment you felt sitting in that fancy restaurant, hair done, makeup done, nursing a vodka soda while the waiter would come to check in every once and awhile was mortifying.

“Your significant other here?” He’d ask and you’d smile sadly.

“Think he’s ditched me,” you laugh, feeling the tears well in your eyes.

You quickly paid for the alcohol and left, not wanting to embarrass yourself further. 

You allowed yourself a long shower, letting the mirror fog up with the steam from the heat. 

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub. 

Scrub the makeup off your face. You only did it to try to make Tom smile, maybe he’d call you his beautiful girlfriend and your smile would be so wide you swore it looked stupid, then he’d say he loved your stupidly wide smile. He was never a fan of your put downs. Always encouraging you to talk about the things you liked about yourself instead. 

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

Scrub the heat into your skin, pretend it’s Tom because the only heat you’ve gotten is the heat you feel when you’re arguing, a bad heat, nasty as a forest fire that’s about to destroy something beautiful. 

Scrub. Scrub. Scrub.

Scrub the pain in your heart when you think about what was and what is the status of your relationship.

Previously full of sensual I love you’s and long phone conversations when he filmed, about anything and everything and nothing at all, just to hear each other’s voices. 

Now it’s mumbled and what felt like insincere love you’s and phone conversations you weren’t even sure could count as conversations. Mainly “I’ll be home then” and “I miss you”.

Did you miss him? 

Once when he was finishing his press tour in China he told you over the phone he heard a song and made him think of you. You were shocked into silence. What did you say? What could you say? You weren’t expecting him to say something like that. You also didn’t expect him to think about you when he was away. Always busy, interviews, friends, photo shoots. Did he have time to stop and think about you? Despite constantly thinking about him, you figured his cold hands and concrete wall told you all you needed to know. 

“Yeah, they were playing English hits through the years and one of them was No One Like You, by the Scorpians, have ya heard it?”

“No.”

“Well I dunno, just made me think of you is all.”

“I guess I’ll listen to it then.”

“You should. I gotta go but I love you okay?”

“Love you too.”

You got out of the shower and wrapped yourself in a towel, feet now cold against the floor of your flat you changed into your pajamas, another one of Tom’s T-shirt’s, your eyes welled up at the scent. The scent of him, clinging to your body in the form of his dark blue shirt. It smelled like expensive cologne masked by nature, the smell of pine and grass from walks with Tessa. 

You settled on the couch, staring at the puzzle you had set up before leaving for the restaurant, lip quivering as you called him.

“Hi baby, how are you?”

“Forgetting something?” You ask, nothing but bitter discontent in your voice. 

“Fuck,” you hear him groan.

“It’s fine, had my first vodka soda in ages while looking like a loser whose date stood her up. It was fun,” you lie.

“They needed me to stay another day, I’m sorry,” his tone pleading but not apologetic.

“Well you could’ve told me.”

“I’m sorry! How was I supposed to know they’d want me here another day? Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad at you Tom! I’m really not! Enjoy South Korea, please,” you sigh into the phone, fingers tapping at the coffee table, Tessa curled up by your side. 

“I should’ve called you last night when I found out. The timezones are messing with my head.”

“It’s fine,” your tone portraying the exact opposite.

All it took was one phone call, so fucking easy. Even a text message would suffice. Anything to tell you that he wouldn’t be home. 

“I’m sorry,” he says again.

“I’m tired, it’s late, I’m gonna go to bed,” you say, pausing, waiting for him to say something, an I love you. 

“Okay.” 

It never came. 

You hung up before any more words passed between you. Besides, what else was there to say?

***

You’re exhausted as you slip out of your work clothes, tugging on your pajamas as Tessa runs circles around you.

“Taken you for a walk sweetheart, let’s go wait for dad alright?” You say, feet dragging your tired body to the couch, all but collapsing on it as Tessa wriggles her body to lay right on top of you.

“Silly girl,” you giggle, eyeing the puzzle box on the coffee table. He’d get home and you’d put the puzzle together and you’d laugh as his hand covers your own, nuzzling your neck as he whispers, “we’re two puzzle pieces, fit together perfectly,” as the last piece slides in.

That’s what you wanted. 

