#i just packed 8 boxes of MY books

[justalittlebluetiefling]

I’m pretty sure that if I were sent to the Bad Place, they would just make me pack up this apartment over and over again.

[riftclaw]

move has been postponed bc unmasked family members gave us covid

we’re all vaxxed x4 so right now it’s at “shitty cold” level and i’m praying it stays that way bc like, we’re all high risk

but also i haven’t actually been sick since 2018 bc of masking in public so it’s driving me mad experiencing what this is like again

[rynbutt]

pierced. pt. 8 | spencer reid.

When you told Spencer you loved him, he didn't know how to react. JJ helped him see what he was missing... but what if he never got to tell you himself?

you can find the other parts on my masterlist.

cw: fem!reader, angst, guns, criminal minds shiii, mentions of murder, being shot, etc.

a/n: re-upload cus i was unhappy with the previous one >:(

You and Spencer had been together for seven months.

Seven months of impromptu late night visits to your apartment when he got back from trips, watching his favourite documentaries while he talked the whole way through them, your surprise visits to the bureau with a box of pastries, seven months of proving to Spencer that he was worth every ounce of happiness he felt. 

Spencer didn’t believe in miracles or signs, but just your pure existence was enough for him to ponder such things. You understood him, you were patient with him and his demanding work, you were kind to him and let him ramble about whatever was on his mind, even if it took him far too long to get to the point. You never got angry with him when he shut down or had a hard time verbally communicating his problems, you were just there and that was enough.

You knew you loved Spencer, it was hard not to. You knew how Spencer felt about the ‘chemical and hormonal reactions of affection’, if anything it made you love him more, how technical and literal he was about virtually everything. You loved him nonetheless and you knew you wanted to tell him, even if you would never hear it back or you would be met with an analysis of why you felt ‘love’ for him. How it was all technically just your vast attraction and affection towards him and the bond you’d created. You’d roll your eyes and tell him you loved him anyway.

“You got your keys?” You called from the bathroom as you combed your hair.

Spencer had slept over once again. He basically lived with you, many of his clothes and books were packed into your cupboards and shelves, some pairs of his shoes sitting in the bottom of the closet next to yours. He even spent time going over case files while you were still at work, making sure to feed Tofu and have dinner ready for you. You had fallen into a domestic routine and you knew how much Spencer liked routine. 

“Yeah, what time will you be home?” Spencer called back from the living room, gathering case files and books into his satchel.

“Maybe five? I have an early finish,” you replied, leaning close to the mirror to comb mascara through your lashes. You heard Spencer’s footsteps nearing as he approached you in your ensuite, pulling the door open to kiss you goodbye.

“Okay, I just have paperwork to do today, maybe we can go out for dinner tonight?” He suggested, leaning his head against the doorframe.

“Sounds perfect, Spence,” you smiled.

“Okay,” he grinned, “I’ll see you tonight. Call me before you leave?”

“Yup, I will,” you turned to look at him. Spencer leaned down to kiss your cheek.

“Okay, angel,” he smiled, turning to leave your bedroom. “Bye!”

“I love you!” you called out, grinning at yourself in the mirror when you heard his footsteps come to an abrupt stop. You knew he hesitated for a moment before the footsteps continued and your apartment door latched closed.

Spencer wasn’t one for proclamations of love, cringing at the scenes in rom coms before over analysing every detail. You would always remind him that it was just a movie, and that it’s nice to tell people you love them. Spencer always dismissed the idea, but you weren’t going to sway on telling him you loved him, you felt like he needed to know that someone loved him and that in a room full of people, he’s the only one you would look for.

You weren’t offended when he didn’t say it back or come running back into the bathroom to confirm what you said. If anything, you expected it. You just wanted him to know how you felt.

Spencer drove in silence, both hands gripping the wheel as he replayed your confession in his head. Sure, his parents had told him they loved him when he was a young kid, but Spencer knew it was because of maternal and paternal instincts. But you. You loved him because you knew him, because you understood him, learned his flaws and loved him anyway. 

He walked into the bullpen in his own little bubble, barely registering that other people had greeted him as he made a beeline for his JJ’s office. Spencer shoved the door open, startling JJ who was on the phone to Will.

“Spencer? What- Hold on,” JJ said.

“Y/N told me she loved me,” Spencer almost yelled, his hands gripping the strap of his satchel.

JJ stared at him for a moment before bringing the phone back to her ear, “Hey, Will. I’ll call you back, okay?” She hung up the phone, turning her attention to Spencer, “...what’s wrong with that?”

“I don’t know! I just- I didn’t expect it, and I’m not sure how I feel or if she’s mad because I didn’t even say it back and I don’t even know if I should say it back-” he rambled, pulling a chair out to sit at JJ’s desk. 

“Do you love her?” JJ asked, eyes narrowing at Spencer who seemed entirely too worked up.

“What?” Spencer asked.

“Do you love her?” JJ repeated. Spencer opened his mouth and JJ held up her hand, knowing he was going to ask an overly analytical question, “When I ask if you love her, I mean do you miss her when she’s not around? Or do you get excited when you see her? Do you look forward to seeing her at the end of the day?”

Spencer stared at her a moment, thinking about it, “I do… But feeling affection toward someone you care about is entirely normal-”

“What you feel is love, Spence,” JJ replied. “It’s probably something new to you but you don’t have to fight it.” “I’m not fighting it,” Spencer retorted, “I’m thinking about it factually-”

“You’re fighting it,” JJ said blankly. “You’re probably afraid to lose her, afraid that it’ll all go wrong somehow just because you say you love her… In my opinion, it’s important to remind the people you hold close that you do love them, before it’s too late to tell them at all.”

Spencer didn’t say anything as he thought about it, his lips forming a tight line.

“Loving her looks like it comes naturally to you,” JJ said honestly.

Spencer spent the rest of the morning thinking about it, thinking about you and how irrational he felt when it came to you. He wanted to make you happy, wanted you to be proud of him. He wouldn’t care if he had no one else as long as he had you. 

The case they were working on was local to the area. Spencer didn’t anticipate working on a case at all, no one did, but after Hotch called them in, they realised they had little time to act. Three women had been abducted over a week, all turning up dead within 24 hours. The most recent victim they were looking for had maybe 12 hours before she would be found the same way.

They worked the case all day, Spencer and Rossi stayed behind to set up a geographical profile while Emily, Hotch and Morgan visited the morgue to establish victimology. It helped Spencer take his mind off the guilt of not returning your confession. He knew he was definitely thinking about it more than you were, it’s the type of person you were. You were honest and you were never ashamed of your feelings, he always wished he could be like that.

By the four hour mark, Spencer and Rossi were sure they had established the UnSub’s comfort zone and with help from Garcia, they had found where he was keeping the last victim.

It all moved so fast from there.

The house was secluded, a large shed in the back and surrounded by mostly forest. Hotch sent JJ, Morgan and Spencer to cover the shed while he stayed back with Rossi and Emily to cover the house. Spencer held his gun close as he rounded the shed, searching for a way in. He suddenly thought of you and he didn’t know why. 

Spencer heard the victim before he saw her. He called for JJ the moment he saw her hunched in the corner, duct tape over her mouth and her wrists and ankles bound. Spencer put his gun away, gently peeling the duct tape from her mouth.

“You’re okay,” Spencer said, peeling the tape from her ankles.

The girl began crying, “thank you,” she hiccuped, tears streaming down her bruised face, “thank you.”

“We found her,” JJ said into her mic, putting her gun away as she helped the girl to her feet. “Where’s the UnSub?”

“I don’t know,” Spencer muttered, wracking his brain.

They walked outside, Spencer helping hold the girl up as she stumbled on her weak legs. Morgan jogged over to them, “Where the hell is he?”

“Help Hotch and Rossi,” JJ suggested.

Spencer frowned as he looked around, “he could very well be watching us-”

Spencer felt the pang against his abdomen before he heard the gunshot. Before he knew it, he was on the ground, a splitting pain surging through his body from his right side. He heard the victim scream, JJ diving to the ground with her. 

His chest felt heavy, like a weight had been dropped on him. He blindly reached his left hand down, feeling the warmth oozing from his abdomen, not the best place to be shot. He lifted his hand, crimson blood covering his skin. His ears were ringing, he couldn’t hear, could barely see. All he could think about was you. You, you, you.

“Spencer!” JJ yelled, crawling to his side, “oh my god.”

“We need an ambulance!” Morgan exclaimed. Two of the local officers escorted the UnSub out of the house in handcuffs. 

Spencer looked up at JJ, her hair hanging down in front of his face, blocking the bright sun, “Can-Can you do me a favour?” His voice was weak, every word hurting his chest as he spoke.

“Just- shit! Hang on a minute!” JJ pressed her hands against the wound, Morgan falling to her side to press his over shirt against the wound, trying to stop the bleeding. 

“Can you tell- Can you please tell Y/N I love her,” Spencer muttered out, breathing heavily.

“You can tell her yourself, kid,” Morgan replied, his hands covered in Spencer’s blood. After that, Spencer felt himself growing more and more tired, his eyes falling closed as JJ and Morgan yelled for him to stay awake. He couldn’t do it, he was so tired, he just needed to shut his eyes. Just for a minute.

You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders when you told Spencer how you felt. It was always important to you that the people you cared for knew how much you appreciate them, Spencer was no exception. But you knew Spencer probably wouldn’t say it back, at least not right away, and you were okay with that. You were sure he would come around eventually. Eventually was good enough for you.

You sat at your desk for most of the day, only getting up to refill your mug or get on the ass of one of your coworkers who hadn’t submitted their project yet. You hadn’t heard from Spencer all day, which upset you a little given that Spencer was always calling or texting you about something. You understood it probably had something to do with your love confession.

By the time five o’clock had rolled around, you still hadn’t heard from Spencer. So you decided to call him. Your phone rang for a short while before you heard his voicemail, you assumed he was probably still busy with work.

“Hey, Spence. I’m on my way home now… Call me when you can,” you said before hanging up. You leaned against the elevator wall, wondering if maybe you frightened him a little too much.

As if on cue, Penelope’s name blinked across your screen, you answered the call, “Hey Pen-”

She sounded frantic, “Y/N, thank god! Y/N, Spencer’s in the hospital-”

“What?!” You stood bolt upright, your hand death gripping your phone.

“He was shot! We-We were working a case and he was just-”

“Where is he?” You ran as soon as the elevator dinged open, fumbling for your keys in your purse as you ran to the car garage.

“We’re at the hospital, he’s in surgery and I-”

“Send me the address, I’m coming now.”

You weren’t sure how you didn’t get pulled over with how fast you were driving. You couldn’t think straight, all you had on your mind was Spencer. You pulled into the closest car park outside the ER, not even bothering to check if you were supposed to pay or not. 

You bolted inside, your heart in your throat the moment you saw everyone sitting in the waiting room. Hotch was pacing back and forth and Penelope looked like she had been crying. You didn’t even realise it but you had been crying too, hot tears streaming down your face. Penelope saw you first, darting up from her seat to meet you halfway.

“You’re here,” she muttered into your hair, holding you tight.

“W-What happened?” Was all you managed to get out.

“We were tracking an UnSub and we found one of the victims on his property and he just- he shot him. I don’t even-” Penelope let out a deep breath.

“Fuck,” you breathed, feeling as more tears began streaming down your face, ruining your makeup.

“Y/N…” JJ came to hug you, wrapping her arms around your shoulders. You held JJ for a moment as you cried, sniffling into your hand. 

“Where is he?” You asked as JJ pulled away.

“He’s in surgery,” JJ replied, guiding you over to sit down with the rest of the team. You felt numb as you sat down next to Emily, your hands held tight in your lap. JJ was talking to you but you couldn’t hear her, you couldn’t hear anything. Emily rubbed your back, letting you cry softly as she comforted you.

It was hours before you heard anything. You had cried so much that it made you exhausted, falling asleep against Emily. Rossi draped his coat over you, letting you rest until the surgeon came out to the waiting room. Emily gently shook your shoulder and you shot up once you noticed the surgeon.

“He’s okay.”

You felt like the weight of the world lifted off you.

“Can I see him?” You asked. “He’s on a lot of pain medication-”

“Please,” you sounded pained.

“Of course,” the surgeon said, “he might be out of it for a few days, but for now he’s stable.”

One of the nurses guided you to his room as the surgeon briefed the rest of the team on Spencer’s condition. You would ask JJ to give you the details later, all you wanted right now was to see Spencer, hold his hand, just be with him. 

Your heart squeezed when you saw him, cords hanging around him everywhere, an IV in his arm and his eyes closed. He would have looked like he was peacefully asleep if it weren’t for the beeping, the needle in his arm, the sterile smell of the hospital ward and the thin tube under his nose. 

You pulled a chair next to him, sitting down by his bedside and reaching for his hand. His hand was still warm despite the coldness around him. You let out a sigh of relief, bringing his hand to your lips to press a kiss to his knuckle.