Lately, it was a lot of, “Maybe tomorrow”, “this puzzle’s boring”, the puzzle boxes accumulating dust as they sat on your bookshelf. 

You hear the turn of the lock and Tom’s feet dragging into the apartment, much the same style as yours. 

“Hi,” he mumbles out, not bothering to stop in the living room like he always did when he returned from filming or press.

Tessa perks up and jumps off you, running to greet Tom. 

“Hi princess,” he greets her, voice enthusiastic and excited. You don’t even bother getting up as he walks down the hallway to your bedroom. You hear Tessa move back and jump up on the couch with you, whining and nudging your head to look back at the damn puzzle.

You grumble, sitting up and opening the puzzle box, spreading the puzzle out in front of you. You bought one with the London Eye, where Tom took you on your first date. Hoping, praying, that maybe this would bring back the long lost spark in his eyes when he looked at you.

You settled in on the floor, leaning against the couch with Tessa curled up next to you. 

“Might as well,” you sigh, collecting the edge pieces. 

Your heart pounded in your chest as you waited for a ‘goodnight’ that never came. 

What the hell were you doing here?

You feel a tear slip down your cheek and you laugh bitterly when Tessa licks it off, groaning at her slobber. 

“Tess,” you giggle, hands busying themselves with fitting the edges together. You worked and worked as you heard Tom moving around in your bedroom.

Eventually, the noise stopped, he must be asleep. And you didn’t blame him, flights all over the world really wore him down and he had every right to sleep. You couldn’t be mad at him either, for forgetting your date, for losing touch with reality when he was away. You could never be mad at him, not truly. Your hands work mindlessly putting together the puzzle and you ignore the dull ache in your heart. You don’t even recognize that you’re still crying until your tears drop onto the puzzle. Your hand shakes as you wipe them away, body shaking with silent sobs. 

What happened? 

Time happened.

Distance happened.

You didn’t try anymore, neither of you put much care or time into loving each other. It wasn’t effortless like it was in the beginning. Falling in love was so much easier than staying in love. Making time for each other took energy, both exhausted from the toll of life, even going out on a date took a month’s planning. And even then it sometimes didn’t work out.

When was the last time Tom and you went on a date? 

You laughed, the thought left a bitter taste in your mouth, face crinkled in disappointment.

Tessa noticed your discomfort and nuzzled her head against your middle, resting her upper body on your legs as you worked.  

Time didn’t seem to pass, or it passed all too slowly. One mind didn’t work as fast as two. You wished there were a second set of hands, one resting gently on a part of your body, your waist, thigh, back, the other excitedly helping you piece together the puzzle. His voice sweetly whispering how you two fit together perfectly.

Your hand shook as it picked up the last piece. 

This is it.

You’re done.

You gently whispered, “we’re like two pieces of a puzzle, fit together perfectly.” Your voice cracked when you said perfectly like your mind was telling you you’re wrong wrong wrong. There’s no fixing this. You frowned as you attempted to push down the last piece, a side of the London Eye’s base. A very important part, if this were the real thing, the whole infrastructure wouldn’t hold up, but it didn’t seem to fit, no matter how you turned it.

You sat back and your teary eyes scanned the rest of the puzzle, every other piece was where it belonged. 

Right?

You grabbed the box, the picture was flipped down, you didn’t want to cheat as Tom would say. 

Your eyes darted between the picture and the puzzle in front of you on the coffee table. 

Every other piece was right where it needed to be, nothing out of place.

Then why didn’t this piece fit?

Your hands shook as you pressed down the piece into the puzzle. 

Fit, fit, fit. 

Why won’t you fit?

You didn’t realize you said this out loud until Tessa’s ears perked up, looking at you curiously. She had settled down to rest with her body pressed against yours. Maybe she knew you missed the warmth of Tom’s body pressed tightly by your side. 

“I don’t know either,” you laugh, fingers angrily shoving the stupid puzzle piece in. It bounced right out, almost mocking you.

“Come on, come on, come on,” you cry out, knees tucking into your chest as you sobbed, tossing the puzzle piece behind you. Eyes squeezing shut as you breathed harshly through your nose. 

Pointless. 

You don’t hear the quiet patter of footsteps behind you, you don’t realize Tom was watching you this entire time, you didn’t see Tom sit down on the other side of you, puzzle piece in a shaky hand. Your eyes were squeezed shut, hot tears running down your cheeks.

The feeling of his hand on top of yours on the coffee table made you almost jump out of your skin. Your head turns wearily, forcing your eyes open to look at him. 

“It doesn’t fit?” He asks, eyebrows raised. 

He had a sad look on his face, it probably mirrored your own, his eyes were the same red-rimmed as yours, mouth downturned into a slight quivering frown. 

You quickly shake your head, no, it doesn’t. 

You were afraid to speak, of the word vomit that might come out of your mouth. Why is the world so cruel? Why don’t you love me anymore? Why don’t I think I love you anymore? How can we fix this? 

Your mind whirled with these questions as his thumb rubbed the skin of your hand. Warmth spread through your hand, up your arm as his arms draped over your own.

You stared at the puzzle with the missing piece, the emptiness of the wooden coffee table between parts of the London Eye staring back at you, almost making fun of the hollowness you felt in your heart as it pounded against your chest.

“No, no, no! It’s pointless, fucking pointless,” you shriek. 

 What was pointless?

Surely you looked like a hysterical mess, arms throwing his off, hands tearing apart the intricate patterns that hold each puzzle piece to the next. 

“Hey, Hey, it’s okay, I’m here, I’m here,” he says, voice shaking much like your body does as your hands toss the stupid puzzle on the ground, piece after piece. 

“You’re here,” you choke out between sobs. 

“Yes, I’m here, I’m here and I’m not going anywhere, not for a while, I’m here.”

He kept repeating himself, voice stronger and more sure with each “I’m here.” 

Your hand grips the puzzle piece you’re holding tightly, the other closing in a fist and hitting the ground next to you. 

“Y/N…” he sighs, his arms wrapping tightly around you, not letting up as you try to swat him away, fist hitting his arm again and again as you cry. 

Bone crushing. Lung squeezing. 

Slowly your hand drops the puzzle piece to the ground, other hand gripping his bicep, tears staining his gray shirt as your head stayed tight against his shoulder. 

He let you cry in that awkward position, both your upper bodies turned to face each other but legs splayed out in front of you for a while. He was whispering into your hair as his hands steadied you into reality.

“I’m here,” he says, voice so sure, being strong for the both of you as you continued to cry.

Steadily he moved his arms to pull you into his lap, your legs perpendicular with his own as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, clutching onto the back of his shirt. You were afraid, afraid that if you let go he would leave again, leave you cold and abandoned, the puzzle pieces scattered around you a cruel reminder of your state of being. 

“Don’t go,” you whisper, voice hoarse as his hands gently run up and down your back underneath your, his, shirt. 

You felt warmth spread throughout your body, a gentle warmth that you missed, the feeling of his fingers against your body welcoming.

“Never, never ever,” he whispers and you can’t help but think about how that was a promise that couldn’t help but be broken, there would always be another movie, always an obligation that took him away from you, and that was okay, because he was doing what he loved and you loved that he was happy. But worry and doubt couldn’t help but seep into your mind as you wondered if he would be better off with someone who had the same career, who could travel with him, who understood what it was like to be so utterly destroyed from jetlag. Understood parts of him you never could.

“Y/N?” He asks, thumbs running over your ribs as you took deep breaths, your eyes blinking away a few remaining tears, smaller hands still tightly gripping his shirt, your body is no longer shaking with sobs. 

You hum against his shoulder, afraid of what you’d say if you speak. 

“I’m sorry,” his voice is soft and sincere, he wants you to know how much he means it, how much saying this in person means. 

What is he apologizing for?

For the increasing distance between you both the past few months. For not saying “I love you” enough even though he was always thinking about it. For being gone when you needed each other. For short phone calls that he wishes he could extend but he was just so tired. For the sleepiness in his voice, the bags under his eyes and the stars that died in his eyes ages ago, now just filled with utter exhaustion. And it wasn’t any fault of yours, nor his, not really. Things got in the way, it wasn’t this hard when he was gone on the Homecoming press tour, what changed?

But he didn’t want to tell you all this now. He wanted to make things right, he’s wanted to make things right for a while but he never found the time. Neither of you did. But he was determined to make time. 

His heartbeat was painful against his chest as you continued to quietly sniffle, trying to collect yourself.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper against him. He shifts under you slightly. 