No one could get you to move after that. Penelope and Morgan tried to get you to come get food with them, Hotch and Rossi both offered to drive you home so you could get some sleep. You refused. You couldn’t leave him, not now. Not when he needed you.

a/n: i'm a degenerate when it comes to mgg

taglist: @crazycat-ladys-blog @cillsnostalgia @secretly-tumb1r @33-81 @elissanatok @outrunangelss @cultish-corner @666-gothic-bat-666 @evvy96 @littlemarvelstan8 @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @meg-black @dreamsarebig @anuncalledbridge @fioletowelowe @ladylincoln @spencereidsgf420 @bollzinurmouth @scarlettssub @ipseitydelrey @donttrustlove @mcntsee @ruziazyn @valinherfantasyworld @khxna @maybe-not-this @shardsofmarxx @danadinosaur3 @justsarahbella @ah-blossom @lorelaireid @btskzfav @reidsdoll @pinkpantheris @violetvsworld @readergf @pangirl-fangirl @emideadpoets @blackbeautyiloveyouso @feyresqueen

[cuubism]

Physical Therapy, Part 8

--

A few days later, Hob goes to Dream’s old flat. He wanted to go immediately, but he needed time to calm himself. If he went to confront Dream’s ex immediately, he’d be too likely to do something inadvisable out of anger.

Truthfully, he’s still so angry.

He can control himself, though. So he knocks on the door, instead of taking it off its hinges.

Dream’s ex-boyfriend opens the door with an annoyed look on his face. But jumps back, startled, at the sight of Hob. He recognizes Hob, then. Good.

“I’m here for Dream’s things,” he says. No need to prolong this with pleasantries.

“His things?” says the ex, with disdain, like Dream’s possessions mean nothing to him. “Why? He’ll come back anyway. Eventually.”

“No, he won’t.”

Ex-boyfriend leans against the door frame, smirking. Maybe Hob should have just punched him. “You going to stop him?”

Hob takes a deep, long breath. No. He actually wouldn’t try to stop him. He’s not going to force Dream to do anything. He’d try to convince him otherwise, though. And if he can be a good enough boyfriend, then maybe Dream will never feel the need to go back to some horrible place, looking for love.

“I don’t try to make people stay in my house,” he snaps. “His things. Now. You think I won’t punch you again?”

So much for being calm.

For the first time, that smirking look slips. “It’s all worthless anyway,” he says.

Hob grits his teeth. The stupidest thing is, even for someone who doesn’t care about Dream himself, Dream’s art is objectively not worthless. Hob had looked it up once. Dream’s paintings sell for thousands of pounds. Sometimes tens of thousands. It’s not just Dream’s passion that he’s so jealous and disparaging about, but his livelihood, his basic ability to support himself.

“Are you going to let me take it?” he says. “Or are we going to have a problem?”

Ex-boyfriend looks annoyed—and uncomfortable?—but finally just gestures Hob in. “Fine. Whatever.”

Inside, the flat is… kind of cold. It’s not homey. He can’t imagine Dream living here; he can barely imagine Dream living in his own flat, which is likewise utterly empty of decoration. But there are spots on the wall, here, that are empty in a more conspicuous way. Like Dream’s art might once have hung there.

Hob doesn’t know the entirety of what he’s looking for, but he thinks he’ll be able to identify most of Dream’s things by sight. And indeed—with Dream’s ex trailing him like an irritable ghost—he finds some of what must be Dream’s clothes in the closet, and Dream’s sketchbooks and books and paperwork all stacked in boxes. Like they’d been on their way out.

So much for “he’s definitely coming back.”

Dream’s ex doesn’t stop him as he packs stuff up and gathers it by the door. But as Hob looks at what he’s managed to collect, there’s obviously something missing. Pieces that were still drying and pieces that were too large to carry, Dream had said, when speaking of what he'd left behind.

“Where’s the rest of his art?”

Now ex-boyfriend does look uncomfortable. A sinking feeling settles in Hob’s stomach. “Why would I keep that shit, anyway? I told you, it’s worthless."

“It’s not worthless,” Hob snaps, but this time his voice breaks. He scrubs a hand through his hair. Looks at the empty spaces on the wall.

He tries to imagine what happened. Did he just toss it all? Coldly? Methodically? No, Hob doesn’t think so. If he had he would have just gotten rid of the rest of Dream’s stuff, too.

What he can imagine is a fit of rage, with his real target, Dream, having fled, and only the supposed distraction, his life’s work, left behind.

Dream's ex-boyfriend is watching him warily. He seems nervous about what Hob might do, like Hob is an unpredictable animal. Good. Maybe he'll understand how Dream's felt. “You got what you came for,” he says. “Just go.”

“Yeah, I’m trying to decide if I'm going to kill you first.”

Dream’s ex takes a startled step back. And Hob really, really wants to just fucking bash this guy’s head in. But he has to restrain himself. Not just because he doesn’t want to get arrested for assault, though that’s also better avoided.

No. It’s really that he doesn’t want to be another violent man in Dream’s life.

As satisfying as it was to throw that first punch in Dream’s defense, making it physical now would be a different matter. If he shows that he’s capable of resorting to real violence to get what he wants, or to punish someone for something, Dream is always going to have that in the back of his head when he looks at him. There will always be a tiny corner of his brain harboring the fear that that impulse could turn on him.

He’s already kind of pushing boundaries by being here at all, and only getting away with it because Dream didn’t actually tell him not to go, just that he himself didn’t want to. God his blood is heated and this asshole definitely deserves to be taught a lesson but it’s not worth putting a crack in Dream’s trust in him.

“You’re lucky I care more about what he thinks of me,” he finally says. Then he gathers all of Dream’s stuff, and makes himself leave. Dream’s ex, wisely, doesn’t say anything else as he goes.

—

Dream is in the middle of trying to paint when Hob arrives. Or rather, in the middle of staring at a canvas, wishing he could paint. He’d bought a large canvas in the hopes that he might try to do something in his old style, something more detailed and precise. But he’s been too intimidated by the prospect to even begin mixing colors.

He keeps finding himself staring at all the empty space in his flat, at walls that should be hung with art. But he doesn’t have any of his large pieces left. They were all sold prior to… the incident… or left behind. He only has the smaller ones that were in his portfolio.

He’s been finding himself regretting selling those pieces. He had never been bothered by it before, but now he wants to track down the buyers and beg for them back. But he won't. Some of those paintings had sold for tidy sums, which is the reason he can afford this flat despite not having a steady job. And he has no guarantee of being able to sell something at that rate again.

He at least has photographs of everything he’s ever sold. The same can’t be said of what he’d kept for himself, or left unfinished.

He startles at the knock on the door, but remembers: Hob said he would come over today.

He still hasn’t been able to shake the need to block the door whenever he’s home, so he has to shove aside a bookcase before he can let Hob in. When he opens the door, Hob is carrying a box, and wearing a pained smile. “Here,” he says, giving it to Dream. “I have more in the car.”

He disappears back down the stairs before Dream can question him, and Dream sets the heavy box down on the kitchen island.

It’s full of his sketchbooks.

For several moments he just stares at them, not daring to touch. How did Hob— did he go to Dream’s flat?

Hob comes back with another two boxes, precariously balanced, while Dream is still staring at the first one. These, it seems, are full of documents, and personal effects, and some of his favorite books.

“How—?” he tries to ask, nearly struck dumb.

“I went to your house,” Hob says. “Sorry, I probably shouldn’t have. But you deserve to have your things.”

At first, he is only shocked to think that someone would go to such lengths for him. Then, Dream feels a surge of hope. Perhaps—

But. No. Of all things, Hob would have known to grab his artwork. He would have lead with that.

“…Oh,” Dream says quietly, looking down.

“Yeah,” Hob says, face falling. “I’m so sorry, Dream, that’s all that was there— I mean I still have some of your clothes in the car, but—”

“I love you,” Dream says, tearing up. Hob actually went back. To get his things. Even when Dream said it wasn’t worth doing.

When he looks up again, Hob looks stunned. And only then does Dream realize what he’s said. He swallows nervously, but he doesn’t want to take it back. It doesn’t matter if he truly meant that he’s in love with Hob. Because either way, he loves Hob. And no one has ever loved him like this, like it was easy. And without question.

“I—” Hob stammers. “I mean it’s really not—”

Dream takes his hands and squeezes them, and Hob stops talking. “It is,” Dream says. “It is a big deal. To me.”

“Well,” Hob finally manages, voice still tight. “I want you to be happy, Dream. You deserve that.”

It’s not a sentiment Dream is used to hearing directed towards him. But hearing it from Hob makes him feel like… maybe it can be. Maybe it should be.

Dream kisses him, still holding his hands. He feels himself smile into the kiss. Another thing he’s not used to doing, but it feels good.

Hob smiles too, as he cradles Dream’s face between his hands. And even though Hob wasn’t able to recover his art, even though his ex probably destroyed it—which is agonizing to think about—in this one moment, Dream is… happy.

It's so strange that it almost hurts. But he thinks he’s actually happy.

[drunkonh20]

Winning Hearts in the Ring.

A/N: yours truly is back, i'm working and my shifts are pure shit, but imma make up for it folks.

modern day AU boxer Sevika, because we all want to see that, and thanks for my special anon for this request i hope i did you justice.

"C'mon Y/N it's gonna be fun, you promised you would come with me!!" Your friend whined as she takes your arm and shakes you gently. It is begining of autumn and your collage started which means s lot of studying because you are a third year of medical school and your intership starts as well, both for you and your friend actually. You two first met at the first day of classes, funny thing is you two are from the same town but never actually spoke until you two started collage. You first spoke only because you bumped into eachother while looking for your classroom. You remember it like it was yesterday.

"Y/N if you don't hurry up and find this damn classroom Mrs. Jackmann is gonna kill you." You thought to yourself as you were running up and down the hallways. Rushing and carrying your books at the same time because you, sadly, slept in this morning and forgot to pack your backpack. As you were right behing the corner you bumped into someone. "Oh my gosh I am so sorry!" You look up and see a blonde girl with such a soft face. "It's fine don't worry, I should be careful, it's just that if i don't find this class Mrs. Jacks-" "Mrs. Jackmann will kill me." You and the blond girl look at each other and started laughing. It was like fate, the universe wanted you two to become friends. "I'm Sonya, pleased to meet you fellow nurse." She puts her hand infront of you and you glady accept the greeting. "And I'm Y/N fellow colleague." You smile warmly at her. At that moment you knew you found your best friend and your soul sister.

"Pleeaseee I am begging you, I will go on my knees if I have to."

Sonya said as she was slowly getting on her knees beside you. "You can be a pain in my ass Sonya." You laugh as you typed into your laptop. You promised to go with her on a boxing match that is gonna be in a few days in the city. Sonya actually started training boxing and she wants to go to see the real deal for whats up for her. "Tell me when is this again?" You asked sipping on your coffee.

"It's on saturday at 8 pm, and don't you dare start the 'I have work to do' because we both know that you do not work on weekends because the doctors at the hospital love you and because of that they gave you every weekend off. Please Y/N I already got us tickets like a month ago." Sonya said with a straight face. When she wants something, she will go anything to get it, including you going with her. You stop typing for a moment, pretending to think about the situation. A small laugh escaped your lips and Sonya grabbed a pillow and smacked you with it.

"I KNEW YOU WOULD GO YOU LIL BRAT!" She laughed out loud, boy do you love to see her happy. After finishing your work you two hoppend onto a couch and watched your favorite show to end the night.

Fast forward to saturday.

"Y/N are you done in the shower??" You hear Sonya. "I'll be out in a minute!!" You said as you were done washing yourself. You went out of the bathroom smelling like a whole bath and body works. "For who are we smelling that good hmmm~?" Sonya teased and you just laugh it off, it's not like you would find a hot guy there right? You two girls got ready and went out of the apartment that you shared. It was a cozy little thing, made for two of you. It was a chilly night but you two thought it was a great idea to wear s dress, because why not eh. As the two of you got into Sonya's car you blasted your favorite songs and sang along as you were driving to the arena. While sitting in the passenger seat you look out the window and a jumbo poster catches your eye. It was a poster of the two boxers promoting todays match. At the same time by chance your music was cut by short commercal break.

"Tonight, the ring will burn as two elite boxers face off in a battle for supremacy! Join us for an electrifying night filled with intensity, skill, and heart. When: Tonight at 8:00 PM. Where: Eclipse Arena. Don’t miss your chance to witness history in the making! Hope you grabbed your tickets on time to be part of the action! Who will emerge victorious? Be there to find out!"