“Don’t go,” you whimper, heart racing in your chest. Now’s the time he tells you he’s sorry but he can’t do this anymore, now’s the time that the concrete wall becomes unbreakable.

You didn’t realize you were falling asleep until Tom’s hands started to lift you, your heavy-lidded eyes opening wide.

“Don’t go,” you mumble again, please.

Your voice sounded so small and broken, Tom’s heart ached hearing how hurt you were. 

You both needed to stop being so stubborn and just lay out all your feelings, everything that’s happened in the past few months on the table. Now wasn’t the time though. You were falling asleep against him, grateful for his warm body against yours. 

Tom came home exhausted but was now wide awake, mind reeling with every possible scenario that could happen.

I don’t love you anymore, you’d say, and his world would all but collapse. 

I love you but I don’t know how to make this work, again his world would cave in on itself.

You could ghost him, something he had never thought of before but for some reason that idea was front and center. The thought of you completely dropping out of his life after so long caused his heart to pound in his chest.

“Gimme a second, let’s get you more comfy,” he says, strong arms moving back to your waist, helping you off him, your hands reluctantly letting go of his shirt as you slumped down on the ground.

“Come to bed, you need to rest,” he says, standing up with his hand outstretched.

You quickly took his hand in your own, he helped you stand up, your legs shaking as you looked at him, wide eyes staring into your own.

“Here,” he says, hands moving to grip your thighs, letting you jump into his arms.

It wasn’t an excited jump, like when you picked him up from the airport for the first, and last, thanks paparazzi, a twirl me around I’ve missed you and this is a cheesy romance film from the 1950s, jump. This jump was a jump of sheer exhaustion, both of you worried your legs wouldn’t be able to carry you the few feet to your bedroom. 

“I-, I-, I,” you try to get the words past your throat but they don’t work. Scared of the response you might get, or the lack thereof. 

“Shhh, I got you,” he whispers into your ear as he sets you down on the edge of the bed, tugging his t-shirt over his head before helping you lay down, facing away from him, your body flush against his warm chest.

You smiled weakly at how warm you felt with him next to you, the conversation you would eventually have to have pushed to the back of your mind. 

“I’ve got you,” he reassures you, hand running up and down your arm as the other rested under your head, trying to be as close as he could to you. He never wanted to let you go again. Your legs shook still and he noticed this, brows knitted in worry. He gently used one of his legs and guided it between your own, hoping the extra warmth and closeness will help calm you down.

You’re silent as your heart tries to calm down, hands gripping the sheets in front of you as you stare out the window, the night sky clear and beautiful, stars twinkling. 

“We needa talk,” you hear Tom say against your shoulder as the heavy weight of the day pushes you to sleep. 

***

You wake up the next morning, heart still heavy with the events of the night before, now laying on your back. You yawn, still tired. Always tired.

Your hand reaches out to rest of Tom’s warm chest next to yours but you’re met with a cold bed.

Fuck.

You quickly get up, the sheets shoved to the side as you raced out of your room. You expect to hear Tom moving around, Tessa as well. But it’s silent.

The silence of the apartment is the loudest thing you’ve ever heard as you run down the hallway, checking the bathroom, no, the guest bedroom, no, the kitchen and living room were empty too. 

The sinking feeling in your gut almost made you cry, tears welling in your eyes as your knees buckled and you almost fell to the ground. Out of the corner of your blurry vision you saw breakfast sitting at the kitchen table. What looked like a smoothie, eggs, toast. You tilted your head and moved closer, seeing a piece of paper with Tom’s handwriting scribbled on it.

You quickly sat down, shaking hand picking up the note.

“Took Tess on a walk, made you some breakfast before you haveta go to work, I hope you slept okay, love you, Tom xx”

You smiled at the piece of paper in your hand, heart fluttering as you imagined him waking up and taking the time to make you breakfast. The effort it took to make something other than cereal for breakfast when you both couldn’t cook very well. 

Time and effort.

You blinked away the tears as you ate, fingers tapping along the kitchen table. You had to be at work at 10, 10 to 5, another long day you didn’t think you could handle. But there’s no way they’d find someone to cover for you in such a short notice. What time was it anyways? 

Shit. 9:30. You had hardly enough time to quickly change into a nice blue dress and grab your purse, eyes darting to the living room, expecting to see the mess from the puzzle all over the floor. 

Gone. 

The puzzle was no longer strewn on the floor, the puzzle box not sitting up right on the coffee table. 

You wonder if Tom picked it up after you fell asleep. His body leaving your own, leaving you cold. You wonder if he put it on the bookshelf with the rest of your puzzles so you ignore the ticking clock, telling you that work is waiting, walking quickly to the bookshelf that had your set of puzzles from over the years, all sitting perfectly still, dust collecting over the past few months. 

You rummaged through all of them, even though you knew deep down it wasn’t here. 

Where’d he take it?

You didn’t have time to dwell on everything so you pushed everything down and headed out. 

***

Tom watched as you slept, his mind running a mile a minute, not letting him sleep. He thought about the puzzle you got, the London Eye, he wondered if you got it because it made you think of your first date. He wondered if he could ever recreate the feeling of your first date, not the awkwardness but the feeling as you left the London Eye, the feeling that he knew deep down you were the person he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

You were the daughter of his mom’s new friend. The two of them decided to make you meet once, while they were out for coffee. It was an awkward meeting to say the least. He thought you were pretty, beautiful, and after he shook your hand he was flustered and looking for something to compliment you without being weird. 

“I really like the way your skin feels,” He stammers.

What the fuck was that Tom? He thinks, almost smacking himself. 

Your eyes grew wide, an eyebrow raised, your cheeks slightly blushing but not a match to his tomato reds. 

“Nice handshake,” you laugh and Nikki elbows him.

The next day you agree to go on a date with him, telling him to make it worth your while. 

He brought you to the London Eye. As soon as you arrived he sort of regretted it, the line atrocious, wait times were upwards of an hour. You looked so pretty in your floral dress and he managed to compliment you normally this time, saying how pretty the red dress looked, telling you that lilies were his favorite flower, loving the pattern of them.

He was worried you’d be annoyed with having to wait for so long to go on the Eye, something you’ve probably done before, and only for a short time. What type of date was that?

But as the line moved, slowly but surely, you allowed yourself to open up, the conversation flowing from what you were in school for to him becoming a professional certified carpenter, something his mom made him do when he never got called back about auditions. You felt the disappointment in his voice when he talked about auditioning and never getting the role so you changed subjects, he laughed when you stopped your rambling for a moment to stare at him, eyebrows knitted in concentration as your eyes roamed his face. 

“This patch of freckles,” you say, fingers lightly tracing the side of his face, “looks like Ursa Major.”

“Hmm?” He asks, head tilted to the side as his eyes slipped shut, appreciating the feeling of your hand on his face. 

“The constellation,” you say, finger lightly tracing the constellation among his freckles.

“Never noticed that before,” he sighs. 

You’re at the front of the line.

You hop onto the capsule, ignoring as it filled with other people, situating yourself at the end, Tom standing beside you.

“It’s so pretty up here,” you smile as the capsule takes you up.

He turns, his body facing you. Your body was  turned towards him but your head was turned and watching the sunset over the London skyline. 

“It really is,” he says, eyes meeting yours as your head turns. 

And before he realizes what he’s doing or that there are other people in the capsule, or that this was your first date and you hardly knew each other he was kissing you. It was short and sweet and he pulled away quickly because he wasn’t sure if you were going to kiss him back and he was afraid he made things awkward. He was blushing and before he had a chance to comprehend your response your hands are gripping his shirt, pulling him back down to your lips for a longer kiss, his hands resting lightly on your hips. You kiss like you’re the only two people on the capsule, eyes shut as your hands release his shirt and he hopes and prays you don’t let go or pull away, sighing into the kiss when your hands softly rest against his chest. Neither of you pulled away or even thought to pull apart until someone coughed loudly behind you, making you both blush and pull your lips apart, foreheads resting against each other. 

“Wow,” you mumble, lips smiling as his thumb rubbed your hip over your dress. 

“Wow,” he repeats, eyes twinkling.

***

And so Tom knew what he had to do. He woke up early, letting you sleep, he knew you would miss his body next to yours but he had a plan. A plan to bring you back to where you first kissed, your first date, and not try to recreate that moment because that wasn’t genuine, it wouldn’t feel right. But to remind you and himself of all the reasons you fell in love in the first place. 