"OMG Y/N I CAN NOT BELIEVE WE ARE GONNA SEE IT LIVE!!! You will be amazed by this whole evening. Did I ever tell you that my favorite boxer Sevika is up in tonight finale??? Did I??" Sonya said happily and you just couldn't help but to smile because she was acting like a little child who saw a big rainbow lollipop at the store. "No you never actually told me who is your favorite boxer, but I will see her today." Just as you finished saying that you two pulled over at the parking lot of the Eclipse arena. And let me tell you, it was almost full to the brim, you were lucky to find a spot empty. You two got out and rushed to the main enterence of the big building. There was a lot of security, like a lot, with police also if someone decited to be dumb and start a mess. The line into the arena was huge, but thank God you were rushing so you weren't at the back.

"Tickets please." A strong, buff guy asked you two in a deep voice. Sonya gladly showed them in his face and the guy let's you in.

Entering a boxing arena to watch a match is an experience on a whole snother level. As you approach the venue, the anticipation builds. The sounds of chatter fill the air, mixing with the faint echo of gloves hitting pads in the background. Upon entering, you’re greeted by the vibrant atmosphere—bright lights that shine on the ring, filled with sponsors' logos. The scent of popcorn and hot dogs goes through the crowd. You and your friend navigate through the sea of fans, while others are animatedly discussing previous matches between the two finalists. Finally finding your seats, some smart assholes almost took your seats bit thank god Sonya basically has the additude to deal with people like them, you settle in as the energy pulsates around you. The crowd’s roar grows louder, especially as the fighters are about to be introduced. You truly never experienced something like this. It was exciting and adrenaline was rushing thought you like some kind of a drug. You see the host going into the right with a microphone in his hand. That's it, the two finalists are finally coming onto the stage.

“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the main event of the evening! Get ready for an electrifying showdown as we present the finalists of this year’s championship! In the red corner, hailing from the heart of the city, known for her relentless drive and knockout power, give it up for the ferocious fighter, Sevika!"

Sonya basically goes wild, as she sees her idol with her own two eyes. You calm her down as much as possible so she doesn't faint from excitment. You look up the ring to see the host with the two boxers. He takes a minute so the crowd goes silent to introduce the second finalist.

"And in the blue corner, representing the pride of her hometown with an unmatched skill set, put your hands together for the formidable contender, Violet known as Vi! Tonight, they will battle it out for glory, honor, and the championship title! Let’s get ready to rumble!”

People being to scream as the match begins, the tension is electric. Every punch, dodge, and cheer from the audience intensifies the experience. You and your friend exchange reactions, riding the highs and lows of each round, caught up in the drama unfolding before you. The experience is more than just the match; it's the shared excitement between you and Sonya, and the unforgettable moments that make it truly memorable.

"GO SEVIKA KICK HER, YES, NO, YES SEVIKA WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????" Sonya got out of her seat to exam the situarion further. It looked like Sevika was loosing, but it was only the first round.

You just sat there in ave. You've never seen such a woman in your life. What captured your eyes was her left arm. It was a bionic arm. You thought what happend to her. "Hey Sonya, what happend to her arm?" You got closer to your friend as you asked the question. "She had an accident a few years ago, from what I read, her team wanted the best for her and they got a new technology for her arm. Sevika's bionic arm is a highly advanced prosthetic designed to mimic natural arm movements and enhance functionality, allowing her to perform tasks with precision and strength." She said never tsking her eyes off the ring. You just nodded as you continued to watch the match. After the first round it got even more intense. It was two for two now. The last match decited who is the new champion. Before the third and final round the host said that there will be a thirdy minute break.

"NO WHY, I CAN'T WAIT FOR THAT LONG." Sonya fake cried and laughed at the same time. You got out of your chair to grab some fresh air, sadly to you, you didn't know some boy was behing you, following you outside. You stood outside drinking your soda while listening to chatter around you, people commenting on the match.

"Heeeey there beautiful hehe." You turned around and saw a somewhat drunk guy covered with grease from hot dogs aeound his mouth. Ew, you though to yourself ignoring him. He slid his arm aound your waist, but there was someone else watching the situation from afar. "Why don't you wanna talk eh, the cat got your tongue or am did I take your breath away?" The creep smrked and you just wanted to punch him right there and then. Looking around for a security guy or police but there were none on sight. Great, how can you camly get out of this situation? "Look man I'm not interested just leave me alone please?" You rolled your eyes. "Oh now you can talk, why don't we go to my place after hmm little kitten?" You almost puked. Finally turning around to face him you were about to start explainging some stuff about manners when a figure got behind him.

"Didn't she say she is not interested?" Ylu looked up behind the dude and saw her. Sevika. You looked at her in awe. You examed her face closely. Sevika has an expressive face, marked by sharp features and intense gray eyes that show both determination and a hint of softness, but at this moment her eyes screamed bloody murder. "Get back inside or else I'm gonna carry you inside piece by piece." She stared down at him, right after the guy ran inside for his life. Sevika looks at you, you can se some bruises and some bloody marks on her face. She looks at youand smiles a bit. A small 'thank you' escapes your lips looking down to hide your blushing face. "Anytime beautiful." She smirks taking a cigarette out of her pocket. You look up to her side and see one bad cut on her face. "You know that cut will be needing a least four to five stiches."

"Oh yeah, are you a doctor?" She takes a puff.

"Well actually, I am.. almost." You smile st her. She looks at you and takes your face into the palm of her hand. "Well then, you will be the one who will stich me up darling." She said taking another puff. Never in your damn life have you felt like this, never has someone made you feel this kind of way when meeting them for the first time. You stutter finding words to say something, she looks at you again. "Gotta get back inside, hope to see you still there to watch me win beautiful." She winked and went back inside the venue. You couldn't believe what just happend. Sevika, THE Sevika saved your butt snd flirted with you tonight.

'Sonya will never believe what just happend.' You thought as you went after Sevika inside. You got back into your seat and saw Sonya talking to a boy prolly not even noticing that you were gone for the whole thirdy minutes.

As you sat down the bell rang. The finale match has begun. You saw Sevika getting up from her corner. She was looking for someone. When she finally saw you she just winked at you and you couldn't help but to blush again. Sonya looked st you. "Girl, what was that??? Did Sevika just winked at you?" "Sonya, I will explain it later just watch the match okay." You said never taking your eyes off of Sevika, praying to god she will win. "O you have some explaing to do at home young lady."

As the final round approaches, the atmosphere is electric, the crowd roaring with anticipation. Both Sevika and Vi are visibly exhausted, sweat glistening on their brows. The bell rings, and they charge toward each other, trading jabs and hooks, each punch a testament to their grit. Sevika started showing signs of fatigue, begins to retreat, but Violet aka Vi senses an opportunity. With precision, she unleash a series of powerful combinations, landing clean shots that echo through the arena. The crowd erupts with each strike, urging Sevika on. In this moment both you and Sonya started biting your nails from anixety In the last minute, Sevika digs deep, channeling their remaining strength. She respond with a surprising counter, landing a solid right hook that staggers Violet. Time slows as the two boxers exchange blows, each seeking to gain the upper hand. As the final seconds tick away, the fighters lean into their last efforts. With just seconds left, Sevika delivers a devastating uppercut, sending her opponent to the canvas. The referee counts, and the crowd holds its breath. At eight, Vi struggles to rise, but they can’t beat the count. The bell rings, and the referee waves it off. Sevika raises her arms in victory, is declared the winner, her corner erupting in celebration while Violet, though battered, nods in respect. The match ends, marking another chapter in their fierce rivalry. The host enters the ring for the last time.

"We are thrilled to announce that Sevika has emerged as the champion of the boxing championship! Her dedication, skill, and determination have truly set her apart. Congratulations to Sevika for this incredible achievement!"

Both you and Sonya screamed. You could see Sevika looking at you, breathing heavily and she just smirked. You look at her and smile while doing the thumbs up. She laughed at you, couldn't help it.

After a while the crowd gets outside and so do you and Sonya. While walking to your car and chatting about the match you see someone ahead of you. It was Sevika, leaning over to the side of your car.

"I was hoping I can get your number beautiful." You see Sevika leaning onto your car. She handled you a pen and paper. You glady accept it and write it with a little heart next to it. You gave the items back and look at her. "Someone will need to stich you up hm?" You teased and she smirks, while Sonya almost had a full on stroke in the background. "O young lady you have a lot of explainging to do. Btw hi Sevika, I'm Sonya, big fan." She waved her hand to her. Sevika laughs along side of you at this whole situation. As you both settled into the car, the tension of the moment shifted into something lighter. Sevika chuckled, glancing over at you, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "So, what's your plan after the stitches?" she teased, raising an eyebrow. You smirked, feeling the chemistry crackle between you. "Maybe take you out for a drink, if you're up for it." Sevika's smile widened. "Count me in. Just don’t be surprised if I end up stitching you up instead." Sonya, still recovering from her shock, shook her head in disbelief. “This is going to be a story for the ages.”

As you drove off, the laughter and teasing continued, the night ahead full of possibilities, leaving you both eager for what was to come.

[gotham-ruaidh]

Little Bit Better Than I Used To Be

Catch up: Chapter 1 (Starry Eyes) || Chapter 2 (Save Our Souls) || Chapter 3 (Dancing On Glass)|| Chapter 4 (Merry-Go-Round)|| Backstage (1) || Backstage (2) || Chapter 5 (Danger)|| Backstage (3) || Chapter 6A (Love Walked In) || Chapter 6B (Without You) || Backstage (4) || Chapter 7 (Stick To Your Guns) || Chapter 8 (Time For Change) || Backstage (5) || Chapter 9 (Take Me To The Top) || Backstage (6) || Chapter 10 (Home Sweet Home) || Backstage (7) || Chapter 11a (Nightrain) || Chapter 11b (Nothing Else Matters) || Chapter 12a (Handle With Care) || Chapter 12b (I’m So Tired of Being Lonely) || Chapter 13a (Angel) || Chapter 13b (She’s My Addiction) || Chapter 13c (Patience) || Chapter 14a (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14b (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 14c (Where Do We Go Now?) || Chapter 15a (Dreams) || Chapter 15b (I Sing A Song of Love) || Chapter 15c (You Can Do This If You Try) || Chapter 16 (Let That Feeling Grab You Deep Inside || Chapter 17A: Never Tear Us Apart || Chapter 17B: It’s Tough To Be Somebody, And It’s Hard Not To Fall Apart  || Chapter 17C: I’m Wishing, Lord, That I Was Stoned || Chapter 18: Turn The Page || Chapter 19A: When You’re Alone, Do You Let Go? || Chapter 19B: Heading For A Spin ||| Also posted at AO3

Chapter 20A: I Don't Need Nothing When I'm By Your Side

So hold me close, better hang on tight Buckle up, baby, it's a bumpy ride We're two kids hitching down the road of life Our world, our fight

-- “Born To Be My Baby,” Bon Jovi (1988) [click here to listen]

North Carolina || February 1989

Jamie frowned, looking back and forth between the shelf he’d just put together and the three unpacked boxes of books (two marked CLAIRE, one marked JAMIE).

Would she like them organized alphabetically by author? Genre? Size?

He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking. Or perhaps she wanted medical books in her workroom? And maybe he could put his music books on the cabinet in his studio –

“There you are.”

He hadn’t heard Claire pad into the room – at some point they would need to get throw rugs to protect the gorgeous old hardwood floors – and smiled as she effortlessly stepped into his embrace.

They held each other for a long moment – his lips against her hair, her face buried in the safety of his neck.

Almost three months since the acoustic tour had ended, the night before Claire’s birthday. About six weeks since they had closed on their dream house, nestled against a mountain in the forests of North Carolina, not too far from The Ridge. And about two weeks since the items in storage – from her packed-up apartment in Boston, and his packed-up house in Los Angeles – had arrived.

The property had everything they needed. Privacy and solitude, of course. An old barn that they were using as a garage for Jamie’s motorcycle and cars. The house – an old cabin, really, dating from the 1800s and which had been lovingly expanded over the years – was perfect. A spacious living room, complete with the original stone fireplace. An eat-in kitchen, with newly replaced appliances. Two small rooms off the back that were now his music studio and her workroom – spaces to pursue their interests. A modestly-sized master bedroom. And a small extra bedroom – which for now was for guests, though God willing would be a nursery very soon.

Claire had insisted on doing two things quickly, before spending their time unpacking all the boxes.

The first was to hang his six gold and two platinum records in his studio – and he agreed, after he had hung her framed medical school diploma on the wall of her workroom.

The second was to install the fax machine on the bare floor of the studio – which, together with the phone, was their only link to the outside world.

For as much as they isolated themselves in this beautiful, peaceful place – the world pushed along without them.

In March, they would leave for L.A. and three weeks of rehearsals with the band. Maybe play a few small gigs in clubs on the Sunset Strip – Jamie had always wanted to do that. And in April, they’d fly to Europe, and kick off the tour that had swelled to 120 dates and stretched into 1990.