He sent a text to Harry and Sam, enlisting their help before making his way to the living room, eyes sad as he observed the mess from the night before. Tessa followed along behind him quietly, nose nudging some of the puzzle pieces as he picked them up, placing them in the box. 

He called his mom, knowing she would have a better idea of how to make his plan a reality. They talked in hushed whispers over the phone before he decided to make you breakfast before taking Tessa on a walk. He contemplated sending you a next to let you know where he would be but he decided that a handwritten note would be better.

Please, please let this work.

Please come back to me.

***

Your day was filled with mundane tasks at the library, there was no children’s reading hour so you spent the majority of your time putting away books, cleaning, and checking people out. You focused on the busy work to distract yourself from Tom’s sleepy words last night.

We need to talk.

Who says that? People who are about to break up with their girlfriend, that’s who.

Your mind continued to repeat those words, we need to talk.

Talk about what? How we can’t seem to make time for each other anymore? How you once traced constellations along his freckles and now you could hardly spend five minutes with him before he was on to the next adventure? How you had both grown tired and the growing strain on your relationship was too much to handle?

How you missed him so much, you missed him even when he was here because he was so distant. His words, his hands, his body, his eyes a million miles away even when he was sitting right next to you.

You said goodbye to your coworker before you made the walk home, not bothering to check your phone, there probably wasn’t anything from Tom anyways.

You made it back home, expecting Tessa and Tom to be hanging out on the sofa, catching up on Love Island or some other TV show he hadn’t gotten the chance to see while he was busy. 

The flat was empty.

You sighed, ignoring the living room and the reminder of your breakdown as you tossed your purse on your bed, laying down and taking a few deep breaths. 

We need to talk.

You reluctantly got up and walked to the kitchen, you hadn’t had anything to eat since this morning so you were starving. 

You grabbed a go-to of yours, peanut butter and jelly, too exhausted to make any dinner. You took your sandwich to the couch, about to sit down when you see the puzzle on the coffee table, you pause, feet stuck to the ground, a bite of your sandwich in your mouth, wide open. You quickly swallow before kneeling on the ground at the coffee table. The sandwich is forgotten next to a bouquet of flowers, lilies, your stomach erupted with butterflies. 

You glanced at the puzzle sitting on the coffee table, the London Eye, but it was complete, no missing piece in sight. 

This wasn’t the same one you did last night.

Next to it was another note in Tom’s handwriting.

“If you know, you know. Meet me at 6:30.” 

Your heart started pounding as you checked the time, it was already 5:45. You knew right away where he wanted to meet you, the completed puzzle told you everything you needed to know. 

***

Your mind raced as you sat in the back of the Uber, one hand tightly gripping your purse as the other tapped along your leg, bouncing up and down. You were never nervous for dates with Tom. At least you were going to assume that’s what this was until he said otherwise. 

“Date night?” the woman driving you asks and you nod, gulping. 

“Yep,” you voice shakes slightly with a nervous stutter. 

The rest of the car is silent as you pull up to where you were 100% sure Tom would be. 

As you walk up to the daunting ride, you look through the crowd of people, people taking pictures, people standing in line, looking for Tom. 

You find him leaning against the railing by the water, wearing a blue button up shirt and nice dress pants. He looked beautiful in the slowly setting sun. 

He waved, a backpack slung over his shoulder. Your feet moved faster and faster as you met him, breathless.

“Hi,” you smiled, faltering slightly, still so god damn unsure. 

“Hey,” He says, your eyes widened as they searched his eyes, finding a slight glimmer amongst the chocolate brown.

“What happened to the puzzle?” You ask, head tilted questioningly as you let your hand slip and intertwine with his as you stood in front of him. 

“It’s kind of a long story, but uh, shall we take a ride?” Tom asks, nodding at the Eye on your right.

“We’ll have all of fifteen minutes,” you try to explain and his other hand runs up and down your other arm. 

Step closer, search for those stars in his eyes and on his cheeks.

And your body moves with your thoughts, chest flush with his as your hand rests against his chest.

“I’ve missed you,” you say, eyes darting between his eyes and his lips. 

“I don’t want to miss you anymore,” he whispers, voice barely audible against the background noise.

You close your eyes, lips frowning as you thought about his words.

He didn’t want to miss you anymore? 

What did he mean? 

He noticed your curiosity and disappointment and shock over what he was saying, quickly following up.

“I just, I miss you constantly, and I don’t want to miss you anymore because I don’t want to be away from you. I can’t spend this much time away from you anymore. It’s breaking my heart,” he says, tears welling in his eyes as your thumb strokes his chest.

“Then I guess I don’t wanna miss you anymore either,” you giggle, blinking away a few tears, his hand moving up your arm to cup your face.

“Good,” he nods, wetting his lips as he stared at your own.

Your hand gripped his shirt, pulling his face down to meet yours, kissing him, mouths conveying everything that your words couldn’t.

“You know, I got us a special capsule,” he says when your lips finally pull apart, your cheek resting against his, lips ghosting your earlobe.

“Mhm? What’s that?” You ask, eyes glancing at the London Eye next to you.

“They call it the couple’s capsule or something, we get the whole thing to ourselves and we get extra time and everything,” his voice rising in excitement.

“And we still should talk,” he finishes, eyes looking in yours for cracks to your exterior.

“Okay,” you say quietly, eyes looking at the ground between you, your feet planted between his tapping against it. 

“Come on, let’s head up,” he says, quickly kissing your cheek before dragging you along with him. 

“What about the line?” you ask, nodding towards the long line of people all waiting in the evening summer heat for a few moments on the Eye. 

“Nah, we get to skip ahead,” he says, coming to a little side entrance.

You board the capsule and Tom slips off his backpack, setting it down on the bench before sitting down, tapping the space next to him.

You sit down, sighing as his hand moves to rest on your thigh, appreciating the warmth of his hand against your bare leg. 

“I’m sorry,” Tom starts and you interrupt.

“No, I’m sorry,” your eyes pleading with Tom to let you talk, to give you the opportunity to say what you so desperately need to. 

“I’m sorry for being so distant lately, when you’re home, when we talk on the phone. I guess I just couldn’t put in the effort, I guess I was scared that you stopped caring, so I tried to not care either and this is what it got us into this mess.”

“Why wouldn’t I care? Y/N, I could never stop caring about you, I’m so fucking in love with you, hearing you cry, feeling how upset you are, it breaks my heart so bad, I can’t stand seeing you upset. I wish I could take away all your pain, I want to do better. Life’s slowed down and I’m back for a good while. We can be us again, we can see cheesy old romance movies at the drive in, we can take Tessa to the dog park, I can attempt to teach you how to golf again, we can have sex,” Tom pauses, eyes searching your face for your reaction.

You giggled then paused.

In. 

“In?” You ask, lips quivering as you spoke.

“In? What do you mean?” He asks, eyebrows knitted in confusion.

“You said you’re in love with me.”

“Well yeah,” he says, a nervous laughter bubbling up his chest and out of his mouth, cheeks flushing like when you first met, “been in love with ya for a while.”

“Well yeah, you love me, I love you too, but you’ve never said that before, that you’re in love with me.”

“Huh,” Tom says, fingers pausing their movement on your thigh.

“I’m in love with you too,” you say in one breath, hand covering his own.

“Oh thank god, this would’ve been awkward if you weren’t,” he teases, nudging your side with his elbow.

“I thought, thought you didn’t love me anymore,” you whisper, not sure if you even want to say it out loud.

“What?” he asks, jaw almost dropping as he looks at you, visibly hurt that you would think that. 

“And last night, I dunno, that stupid fucking puzzle, when the piece didn’t fit, I thought it was a cruel fucking joke, that we were over and even a child’s toy was mocking us.”

“Have I ever told you that you’re a little bit superstitious?” He says, breathing evening out.

“Not funny, I just thought, there was this wall, right, here,” you say, gesturing to the inch or so between your legs where you weren’t touching, “and it was so thick and I kept pounding on it, but I just gave up. And you didn’t build it, this barrier I felt, maybe I just made it all up in my mind but it felt so real,” you sighed, eyes watching his face as it glows in the setting sun.

Your other hand, the one not resting on top of Tom’s, moves to his cheek, fingers lightly touching the brown freckles against his tanned skin.