Colum was busier than ever – finalizing logistics, negotiating with local promoters, running interference with the suits from the label, upgrading the concerts from arenas to soccer stadiums. He had a conference call with the band every Tuesday – with Ian calling in from Lallybroch in upstate New York, and Angus from various resort spots in Mexico and the Caribbean (“I can’t believe Charlotte and Molly haven’t worn him out yet,” Jamie had mused to Claire one day. She had only shrugged and said, “they take care of each other”). Colum would always have a punchlist of decisions for the band – OK to book studio time during the week off in Scandinavia in July? The roadies couldn’t figure out the pyro setup without the band, OK to wait until rehearsals? They would need to film at least three music videos, which one could be a live performance? – and follow up with decisions in a fax sent later that day.

Jamie had been clear with Colum that he had three conditions for the tour: that Claire would be with him, that Raymond would be traveling with the band, and that the same no alcohol/drugs/groupies rule from the acoustic tour would carry through to this tour. Of course Colum had agreed. Just as he’d agreed to make provisions for Jenny to periodically fly out to visit Ian, and for Angus to always have a suite with two bathrooms to keep his girlfriends happy.

Claire and Jamie knew that this tour would be difficult, for so many different reasons. But they would be better prepared this time, to draw strength from each other, and to have Raymond for support. And maybe, just maybe they would return home from Europe with the best souvenir of all…

“Another fax from Colum,” Claire murmured after a long while.

Jamie snorted against her hair. “I don’t know whether to be impressed or annoyed.”

“I do admire how hard he’s working for you and for the band. And how much he’s keeping all of you in the loop on the decisions he’s making. He doesn’t want any surprises.”

“I’d imagine not. The amount of bullshit he has to be putting up with right now must be insane. I just hope he doesn’t crack.”

“He never said if he’s bringing Tricia on the tour.” Tricia – Colum’s wife of more than ten years. She stood a head taller than her husband, still impossibly beautiful in her late thirties, smiling for every frown on her husband’s face. Claire had only met her once – couldn’t say she really knew her – but she knew enough about her.

How she had first met Colum at a party in 1970, when he was a roadie for Led Zeppelin and she was part of a gaggle of groupies that held court at the Riot House in L.A.

How, when she and her girlfriends joined the Led Zep tour the following summer, he had punched out the lighting guy at the Cow Palace in San Francisco when he heard the guy didn’t understand what Tricia meant by saying “no”.

How Geordie Ash – the reporter who had put Jamie (and, in a way, Claire) on the map last year with that Rolling Stone article – had sent flowers to her hotel room every day for a month during Led Zeppelin’s 1973 U.S. tour. Not knowing, of course, that she was allergic to lilies – or how Colum, who knew more about her by that point than he cared to admit, had wordlessly disposed of them for her, every day that month.

“I don’t think she likes to tour.” Jamie’s thumb traced lazy circles on the skin of Claire’s back. “Too many bad memories.”

If you asked any rock journalist or musician who had found Alex MacGregor – assistant to Led Zeppelin manager Peter Grant – dead in his Seattle hotel room in the spring of 1975, they would all say quite confidently that it had been Colum Laird, who by that point had advanced to lead Zeppelin’s touring crew.

But a handful of people – Peter Grant, and Colum, and Jamie, and now Claire – knew the truth.

Tricia woke up, Alex cold beside her in bed, a needle in his arm. The only thing she knew to do was slip quietly down the hall, tumbling into Colum’s room…and finally, his arms. Where she had remained ever since.

“I couldn’t imagine being away from you for so long.” Claire sighed. “I don’t know how they make it work.”

Jamie shrugged. “They love each other very deeply. They fixed the broken pieces in each other. And now she has the two boys to keep her busy.” He kissed her forehead. “Something for us to aspire to, perhaps. What’s in the fax?”

She held it out for him to read. Sharing a smile at Colum’s scrawl.

J+C: I’m not calling because I interrupted enough moments between you on tour and I’ll probably do it again this year. I don’t have Raymond’s info pls have him get in touch so we have a copy of his credentials and the travel agent can make all arrangements for Europe. I got the label to foot the bill for his travel meals and hotels, convinced them it’s a business expense, you’re welcome. Stay out of trouble. Colum.

“We’ll have him give Colum a call after he arrives this afternoon,” Jamie mused, folding the fax and sliding it into the back pocket of his jeans.

Claire nodded. “The guest room is all ready. And I’m glad Dougal and Gillian and William will be here tomorrow – I’m so happy they’re so close by.”

Jamie squeezed her shoulder, and released her. “As am I. Now, I have a question for you about these books…”

[matttgirlies]

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none i dont think

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 4

It was already Christmas 1959, and I had no idea what to get Matt. I walked through the crowded streets of Wiesbaden, windowshopping, trying to get ideas. Picking out gifts for the family had always been easy, since we always knew exactly what was wanted or needed; in fact, we often made our gifts for one another. On this occasion my father gave me thirty-five dollars to spend on Matt, and it seemed a vast amount to me when I set out on this freezing cold day. I was slapped with the reality when I noticed a beautiful hand-made cigar box with porcelain outlining and a decorative design. Matt, a cigar smoker, would have loved it. But after the shopkeeper told me the price, 650 Deutsche marks or $155, all I walked out with was my expensive taste.

It was snowing heavily and I hurried into another shop, this one full of bright toys, including a solidly built toy German train that I could imagine Matt instantly setting up in his living room. But the train cost 2,000 Deutsche marks.

Heading home in the dark, on the verge of tears, I spotted a music store, where a pair of bongo drums inlaid with gleaming brass were displayed in the window. They were forty dollars, but the clerk took mercy on me and sold them for thirty-five. As I headed home I was beset by a thousand doubts, convinced that the drums were the least romantic of gifts.

I must have asked Nate Doe and David Jones twenty times if they thought the drums were appropriate. “Oh sure,” Nate said. “Anything you give him, he’ll like.” I still wasn’t convinced.

On the night we exchanged gifts, Matt emerged from his dad’s room and drew me to one corner of the living room, where he handed me a small wrapped box, in it, a delicate gold watch with a diamond set on the lid and a ring with a pearl bracketed by two diamonds.

I had never owned anything so beautiful, nor had any smile ever warmed me as Matt’s did then. “I’ll cherish these forever,” I told him, and he made me put them on right away and took me around to show everyone.

I waited as long as possible to give Matt my present. Laughing, he said, “Bongos! Just what I always wanted!” Matt could see that I didn’t believe him; he was better at giving than receiving. “Charlie,” he persisted, “didn’t I need some bongos?”

Motioning for me to sit next to him at the piano, he started playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with such emotion that I couldn’t look up for fear he’d see I was crying. When at last I couldn’t resist meeting his eyes, I saw that he too was holding back tears.

It was not until many days later that I discovered a whole closet full of bongo drums, mine not included, in the basement. The fact that my white elephants had not been throw into the closet but instead were prominently displayed beside his guitar made me love him all the more.

As the days passed I began to dread the day of Matt’s departure. By January he was already packing, and each night I spent with him became more precious than the one before.

Then, just as the weather turned freezing cold, Matt was sent out on field maneuvers for ten days, and if there was anything Matt hated, it was having to sleep outside on the frozen ground.

The morning after he left, it began to snow and by afternoon it was a blizzard. As Michelle and I were driving home from school with my mother, I turned on the radio, just in time to hear a late-breaking news bulletin.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but it was just reported that Corporal Matt Sturniolo has been rushed from field maneuvers to a hospital in Frankfurt, suffering from an acute attack of tonsillitis. Matt, if you’re listening, we all hope you get well real soon.”

Frantic with worry, I called the hospital, hoping to learn more about his condition. To my surprise, when the operator heard my name she put me right through, saying Corporal Sturniolo had left word to do so if I called.

“I’m a sick man, Little One,” Matt rasped. “I need you by my side. If it’s okay with your folks, I’ll send David for you right now.”

Of course my parents gave me permission to go to the hospital, and an hour later I entered his room, just as the nurse was leaving. Matt was propped up in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, surrounded by dozens of floral arrangements.

The moment the nurse was gone, Matt took the thermometer out of his mouth, lit a match, and carefully held it under the thermometer. Then he stuck the thermometer back in his mouth and slumped down on the bed just as the door opened and the nurse returned, carrying in even more flowers.

Smiling warmly to her famous patient, she took the thermometer out of Matt’s mouth, looked at it, and gasped, “A hundred and three. Why, Matt, you’re really sick. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here at least a week.”

Matt nodded mutely as the nurse fluffed up his pillows, filled his water glass, and left the room. Then he burst out laughing, jumped out of bed, and took me in his arms.

He despised maneuvers, and since the weather was so bad and everyone was so worried about his voice, his answer was tonsillitis. Already susceptible to catching colds, Matt learned to dramatize his sickness with a little flick of a match.

It was March 1, 1960, the night before Matt was to leave Germany to return to the States.

We were lying on his bed, our arms around each other. I was in a state of complete despair.

“Oh, Matt,” I said, “I just wish there were some way you could take me with you. I can’t stand the thought of life without you. I love you so much.”

I began sobbing, my anguish overcoming my control.

“Shhh, Baby,” Matt whispered. “Try to calm down. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll forget me the moment you land,” I cried.

He smiled and kissed me gently. “I’m not going to forget you, y/nn. I’ve never felt this way about another girl. I love you.”

“You do?” I was stunned. Matt had said that I was special before, but he’d never said that he loved me. I wanted so badly to believe him, but I was frightened of getting hurt. I’d read some of Nicole’s letters, and I was sure Matt was on his way back to her open arms.

Holding me close, he said, “I’m torn with the feelings I have for you. I don’t know what to do. Maybe being away will help me understand what I really feel.”

That night our lovemaking took on a new urgency. Would I ever see him again, be in his arms the way I had been nearly every night for the past six months? I missed him already. I could not bear the thought of the night ending and our saying goodbye for what I thought would be the last time. I wept and wept until my body ached with pain.

For the last time I begged him to finally have sex with me. It would have been so easy for him. I was young, vulnerable, desperately in love, and he could have taken complete advantage of me. But he quietly said, “No. Someday we will, y/n, but not now. You’re just too young.”

I lay awake all that night and early the next morning I was back at 18 Hauptstrasse, lost in the midst of a large group of people milling about the living room. They were waiting to say goodbye to Matt, who was upstairs finishing his last-minute packing. Knowing that I alone would be accompanying him to the airport gave me little comfort.

When Matt came downstairs, he laughed and joked with everyone there. Finally, after saying his last goodbye, Matt turned to me. “Okay, Little One, it’s time to go.”

I nodded glumly and followed him out the door. Oblivious to the drizzling rain, hundreds of fans were waiting outside. When they saw Matt they went crazy, begging him to sign autographs. When he finished he jumped into the waiting car and pulled me in behind him. As the door slammed, the driver accelerated and we sped toward the airport.

We rode for a long while in silence, both of us lost in thought. Matt was gazing out the window, frowning over the falling rain. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you to go back to being a schoolgirl again after being with me, y/nn, but you’ve got to. I don’t want you to be sitting around moping after I leave, Little One.”

I started to protest, but he silenced me. “Try to have a good time, write to me every chance you get. I’ll look forward to your letters. Get pink stationery. Address them to Nate. That way I’ll know they’re from you. I want you to promise me you’ll stay the way you are. Untouched, as I left you.”

“I will,” I promised.

“I’ll look for you from the top of the ramp. I don’t want to see a sad face. Give me a little smile. I’ll take that with me.”

Then, handing me his combat jacket and the sergeant’s stripes he’d recently been

awarded, he said, “I want you to have these. It shows you belong to me.” After that, he held me tight.

As we approached the airport, the cheers of the waiting crowds grew louder. We drove as close to the runway as possible, then Matt turned to me and said, “This is it, Baby.”

We got out as cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and screaming fans pressed toward us. Matt held my hand and walked across the runway apron until the guard, who was there to escort Matt to the plane, stopped me from going further.

Matt gave me a brief hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get home, Baby, promise.”

I nodded, but before I could answer, we were pulled apart as the crowd rushed in. I was swept away by hundreds of fans, pushing and pulling, trying to get to him. I cried, “Matt!” but he never heard me.

He ran up the boarding steps. Then he turned and waved to the crowd, his eyes searching for me. I waved frantically, as did hundreds of other fans, yet he found me, and for one more brief moment, our eyes locked. Then he disappeared. Just like that.

My parents came to the airport to drive me back to Wiesbaden. During the long ride I was silent.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad chapter 😪 (sorry its shorter than ones before)🎀

[mmmichyyy]

michelle <3 “You’re seriously like a man-child.” please, if the spirit moves you.

#8: "you're seriously like a man-child."

"how many more do i need to sign?"

a heavy cardboard box is dropped on the table, right beside the stacks of books he spent the past hour signing.

"a hundred more and you can take a break."

"a hundred?!" mickey exclaims. "how many people are even coming today? and why the fuck do people need my signature anyway?

"the coordinator said over two hundred people signed up for the event," sandy says, not looking up from her phone. "surprise - people actually like your book and they want to meet you."

"you know i hate small talk," mickey grumbles, massaging his cramping wrist. "if i knew this was part of the book tour, i would've never agreed to it."

sandy rolls her eyes. "god, you're seriously like a man-child. does cranky baby need a nap? a juice-box? a smoke?"

mickey throws a sharpie at sandy, which she dodges with a laugh. "get me a snickers bar and i'll contemplate not firing you."

"good luck finding someone who will put up with your ass," sandy snorts.

"ahem."

mickey looks up to ian, the tall redhead bookstore owner standing by the door, looking sheepish and scratching his head.

"just checking in. everything okay in here? do you need anything before the event mr. milkovich?"

"actually," sandy starts, "he'd love a pacifier for his afternoon nap–"

"fuck off," mickey cuts his cousin off, ignoring her snickering in the background. "you got any smokes, red?"

ian pats around his jeans pocket and pulls out a crumpled pack of marlboros. "i was just about to go for a smoke break, actually."

mickey pushes up from his chair and grabs the pack from ian's hand. "let's fucking go, then."

sandy watches in amusement as mickey struts out of the room with a smirk on his face, and she catches the way ian not-so-subtly checks out her cousin's backside before hurrying after him.

guess mickey found someone to put up with his ass. literally.

[latexcowb0y]

What I've noticed in the angelkin community is that we are all expected to be these dainty, skinny, porcelain pale, blonde, blue eyed, kind and quiet humanoid things.

So I've compiled a list of angel care for all my fellow angels who do not find themselves in that stereotype.

This is just the first volume with bits coming from my own experience, feel free to submit your own tips for the next volumes!

[Care for Grotesque Angels vol. I]

1. Encourage yourself and other angels to embrace their unique qualities and celebrate their individuality. Remind them that beauty and holiness comes in all forms, and there's no one-size-fits-all definition of what an angel should look like.

2. Go to places where reality feels altered. Those places that make your back and the top of your head tingle. And laugh, scream, run, make weird noises, bask in the sunlight. Just go ape.

3. Say random words in latin and enochian (you never finished Supernatural) to strangers, etch them on walls. When you have that random latin word stuck in your head just write it everywhere obsessively until it goes away.

4. Be divine. Or don't. Spit on the stairs of churches, or go inside ones you've never been before and just sit in the back. Don't get up for the hymns, don't do anything. Just stare at the priest. At the paintings. Look at Gabriel on the wall looking back and think "brother." Look at Jesus, think how uncomfortable that position must be. Think how many times has God betrayed (you ask yourself "who", someone says everyone. You're alone.) Think he should go to therapy and take his meds. Leave chocolate coins and apples in the offering basket. A book about good parenting. Never go to that church again.

5. If you are, be unapologetically, annoyingly, fully and loudly queer. Be a faggot, a transexual, be one in their churches and scream at them how they have no idea about what the truth is (you don't know either, but it's fun.)

6. Be angry at God. Scream at him, bleed for him, ignore him, cry for him, laugh with him, fuck him, make love with him. And then forget he ever existed and hope he left the body of that 20 years old with black box dyed hair and won't find his next home in the heart of your new lover.

6.5. Slam your door like he just told you to go to your room and took your mp3, and you're packing a bag to runaway with chocolate and your birthday money while your mother (mother?) watches fondly from your white door frame with a look that says "He didn't mean to." But she will not say. And you'll never know. You go to sleep angry. Running away is too hard. And there's gravity falls on tv in the morning.

7. Hold Judas's anger, bask in Jesus's kindness. Be a warrior like Michael. A messanger like Gabriel. An anarchist like Lucifer.

8. Use the Bible to your heart's content. Read it, rip it apart, burn it. Use it to draw, keep stable that wobbling table, roll a lavender cigarette for your lover after they "took you to church," as Hozier would say. Make a flame and make smores with your friends, tell stories. You will never see them again. But the memories will replace your blood. Transubstantiation.

9. Kiss a priest, or kill one. Run for pope, burn a church. Disappear into a forest. Become one with the flowers and the moss and the grass and the water and the moon and the sun and the stars and the birds and the maggots and the foxes and the bears. Become the genesis. Become God. And then go out and get pizza.

10. Pray. Or don't.

[themultifandomgal]

From 2010- Moving

2011

Part 8

“Thank you for helping me and dad pack up my room” I smile at Emma as she’s packing up some clothes into a box

“Of course! I’m going to miss you like crazy though” she pouts. I stand up and wrap my arms around her

“I’m going to miss you too” I sigh

“Remember when we would just knock on each other’s doors and go to the park when we were like 10”

“Or the amount of times we would end up just sleeping over at each other’s houses” I reminisce on our childhood

“Who wants snacks?” Dad asks walking in to my room with a tray and 2 glasses

“Yes please. We’re dying over here” I say dramatically making dad laugh as he places the tray down on my bedside table

“Whens James coming round? Thought he was going to help since he said he’s done”

“Errrm..” I check the clock. He was supposed to be here an hour ago now “anytime now I guess”

“Ok well I’ll leave you girls to it while I finish up packing your books downstairs” I watch as my dad walks out of my room and get up to get something to eat

“Are you sure you want to move in with James?”

“Yeah of corse. He’s my boyfriend after all. Why?” I frown at emma

“It’s just after the party he’s been rather distant don’t you think?”

“Well maybe, but to be fair I’ve been really busy with the band, writing and recording”

“I know, but… I’m just worried that’s all. We’re still young, only 17. It’s just such a huge step that’s all”

“I appreciate your concern, but James and I are absolutely fine and anyway the boys will be around so I’ll be safe in London”

“Call me when your home” I say to my dad hugging him as tight as possible

“I will. And remember there’s always a room for you if you ever need it”

“Thank you dad”

“Now” dad says pulling away from me and looking at James “you look after my little girl”

“I will”

“I love you YN. Your mum would be so proud of you”

“I love you too dad” and with that I watch my dad get back into his car. I manage to hold off the tears until he turns around the corner and I can no longer see the car anymore

“Come on. Let’s get unpacked” I nod my head at James and follow him into the complex and into our place.

“Ello, ello, ello” I hear Harry’s voice walking into mine and James apartment. We all gave each other spare keys just in case, but now they’re used so the boys can come and have their washing done

“Hey H” I smile from the sofa

“I’ve got mine and Louis washing”

“Leave it on the counter I’ll do it after mine and James load. Is it a white load, coloured or darks?”

“Erm…”

“Please tell me you've been separating your washing before I moved here”

“Yeah course we have” they definitely haven’t been

"I'm also making dinner tonight since we're all off so wanna text the boys to come over?"

"James if you don't wife her up, I will" Harry says making me laugh. I turn to James who doesn’t look amused. If anything he looks scared

“He’s teasing don’t worry” I pat his shoulder and get up off the sofa

“Actually I’m heading out with some friends tonight”

“Oh.. ok. I just thought since this was the first night where we were actually settled in and none of us have to work we would spend time together”

“Sorry YN. Maybe tomorrow night” James gets up and kisses my cheek before heading into the bedroom. I look at Harry who gives me a sorry look

“Promise we will have a good night”

[supergraphicmodernfangirl]

Mrs. Dunne (Billy dunne x reader.)

Requested by anon~

Warnings: profanities, cliches, kinda non Canon Billy, mentions of knifes and injuries.

A/N: I was gonna name this video games bc my last fic was a Billy dunne x reader fic and it was called dark paradise which is another lana song but I justed started writing and "Mrs. Dunne." Came out a lot. And would anybody wanna be added to tag list? Also request wlw fics bc there's only men in my inbox and it's pissing me off.

Only the sounds of Billy strumming his acoustic guitar and you frustratingly trying to rip open this very well taped cardboard box of which was labeled "Billy's clothes" which probably consisted of jean everything.

"Yo Dunne! Maybe for once in your life get off your ass, stop playing that guitar and fucking help me with this box that you finally probably tapped!" He eruptedly stop strumming his guitar as you started yelling profanities at him.

A loud "mother fucker" could be heard from your small apartment as you accidentally cut your hand with the knife you were using to try and open that stupid box with. 

"Hey, hey" Billy said, concerned as he made his way over to you. "Hey, lemme see that."

"I'm sorry." You said trying to wipe away your tears with your uncut hand.

"Sorry? Why are you sorry? You have nothing to be sorry about." Your boyfriend said with that beautiful Billy-like smile.

"I know, I know it's just I've been acting like a bitch towards unpacking and you and I've been way too fucking stressed with moving and packing and unpacking that I haven't gave anytime to us- oh and look now I fucking cut my hand!" You winced at the pain of you swinging your arm too hard. 

"Okay baby calm down, we don't want you any more hurt." Billy chuckled at your fanatics.

"Oh you think this is funny Billy?!" 

"Yeah I kinda do." Billy said, starting to laugh a little bit too hard. 

"Oh yeah? You think it's funny I got hurt working on this home while you sat on your ass with your fucking guitar! You said sarcastically, gesturing to Billy's guitar.

"Okay little lady sit down while I take care of these boxes." You hummed an okay as you went to go sit down on the only chair Billy thought of unpacking, shorty after that because you were so stressed and tired you ended up drifting off to sleep. 

As you slowly opened your as from the sounds of metal clanging together and the sound of you and Billy's "the doors" vinyl playing. 

"Oh good morning sleeping beauty." Billy said sarcastically because it was indeed 8 pm. "Feeling better?" 

"Yeah much." As you walked towards Billy you saw him pressed up against the stove.

"What are you making?" You said as you notice the freshly clean kitchen free of the boxes. 

"Pasta. And wine." Billy chuckled as he handed you a glass of the alcohol.

"Hmmm thank you." You said giving the man a kiss on the cheek. "I see you cleaned." You said gesturing to the clean floor.

"Yep, just for you baby." You hummed in agreement giving him another kiss this time on the lips.

"Hm taste this." Billy said putting the fork in front of your mouth so you could see If the pasta is ready to eat. 

"Hmm good." You hummed with a mouth full of pasta giving your boyfriend a thumbs up.

Billy dished up the pasta in 2 separate bowls, you grabbed one of the bowls and grabbed your glass of white wine that you sat down on the kitchen counter and made your way to your brand new living room to sit next to you and Billy's books and his guitar. 

You sat down on the floor and grabbed your wine and put the glass to your mouth to take a sip as you felt something cold in your lips. As you took the thing out of your mouth to see a small diamond ring make your mouth fall open.

"Dunne?" Billy hummed back at you still not taking his eyes off the pasta. "What is this?" You said holding the Diamond up in the air.

"Hm? Ohhhh. Come here you're so far away I don't think I can't see it very well." Your boyfriend said very flirty. 

You made your way towards him, as you step right in front of him he wrapped his arm around your waist and took the ring out of your hand and put it on your finger. 

"Oh yeah that I think it's for you."

"What?" You said stunned.

"Will you be my Mrs. Dunne?" He said softly.

"Omg." You said bringing your hands to his face. "You can't be serious."

"Oh I'm serious Mrs. Dunne?" He said as a question, seeing if you were going to say yes.

"OH MY GOD!" 

"IS THAT YES?" Billy said, yelling just as loud as you were. 

"of course it's a yes you stupid stupid man!" You said slapping his chest grabbing his face again giving him a very needed well passionate kiss. 

He pushed you on top of the counter still making out with you. 

You pulled away from the kiss to look at your beautiful ring. 

"Y/n Dunne that has a nice ring to it." You said looking your now husband directly in the eyes. 

[malleusarcanum]

⚠️: Piss her!

Ace: My arms are going to give up! *Holding 3 boxes*

Deuce: This is far heavier! *Holding 8 history books*

Mc: Hey! We could use a little help here!! *Dropped the small table* *Yelled to Leona who is sitting at the corner*

Leona: Zzzzzz

Mc: Don't dare make a false sleep!!!!

Sebek: Duties couldn't be accomplished if you use your megaphonic mouth, human.

Mc: Atleast this megaphone is more useful than that lazy slacker over there! *Pointed at silver who slept at the desk*

Lilia: He's tired. He's even charming to look while dozing off.

Ruggie: That's the chair I was looking for... Nah to heavy if someone adds his weight

Lilia:....

Mc: ......

Lilia: Let's get movi'n!

Vil: My beauty will be destroyed by those dusk--what the---achoo! *Jade rubbed his face with feather duster*

Rook: Roi de Poison!! How could you do that!

Jade: Oh! My mistake, I thought I saw a huge termite.

*Vil stared with murderous intent*

Floyd: ah?! *Box fell off including the things inside*

Jack: It's not that bad *complimented the painting that Floyd just stepped*

Mc: Moana Lisa?!!!!

Grim: Funyah? it has some rad shoe prints, cool glow-up.

Epel: After putting everything here, let's pack up. My gut says we'll be expelled.

*Cater clicked phone and flashed*

Cater: as our last photo *selfie again and posed*

Idia: This is too heavy, my bones are disappearing.