“You got some sun,” you comment, “your Ursa Major looks like Orion now,” you observe, fingers tracing the constellation on his skin.

“I’m sorry, if it didn’t seem like I was, uh, like I wasn’t trying as hard to knock that wall down. I was so busy I just never recognized it was there until it was so thick we couldn’t knock it over. Is it, uhm, still there?” He asks, nodding towards the small space between you.

You grin, shaking your head slowly, body inching closer to him, legs and arms touching, “not anymore.”

“I uh, I got you something,” he says, pulling his backpack onto his lap.

“You didn’t haveta-,” you start but let Tom finish.

His hand leaves your thigh as he unzips his backpack.

“They were just little things that made me think of you,” he says, pulling out a small red drawstring bag.

“Oh Tom, this is beautiful,” you whisper, holding up the necklace that glimmered in the sun.

“Got it in Mexico, Harry had put a clip of me with that guy in the video on instagram and I was so worried you’d watch it and figure out I was getting you a present. It’s got a red jewel, your favorite color, and it sparkled so pretty in the sun, and it made me think of you in that red bikini when we went to Hawaii, anyways, I was gonna give you this right away, but mum’s a genius and told me to hang onto it, give you everything altogether when the movie press was over.”

You thumb runs over the jewel, breath quickening as you put the necklace on, smiling at how it fit around your neck, dropping perfectly on your chest. 

“From Mexico, yeah, and uh, here, this is from Bali, just a little hand stitched thing, they said if you hang it keeps the bad dreams away,” he says, handing you a beautifully stitched floral pattern on the small patch of white cloth surrounded by a wooden edge.

“Wow,” you smile, watching as Tom pulls yet something else out of his backpack.

“Here, tea from LA, the lady at the tea shop said it helps you sleep, and I know sometimes when I’m not home you can get restless and it takes you a while so. Yeah. And from New York, the new Janet Evanovich book, Becausewhen we were talking on the phone as I was in the book store you were telling me all about the murder mystery she wrote right before it and I saw this one was brand new so, yeah.”

You gulped, looking at the next thing he got as your mind raced with questions.

“And this is really pretty, it’s from China, I thought, it uh, matches your dress, you know the one you wore on our first date,” he says, hands holding a red silk scarf with a floral pattern. 

Your hand shakes as you hold it and he pulls something else out.

“From Korea; they call it Hanji, it’s the art of paper making, its super traditional,” he says, gently handing you a delicate piece of paper with a beautiful scene painted on it, a man and woman sitting on a bench, looking at the sunset.

“You, you thought of me,” you whisper, as he puts the gifts back in his bag.

“Why- Yeah, of course I thought of you, every second of every day I’m away I’m thinking about you. I get distracted in interviews because I’m wondering how you would answer the question, or what you’re doing, if you are missing me as much as I’m missing you. And I dunno, I would just see these things and think about you even more cause they remind me of you.”

“Thank you,” your voice cracks as he sets the backpack down and you both stand up. He leads you to the edge of the capsule, you’re almost at the very top of the ride, looking out over the water.

“I want to fix this, because I love you too much to see you hurt, and I love you too much to leave you for so long again,” he whispers, as he pulls you into a hug, arms tight around your waist, head resting atop yours as your cheek presses to his chest. 

You immediately reciprocate, arms tight around his shoulders as you smile.

Bone crushing. Lung squeezing. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry I stopped trying, but I love you too, and I never wanna stop loving you,” you mumble as he kisses the top of your head.

“And I never wanna stop making puzzles with you, and kissing you,“ he says, kissing all over your face as you laugh in his arms. 

Your lips meet his and you’re the only two people in the world as you kiss, mouth open as his tongue meets yours. It’s passionate and it’s yearning and it’s needy and it makes you want to drag him back to your flat and show him how much you missed him.

So that’s exactly what you do. After hours of showing each other just how much you missed each other you shower together, enjoying the heat of his body along with the heat of the water against your skin. 

As you lay in bed, facing each other, Tessa laying on the other side of Tom, like you used to, your fingers tapping along his palm, you smile as he intertwined his fingers with your own, thumb rubbing the skin of your hand.

“We’re like two pieces of a puzzle, he says against your lips.

“Fit together perfectly,” you finish together. 

***

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