Ortho: Big bro, you only lift one empty vase. This is the reason why you need to cut off being absorbed on gadgets, you definitely need exercise.

Idia: thinking about it may kill me already

Kalim: I give up!!!! Jamil!! Lift me!! *Unable to reach high shelf to put the trophy*

Jamil: you know what's easier?

Kalim:?

Jamil: Bring it home.

Kalim: Great idea!

*Jamil grinned*

Trey: Don't even think about it.

*Heard the book shelf collapsed, everyone turned*

Riddle: Great now we destroyed public property, thanks to Malleus.

*Mc sighed*

Malleus: *Looked at everyone* I may have pushed the box aggressively. I didn't expect a destruction.

*Everyone startled*

Floyd: Awesome!! Let's get in Shrimpy!

*Dragged Mc*

*Behind the collapsed bookshelf is a tunnel with torches beside the walls as light source*

*Everyone went in*

*********

Azul: *arranged glasses, observed a rectangular technology, with sound source at the side and a pen with big black sphere*

Mc: Wow! A kareoke!

Everyone: *exchanged glances* Karwha?

Mc: its a singing machine. *Pushed the button and it turned on*

Idia: where is their electrical source?

Mc: Don't know but this will be fun! *Played a song*

Mc demonstrated but before the lyrics starts they snatched the microphone.

🎶Trey: First, think first

Mc: The heck?!

🎶Ace: He'll no! Say what are those inside your head

🎶Kalim: I'm fired up, not tired of ruining her day oh-oooh

Running her day oh-oooh*

Mc: guys the lyrics is already there!!!!

*Everyone shushed her*

🎶Jamil: Second, wait a sec!

🎶Floyd: Don't you dare me when I call you shrimpy!

🎶Grim: No! I'm the one, greater mage.

hench-man belongs to me oh-ooohh

Tuna, dinner for me oh-oooh

Mc covered ears

🎶Leona: You're also better as maid *winked*

🎶Ruggie: taking his orders every breaks

🎶Jade & Deuce: Writing my assignments, would be cool!

Hey, Don't glare at me, kill me, attacking me...

🎶Sebek: using your punching karate

🎶Epel: Take this message from me

🎶Riddle: Speaking profanity everyday

🎶Azul: Hearing those is a

🎶Jack: pain!

🎶Cater: it's really fun when your are mad. let's piss her, piss her!

*Mc curled fist*

🎶Sebek, Silver & Lilia: Lame!

🎶Malleus: I much prefer my Child of man to kiss her, kiss her *bit lip*

*Mc blushed*

(pain!

Oh let the bullet's fly.....) (Part)

🎶Ortho: Lame.....

🎶Idia: I'll cuddle you at night and those cold rains. *Pointed mc*

*mc's heart beats fast*

🎶Vil: Apple my love, my wife you drive me *air kiss*

*Mc almost melted*

🎶Rook & Epel: Insane!

🎶Ace & Kalim: Look at her, tomato red. Let's piss her, yeah piss her!

*After a while*

Mc: Let's wait your score

Everyone:?

Mc: your song will be graded from 0 to 100. But I doubt you'll reach perfect that fuc--

Crowley: How did you got in my secret place?!!!!!!

Everyone blinked

Ortho: this is yours?

Crowley: Never mind!!! Get out *pushed them out*

Kalim: The score!

Crowley: all of your scores will go below the belt if you don't get out. *Slammed the door closed of the stock room*

*Crowley went back to turn it off but before it*

Kareoke: 100 Wow! You are a great singer

Crowley: Holy moly?!!! H-how?!!!

[mimisempai]

I'll find you at the end of the road - Chap 7/8

Chapter summary - First date?

Has the long-awaited moment arrived?

On Ao3

Rating G -  2627 words

Chap 1 - Chap 2 - Chap 3 - Chap 4 - Chap 5 - Chap 6 - Chap 7 - Last chapter

Crowley's apartment - 2024 

I WANT TO MEET YOU! 

FOR REAL THIS TIME!

Crowley turned the drawing over and saw that Aziraphale had added a few words.

Answer me after 6 pm, I'll be waiting by the mailbox.

Crowley looked at the clock, it was 4:10.

He grabbed his notepad and pencil and headed for the lake house.

Arriving a few minutes after 6 p.m., he went to the mailbox, scribbled quickly in his notebook, tore out the page, and after placing it in the box, raised the small flag.

The flag lowered almost immediately, telling him that Aziraphale was there and marking the beginning of another conversation punctuated by its movement.

Lake House - 2022 - 6:07pm

Aziraphale paced around the mailbox, avoiding looking at his watch every minute, wondering if he'd scared Crowley off with his request for a meeting.

What if Crowley didn't want to see him?

What if the correspondence was enough for him?

The flag suddenly rose, startling him.

With a shaking hand, he grabbed the small piece of paper from the box, read Crowley's reply, and then grabbed his pen.

C:How?

A:Pick a place. I'll be there. I promise. How about tomorrow?

C:That's not tomorrow for you. You'll have to wait two years.

A: I don't care. I'll wait. Meet me tomorrow at the restaurant of your choice and I'll be there. I'll be two years older, but I'll be there.

C:What will you do all the time?

A: Thinking about you. Restoring a lot of things, reading a lot of books, praying I don't lose my hair....

C:Are you sure?

A: I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I've lost so much time already. I don't want to waste any more with you.

Crowley suddenly felt almost dizzy. 

He realized that Aziraphale had had two years to prepare for this date, while Crowley had less than twenty-four hours. He took a deep breath before closing the mailbox.

C: See you tomorrow night.

A: See you in two years. Where do you want to go?

The Ritz - 2022

Aziraphale entered the restaurant and was immediately greeted by a smiling hostess.

He smiled back and said softly, "Good Evening, I'd like to make a reservation for two."

She flipped through the reservation booklet before saying in an apologetic tone, "Well, I'm sorry, I'm afraid it's extremely difficult to get a reservation this time of year. I mean, it depends on when you want to dine here."

Aziraphale replied with an amused smile, "Two years from tomorrow. September 15, 2024."

The hostess blinked several times, then closed the book before replying with a broad smile, "We should be able to accommodate you, sir."

Crowley's apartment - September 15, 2024 - Morning

Crowley prepared to leave for work. He looked at the outfit he had prepared for this evening. He couldn't remember a time when he hadn't been this excited for a date.

In fact, he couldn't remember ever being this excited.

Rainbow Academie - September 15, 2024 - 5 p.m.

As he was packing up after his last class of the day and looking forward to the evening ahead, he was jolted from his reverie by Eric's arrival in the classroom.

His friend exclaimed, "Thank God you're still here."

"Of course." 

Eric continued sheepishly, "I'm sorry, I know it's not your week, but could you take the detention I'm supposed to supervise? Muriel called me because they're not doing so well. You know, ever since they lost their friend, it's been a little difficult for them, and today is a bad day, and I'd like to be there for them..."

Crowley looked at his watch and sighed before replying, "Yes, I can, but one hour, no more. I've got a date." 

Eric hugged him and replied, "Thank you, thank you! I promise, it's just an hour, no more. But I want to hear all about this date tomorrow, okay?"

Crowley shook his head and chuckled, "Okay, okay, go meet Muriel! It's important to be with your loved ones when they need you."

Before he left, Eric threw over his shoulder, "I don't know who that is, but I've never seen you smile like that, Crowley, and it suits you! Bye!"

He was gone before Crowley had time to answer.

A little over an hour later, he was walking briskly to his apartment. He entered hurriedly, ran into the room and undressed, throwing his clothes everywhere.

Harry followed, curious, while Crowley muttered, "He waited two years. What's a few more minutes? Isn't it?"

He continued his preparations, but at a slower pace. He put on a dark red V-neck sweater, a shade he knew would bring out his eyes, or so the saleswoman had told him, and black pants that flattered his figure. He looked at himself in the mirror two or three times, checked his hairstyle, then shrugged and left the apartment. 

A few minutes later he left the building and drove his Bentley to the restaurant.

The Ritz - 15 September 2024 - 7pm

Crowley paused before entering. He took several deep breaths to calm himself. He was ready, a little nervous but confident. 

He opened the door with a firm hand.

He took off his coat and scanned the room with his eyes. 

There weren't many tables, but before he could find Aziraphale, the hostess approached him.

"Good evening, sir, may I help you?"

Crowley cleared his throat, "Yes, I have a reservation. Anthony. Or Fell, I'm not sure which name it was made under."

The hostess checked her book and looked up with a big smile, "Oh yes! You're the..." she paused before pulling herself together, "Follow me, please."

Crowley was led to a table for two. 

It was empty, which surprised him a bit.

The hostess turned to him and said, a little embarrassed, "I hope you'll forgive me, but I have to ask..."

"Yes?"

"This reservation is kind of... legendary. It's been here longer than some people of the staff. There's always been intense speculation about who made it and why, and whether you'd actually show up. Some team members even made bets..."

Crowley looked around and saw that waiters all over the room were giving him furtive glances. Chefs and kitchen helpers peered through the kitchen door. Crowley felt suddenly very embarrassed.

The hostess apologized immediately: "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have... I'll have the waiter take your drink order right away."

A short time later, a waiter returned and poured Crowley a glass of champagne.

"Compliments of the chef." 

Crowley nodded his thanks.

Just before leaving, the waiter gave him a small smile: "Good luck."

Crowley began to sip the champagne, hoping to calm his growing nervousness.

Some time later, his glass was empty and he was still waiting, alone at the table. The waiter approached to refill his glass, but Crowley stopped him.

He was aware that the restaurant staff was watching him, whispering among themselves. Two hours passed, other customers lingering over dessert, coffee, intimate conversation at candlelit tables.

Crowley was still alone.

After a long moment, he pushed back his chair and stood. Everyone looked at him sadly.

He walked forward, expressionless, and picked up his coat, saying nothing to anyone before leaving under the sad gaze of the hostess who watched him go. 

Crowley returned home alone. Behind the closed door of his apartment, his stoic facade began to crumble, and he could barely hold back the tears that welled up in his eyes.

He picked up a piece of paper and started to write, but in the end, he didn't have the heart. 

Not now.

Lake House - September 16, 2022

The weather was gray and windy this morning as Aziraphale stood outside his mailbox and unfolded Crowley's note.

 "YOU WEREN'T THERE."

The antiquarian shook his head, confused, and let some time pass before answering.

A: I'm so sorry. I just don't understand. 

Something must have happened. 

Look, I've got two years ahead of me. I'll try to make things right.

C: No, Aziraphale... You don't understand. It's too late for that. It's already happened.

I'm not upset. I mean, I was at first. 

But now I just feel stupid... for forgetting how much a person's life can change in two years. 

And for expecting yours not to. 

For expecting you to wait, to stand still, to put your life on hold for me.

A: But I can do it. I can wait for you. I know I can. I won't forget.

C: Maybe you have. Maybe, wherever you are, you're busy and happy and living so fully in the present that the dinner you planned two years ago just... slipped out of your mind. Just as you forget impossible fantasies when they're over, when you move on to real life.

A: You mean I should get on with my real life?

C: I mean... I think we both should.

After seeing his words, Aziraphale hurried to reply, his hand trembling with emotion.

Please write me, answer me.

Aziraphale placed his letter in the mailbox and raised the flag. 

The little flag stayed up.

An hour later, with the flag still up, Aziraphale opened the mailbox to find the note he'd put there.

Hours, then days, then weeks, then months passed as Aziraphale wrote and mailed letter after letter. Eventually, there was a pile of his letters in the box. They kept piling up, unanswered. Until the box was so full that Aziraphale couldn't put any more letters in it.

The Dirty Donkey - February 2025

It was late winter and everything outside was covered in snow.

Crowley sat at a table with Eric, Anathema, and Newt.

They met here at least once a week after work.

As Newt and Anathema bickered as usual, Eric leaned over to Crowley and, placing a hand on his arm, asked gently, "Are you okay?"

Crowley mustered a half-smile and answered honestly, for Eric was one of the few people who could read him, "I'm better."

"Still writing your mysterious pen pal?"

Crowley, his throat tightening, couldn't answer and shook his head.

Eric just said, without insisting, "Sorry, Crowley, if you need to talk, you know my phone number."

Crowley didn't answer.

Later, when he got home, he found a message on his answering machine.

"Hello Crowley. This is Furfur. I'm in town. I had to come in for a meeting."

Crowley started to press the button to erase the message when Furfur's voice continued, "A real meeting this time. I swear to you. Call me. If you feel like it."

The next evening, Crowley and Furfur sat in the pizzeria where they'd met a few months ago. Neither of them really felt well.

Furfur said quietly, "I didn't think you'd come."

Crowley replied wryly, "Nothing personal, but..."

Furfur interrupted, "You couldn't say no to a free meal."

"Exactly." 

They both laughed, lightening the mood a bit.

Then Crowley asked, "So how did your 'meeting' go?"

Furfur looked slightly offended by Crowley's emphasis on the word "meeting" and replied, "I told you I didn't make it up, it really happened. They offered me a job, with a bigger firm. I'm going to be a legal advisor on wealth matters," he smiled proudly before continuing, "Call them if you don't believe me."

A little later they arrived at Crowley's residence, which was on the way to Furfur's hotel. They stopped at the door.

Furfur said softly, "I took this job because I wanted to. This has nothing to do with you. With us. This is not an ambush, Crowley."

Crowley nodded and replied quietly, "Well, that's great news.  Congratulations, Furfur. I'm really happy for you."

Furfur smiled, "Thank you, and thank you for agreeing to meet me."

Crowley leaned over and gave him a quick good night kiss. Furfur looked surprised and pleased. 

Crowley looked at him, it was comforting and familiar, almost tempting when he felt so lonely, but then his eyes slipped to the tree behind Furfur. Its leaves swayed in the night air. It was the tree that Aziraphale had planted. 

Crowley looked at it for a few seconds, remembering the day it had appeared, the joy he had felt then, and in that moment he knew.

He closed his eyes and shook his head before saying sheepishly, "No, I'm sorry, Furfur, but I can't. I thought for a moment I could... but I can't."

Furfur nodded and said, "I know. Don't be sorry. I didn't expect anything. I didn't lie to you."

A little ashamed, Crowley apologized again, and after a tearful goodbye, he watched Furfur leave.

As he made his way back to his apartment, he muttered to himself, "I may not be able to meet Aziraphale, but I can't lie to myself either."

Lake house - 2023

It was so cold that the surface of the lake was frozen. 

The mailbox was covered with snow. Aziraphale, who had been walking outside, reflexively looked into the it. Even after all this time. 

It was empty, of course. 

He closed it slowly, feeling sad as always, so sad.

Distracted, he first didn't notice Harry moving quickly away, towards the forest until he finally looked back and saw it.

"Harry! Come back!"

Harry took off running. 

Aziraphale ran after him, but soon, in the density of the forest, he no longer saw the rabbit. Aziraphale ran straight ahead, still calling. He tripped over a stump and fell into the snow, got up and called again, looking around distraught. 

Harry was really gone.

Aziraphale was about to run again when he suddenly stopped. 

He'd just realized something.

Harry was about to find his new owner.

Aziraphale knew what to do.

A few days later, he was talking to Muriel in the living room.

"Are you sure you want to do this?"

Aziraphale replied wistfully, "Yes, I have to move on, I can't stay here. I... I can only think of him."

Muriel nodded, understanding, and added simply, "If you need help, you can count on me."

A few weeks later, Aziraphale tidied up the house with method and determination. He taped boxes together and tossed his belongings into them. He bagged the trash, swept and mopped.

As he tidied up, he found the pile of Crowley's letters. He looked at them for a moment, then wrapped them up and shoved them in the bottom of a cardboard box before carrying the box up to the attic and sealing it.

Real Estate Agency X - London - 2023

Aziraphale checked the address on the business card in his hand before entering and heading for the reception desk.

"Hello, I'd like to speak to Furfur, sorry, Ferdinand Stamper. I don't have an appointment, but tell him it's Aziraphale and it's urgent."

A few minutes later he saw Furfur arrive in the entrance hall and he beckoned him to follow him into an adjoining meeting room.  He barely greeted him and didn't seem very happy to see him. 

Aziraphale didn't wait and asked him directly, "Are you still interested in renting a house on the lake?" 

He didn't wait for an answer and threw him a bunch of keys. 

Furfur looked confused as Aziraphale continued, "This is what Crowley wants."

Furfur asked in an irritated tone, "How can you know that? How do you know what he wants? Besides, we're not even..." 

Aziraphale shook his head, "I don't want to know, but believe me, this is what he wants."

He waited no longer and left the room, slamming the door behind him.

Later, when Furfur opened his car, something in the distance caught his eye. A rabbit was walking slowly down the road, looking a little lost until it came right up to him. 

Furfur recognized it.

It was Harry

_________

You want to curse me? But what if I told you that in five minutes... you'll have the rest of the story?

_________

Still not beta'd

Still not my native language

Still hoping you'll enjoy this story  🥰

Still thanking you for bearing with me 😝

Ineffable Husbands masterlist : here

[boolger]

I’m dangerous ☆ chapter 8 ☆ COD fanfic

Originally posted on my AO3, where I post all my stuff. Always read the tags of my fanfics. MDNI

[Chapter 1] ☆ [chapter 2] ☆ [chapter 3] ☆ [chapter 4] ☆ [chapter 5] [chapter 6]☆ [Chapter 7] ☆ [chapter 8] ☆ [Chapter 9]

☆ fem!reader x Kate Laswell ☆ explicit. MDNI. ☆ 8/10 ☆ 1,690 words

☆ Summary: You were a hacker and had been a thorn in the side of the 141 gang for a while, in particular as you tried to find out who the famous leader, Watcher, was. But they refuse to be blackmailed and won’t pay you.

So, to prove that you weren’t just bluffing, but were a serious threat to them, you kidnapped a random woman that you saw coming out from one of their meetings, figuring she was a secretary or girlfriend or something.

Oh, how wrong you were.

☆ Tags: au mob, gang, kidnapping, blackmailing, dub-con, angst, smut, death, grief/mourning, hacking, non-con drug use, bondage, spanking, kissing, rough sex, inaccurate portrayal of mob, suicidal thoughts, mention of blood, violence, more will be added

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

You packed everything important; papers, photos, clothes, electronics. You broke and soaked the information on hard disks that you didn’t need. Cried for about an hour on the couch, wondering why the fuck Kate would do this.

Every bill from the hospital was paid. Every single one and the hospital ended their letters with “we hope to see you again!”. 

As if.

There was money in your bank account too. Over 20 grand, just sitting there, transferred from an account overseas, but you didn’t need to be a genius to know that it was from her. Though this had been what had gotten you into this mess from the start, this was why you had even kidnapped Kate Laswell.

You should be ecstatic. Alice would be happy for you. You could move, abandon the house out in nowhere, escape with memories of your sister and you, laughing and crying together.

… memories of running, feet burning beneath you, of your burning ass, of pleasure… and of a face battered in by a fucking Shakespeare book. The constant thumping sound of a book connecting with the face, getting wetter and wetter, the feeling of the nose bending beneath it. Of the fear that ran through you as you watched Phillip Graves raising a gun at Kate.

After crying, packing everything into your shitty car which was filled to the brim with gasoline.

So you wouldn’t have to tank up for a while. So you could leave immediately, so you could abandon them all without any problems.

You found her knife in the car, beneath the seat, when you tried pushing a back under it. The butterfly knife was a silver coating, simple and clearly expensive. You opened it, looking at the sharp blade. It was like a last reminder of Kate. Expensive, well-designed and still dangerous as fuck.

Like a sign. You put it in your pocket. Closed all the car doors and got into it. Taking one last look at the old house, in the middle of nowhere, between fields and with the gentle humming of the highways. With an overgrown lawn, left to live its own life while you stayed at the hospital with Alice.

All the pictures, the clothes you had left of her, her books and CDs, everything you connected with Alice was in the van, neatly packed down in bags and then boxes, so they wouldn’t get wet. It annoyed you that you could pull the memories of the two of you from the house and pack it down too, to make sure they were safe and secure.

The rusty blue van started with a roar, like a monster waking up after a nap, growling for a while before agreeing to stay alive. You backed out of the driveway.

☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆ ☆

Using the horn this early in the morning was honestly rude, yet you found yourself honking, already annoyed with waiting.

The dress you wore had screamed your name when you packed it away the day before. You didn’t wear dresses often, preferring hoodies and such, but when you had woken up in the motel this morning, you had put it on. A babydoll dress in black that Alice had convinced you to buy years ago but you had never used it. Not before now.

You honked again, your van’s engine growling along.

It echoed through the neighbourhood, into the rest of the London traffic. Finally something happened and the little system next to the gate turned on, scratching for a moment.

“What do you want?” Ghost’s voice sounded a little tired, but as annoyed as you assumed he had been with you the entire time, barely audible over your god awful van. It was different from when he had kidnapped you back, first choking you out, then interrogating you with Price.

“To talk to her,” you answered loudly. Silence for a second.

“Go away, kid.” He then answered, “she doesn’t want to talk.”

You seethed at the kid. You were 25, not a goddamn child.

“I don’t fucking care I want to talk to her. It the fuckin’ least she can do.” ‘I saved her’ went unsaid.

You could only hear him grumble vaguely over the system, before the gates swung open in front of the car. 

“Thank you.” Your car almost coughed as you made it go forward, rolling into the property. You stopped in front of the main door, your rusty ass art piece standing out next to the dark and fancy SUVs.

One annoyed-looking, robe wearing Kate Laswell stepped out, morning hair a little messy but pulled back into a bun, her blue eyes resting on you. A part of you wanted to scream at her, another wanted to fall to your knees and beg. In the doorframe, both Ghost and Soap stood, watching you like ferocious guard dogs, waiting for the moment to attack. 

When you killed the engine and stopped, everything got much more quiet. You stepped out, standing only a few metres from her.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” Kate calmly stated instead of greeting you, a neutral look on your face.

“Fuck you,”  not the best way to start the conversation and you could see Soap’s eyebrows raise behind Kate, but you paid her no mind as you took a step forward, “Fuck you, Kate. I fucking saved you and you disgarded me like a piece of trash.”

“I gave you what you wanted,” Kate remained almost emotionless, tipping up her chin a little, “You said it yourself. You needed the money to pay the bills, to start over somewhere new. I gave you that.”

“Why didn’t you fuckin’ ask me what I wanted?” You asked angrily, clenching your hands, “Did you even fucking care? Bashed in that dude’s face and I was no longer of use to you?”

Kate shrugged but you could see the corner of her mouth twitch, see her shoulders tense a little, “Figured it was better than killing you.”

The urge to scream at her was back and you ran a hand over your face, keeping yourself back from doing so, from giving her the hell you wanted to. 

It was as if your mind wasn’t in control when you stepped closer, reaching into your pocket - ignoring the way the men in the door tensed, as if ready to step in, yank you away from her, push you to the ground –

The folded butterfly knife rested in your hand as you offered it to her.

“This was in my car,” you said, more calm now, not even sure why you made this stupid choice, continuing, voice turning into a whisper, “please don’t make me leave. I’d rather die. Please. I’ll be good for you.”

Kate stared at the knife for a moment, then up at your face again. Something in her eyes softened.

“I’ll be good for you,” you whispered, reiterating that you meant it. Your hand was shaking a little. With your black dress, you weren’t sure if you were dressed to impress or dressed for  your funeral. 

Her hand reached out calmly, to touch the butterfly knife in your hand. But instead of taking it from you, like you had expected, she moved her hand to push your fingers against it. 

“Keep it,” her voice wasn’t loud, her eyes never leaving your face, almost as if she was looking for something. As if this was a ritual of a kind, and you, the black lamb, had willingly come for slaughter - only to be turned down.

This wasn’t really what you had expected and though you tightened the grip around the folded knife, you didn’t move otherwise. She was the sun in your galaxy, the one you would look for and you didn’t know when she had become that. It was fucked up, it was wrong and there were no doubt something toxic about it, it was all messed up.

Kate Laswell stepped even closer. Her hands were soft as they rested on your warm cheeks, framing your face. You had to focus on not crying for a moment. The hand that wasn’t holding the knife came to rest on her elbow, as if to wordlessly beg her to never let go. You wanted to run your hand over the sharp bridge of her nose, wanted to kiss the wrinkles near her eyes, push away the stray long pieces of hair in her bangs, kiss her jaw and breathe in her scent near her neck. 

“I’ve ruined you, haven’t I, darling?” She asked, a tone of sadness clear in the question. You nodded a little, ever so slowly.

“Yeah,” you agreed, “rewritten my code –” your moved your hand from her elbow to rest against the back of one of her hands, nuzzling into her palm a little, “I don’t think I mind, though.”

That was the truth wasn’t it? A fucked up truth, from a broken woman that found somebody other broken in a different way, with a power imbalance between you. Even if she just wanted to keep you around as a fuck toy, you didn’t mind. You had somebody to care about again.

A soft smile appeared on her face.

“No more running away?”

“No,” you answered honestly, adding a sharp, “and don’t send me away again, either.”

A huff left her. “Alright.”

You were the one to initiate the kiss and Kate only deepened it. Finally you slid the knife into your pocket, before putting your arm around her shoulder. The world could have ended around you and you would have been happy. 

You heard a huff from behind her  - you just flipped Ghost off behind Kate’s back, making Soap giggle.

When you pulled away from each other, Kate didn’t even try to bed discreet as she took in your body, your soft curves in the dress, only hidden a little by the jacket. 

“That’s an awfully pretty dress, Fae,” she whispered, slowly licking her bottom lip, licking off the taste of your mind, “I should look at it closer. Preferably in my bed.”

Even as you felt your face heat up, you snickered like a love struck school girl. 

[ghoststyles]

Fairway to Heaven - Part 7

You might wanna queue up Phoebe Bridgers for this one?

7.6K

_____________________________________________________

It’s been five whole weeks since Harry received Camille’s package. The brown box sits in the back of Harry’s office closet, burning a hole in the floor. He left all of the contents alone, except Oliver’s birth photo and a drawing, which are now in a picture frame on his desk.

The drawing, made of crayon and construction paper, is of a cat (or so he thinks) next to the Eiffel tower. In large, messy letters reads ‘Pierre’. When he zones out during his meetings, he looks at it, wondering if Camille has made any promises to Oliver about meeting Harry.

It’s not that he’s avoiding going to Paris. He’d leave tomorrow if it were up to him. Reopening this chapter of his life means a lifestyle change, not just for himself, but for Briar. She’s 24. No one should be thrown into a life where they’re suddenly a step-mom. She can’t even rent a car alone in America, for God’s sake.

They’ve danced around the topic; neither of them really knowing what to do. Briar tries to keep busy by working at the club and spending time at her campus’s library. Harry can’t help but feel her pulling away. He prays this uncertainty from her is in his head as he feels his 30 year old self-destruction return.

The door to his son is wide open. He wishes someone would just fucking shove him through.

~

Briar is staring staring off into space at Cafe Benito, waiting for Madison to arrive. She taps her foot nervously, making direct eye contact with everyone who enters. She feels sneaky and that Harry could walk in at any minute.

The short brunette enters the cafe moments later, directly locking eyes with Briar at the corner table.

“Hi, Briar! So nice to finally meet you in person,” she smiles warmly, sitting down in the seat across from her. Briar pushes an iced latte toward her, to which she smiles gratefully. “Your message was a little cryptic. What’s up? And why did you want to meet in person?”

Briar takes a deep breath as she stares at Harry’s assistant, a woman she’s talked with numerous times over the phone, but has never met.

“Without getting into too much detail, Harry is dealing with a personal issue, and I think he might need a little help. I wanted to get in touch with you, since you know his schedule and travel preferences.”

“Oh, sure, sure. What’s going on?”

“He needs to go to Paris for a bit. I’m not thinking too long. Maybe a month or so,” Briar sighs, looking off to the side. “But I know he’s so busy with work, it’s super hard.”

“Well, he and Niall just hired a new associate, so I feel like it wouldn’t be too hard. A lot of people take leaves of absences,” Madison smiles softly. “I’d say it’s been about 8 years since Harry took one. Not sure why. I had just started there as a temp.”

Briar has a hunch as to why he took time off. Nonetheless, she doesn’t dwell on it.

“Yeah, a leave of absence. I just don’t think he’ll do it on his own. Which is why I need your help. I’d like to arrange for him to travel there, maybe in two weeks. Does he fly commercial or take the jet?”

“Commercial for long-haul flights. He gets less freaked out over the ocean in the bigger planes,” she laughs. “I can book something using my company card and get reimbursed for it so he doesn’t suspect anything.”

“That sounds good. I say just pick a date, and I’ll make it work. Do you think you can slowly start clearing his calendar? Maybe decline recurring meetings one at a time. I’ll talk to Niall to make sure this is alright.”

The women discuss packing for him in secret, and ways to cover their tracks. As heart wrenching as this whole situation is, a rush of adrenaline hits Briar. She takes a sharp breath when Madison speaks up.

“Are you going to be joining him? I can make sure to get you the seats that lie down next to each other.”

Briar bites her lip as she feels her eyes droop sadly.

“No, this is just something he needs to take care of. I think it’ll bring on some personal growth.”

Madison nods, “Okay, no problem. Can I be honest with you?”

Briar sits up, nodding.

“Harry has been a new person since he met you. It’s like night and day. Before, he was a little scatterbrained. I think you bring a little stability to his life that he was missing.”

Briar’s heart could jump out of her chest. She quietly thanks Madison, scared of crying in the cafe.

“I could feel him slipping back into his old ways these past few weeks, so whatever he needs to go do, I hope it brings him back,” she places her hand lightly on Briar’s shoulder before standing up.

Briar hopes it brings him back, too.

~

A few days later, Briar heads to Harry’s house with Gus in what feels like the first time in forever. She feels like a stranger. They’ve texted here and there, but Briar is purposefully making herself busy and unavailable.

Maureen is out watering her plants along their shared fence when Briar drives up. Gus trots over to sniff her through the fence before promptly lifting his leg, nearly peeing on her. Maureen shrieks, dropping the hose and walking back to her house.

Briar laughs to herself before calling Gus back over. Gus barges into Harry’s house through his garage door like he owns the place. Briar follows him in, only to stop dead in her tracks at the site of his kitchen.

Harry is singing Elton John at the top of his lungs, placing cookies on a cooling rack. His oven is on and the counters are littered with bowls, plates and dry ingredients. She watches as he circles his hips, mixing the batter as he moves along.

“And I think it’s gonna be a long, long ti--,” Gus finally approaches Harry, to which he jumps when he feels his fur swipe his leg. “Birdie! What’re you doing here?”

She smiles, walking over to him to wrap her arms around his core. She slips her hands in the waistband of his sweatpants, making his gasp at how cold her hands are.

“Just miss ya, is all,” she smiles, closing her eyes. “What’s all this for?”

“I listened to a podcast and they mentioned doing something from your childhood that made you happy. So, I decided to make some cookies. Boxed recipe, of course,” he laughs, pointing to the slightly burnt desserts.

“That sounds like fun,” she scrunches her eyebrows, wondering what she’d pick. “I’d do a lemonade stand, I think.”

“Now we’re talking. Want to be my business partner?” Harry places the bowl down before lifting Briar onto the countertop. “I’ve missed you, baby. I’m so sorry I’ve been so in my head lately.”

Briar shrugs, not sure what to say. They kiss passionately for a few minutes, before Gus starts barking. They break the kiss, only to see Gus giving them the side eye near his food bowl.

“I fed you at home, hungry, hungry hippo!”

“Just give him some. He looks skinny,” Harry purses his lips as he walks to the pantry. He scoops a generous amount of food into the bowl, making Briar roll her eyes. The vet would say otherwise.

Her phone buzzes, signaling Madison sent Harry’s Paris itinerary. She quickly clears the notification, taking note of the departure date. Harry leaves in 8 days. Her stomach turns in anguish.

Harry guides Briar to his couch, bringing her to lay her legs across his lap. He’s staring dreamily into her eyes, but she can’t feel more disconnected to him. She knows how bad this situation is hurting him, and she doesn’t want him to move on without addressing these feelings.

Harry starts to dance his hands up her side, a clear pathway to getting in her pants. Her resolve remains strong.

“Let’s just talk, Harry,” she grabs his hand and puts it in his lap. “I feel like we haven’t been doing a lot of that lately.”

Harry nods, defeated, “I know. It’s just a weird situation that I don’t know how to navigate.”

“I agree, but that’s why we have to do it together,” she says, twisting the ring on his pointer finger. “How’s work? What’s been going on?”

“We just hired a new associate, so that should take some things off my plate. My calendar is surprisingly lighter. This might be a shift in the right direction. Or, Niall is silently pushing me out,” he chuckles.

Briar bites her lip. She has an animated face, and she doesn’t want her expression to give her secret away. Harry continues talking, so she assumes she’s in the clear.

Her conversation with Niall went well; he rolled his eyes at the idea of taking on more work, but he understands this is something Harry needs to do. His job is to play dumb at work and make Harry believe he is attending all of the same meetings. Madison even went as far as to make fake calendar invites.

“How’s your mom settling into California?” Harry asks after a beat of silence. Briar has to stop herself from groaning.

Weeks before, she drug her brothers to their childhood home to clear out junk. It was a cathartic experience; she hadn’t been there in years, but it felt like she never left. Her bedroom was the exact same; purple walls with zebra print accents. She found her pile of Littlest Pet Shop pets and Polly Pockets. It was like she was 5 again, sitting on the floor with her Dad, giving names to each pet and telling him their intricate backstories; lots of infidelity and long lost twins.

Even her oldest brother, Welles, and his new fiancee, Imani, came. He started off cold, but warmed up as they reminisced on their early days. Cormac sat quietly, unable to join in since he was just a baby at the time.

“I think she’s alright. The house is beautiful. Have you ever been to Montecito?”

Harry looks down, before nodding, “Yeah, that’s where Camille and I lived for a bit.”

“Oh. I see,” Briar says quietly.

“You should go out and see her. It really is one of the most beautiful places,” Harry says, rubbing her leg.

“Yeah, maybe,” she yawns. The pair chit chat for a bit longer, putting Briar’s mind at ease a little.

“Can you stay for a few days?” Harry asks, staring right into her eyes. “I-I can’t help but feel like I’m fucking everything up.”

This wakes Briar right up.

“H, no. I think I’ve just been trying to keep myself busy since the only thing that needs to happen now is,” Briar trails off. “You need to go to Paris.”

Harry closes his eyes. He can feel his heart hammering in his chest.

“I know,” he says quietly. “I’m just scared.”

Briar sits up, adjusting herself into a kneeled position. She grabs his hand, looking down.

“I know you are,” she inhales. “So, I made arrangements for you to go. You leave in 8 days.”

Briar feels like a ton of bricks land on her. She’s terrified to meet his eyes.

“W-what?”

Harry is stunned, feeling like all the air in his lungs left at once.

“I talked to Madison and Niall. Everything is set. You’re going to stay there for a month.”

He closes his eyes, processing what she’s saying. What about work? What about the two of them?

“I didn’t go as far as contacting Camille, so you’ll have to do that. But, I’m sure she can fit in some visits. Maybe at a park, to start,” Briar rambles. “You’ll probably have a lot of downtime.”

“A-are you not coming with me?” Harry asks, dumbfounded. His hands are trembling, waiting for her answer.

She shifts, not meeting his eyes, “No. Just you.”

Panic bubbles uncomfortably in his chest, “Birdie, please, I,” he trails off. “I can’t do that. No. No.”

“You can, and you’re going to. This is such a big moment for you, but I think you need to do it on your own,” Briar chokes out. Tears started to roll down her rosy cheeks. “You can call me any time. I’m sorry I had to do this so sneakily.”

He pulls her into his chest as he starts to cry. His heart is breaking knowing they’ll be separated for a month.

“Thank you,” he croaks. “You don’t understand how much this means to me. But I’m so gutted you aren’t coming.”

She sniffles, wiping her nose on his shirt. His chest bobbles up and down as the quiet cries take over him. She can’t help but feel like this is the end.

~

Harry sent Camille an email of his itinerary a few days prior to his departure. He profusely apologized for the last minute plans, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She’s eager, almost. But, maybe Harry is reading too far into her tone.

The family has a few activities throughout the month, but they can easily work around Harry’s time with Oliver. She even invited him to one of his football games.

Briar is sat on Harry’s bed as he looks through his suitcase one last time. He mentally checks off his toiletries, socks and underwear, not really paying any mind to his outfits.

He’s still in disbelief he’ll be on a leave of absence from work. It took a lot of convincing from Niall, but finally Harry gave in as Niall swooped him into a big hug. Harry made a list of books in his phone that he’d like to read, and museums he’d like to visit, since he hadn’t been to Paris in years. Hell, he’s barely had any free time at all.

“Are you gonna stay here while I’m gone?”

Briar’s head snaps up to look at Harry. She bites her lip, unsure how to answer.

“I think I’ll just stay at my apartment, if that’s okay,” she says quietly. Suddenly picking at her cuticles is more interesting than looking at Harry.

Harry’s heart sinks, but he understands. She didn’t ask to be part of this.

“I just don’t want to feel like the girl you have waiting for you at home.”

Harry shudders, but nods, “I get it. I want you to be comfortable. I drug you into this.”

“No, I offered to help. So I am. It’ll be okay. I just have to keep myself busy.”

Harry moves the suitcase from the bench at the foot of the bed to the floor. He looks at his folded clothes sadly and swallows thickly. He crawls to meet her on the bed, pulling her into the small spoon position. Harry starts to kiss the back of her neck, sucking a little longer as he moves under her jaw.

“Are you gonna send me lots of nudies?”

Briar inhales deeply, not missing a beat before replying, “No, you can watch porn.”

Harry gasps, “Briar Barlowe, I do NOT watch porn!”

“Mhm, sure,” she smiles to herself, still facing the other direction. “What do you even watch anyway?”

Harry thinks for a minute, wanting to have this conversation delicately, “I just try to support women in their pursuit to find lucrative job opportunities. Also known as fucking the housekeeper.”

“You are so full of shit,” she laughs.

“I like watching people fuck in the woods. And maybe almost get caught.”

Briar’s eyes scrunch closed as she giggles. That checks out, based on the number of times they’ve hooked up on the 14th hole.

“What do YOU watch, missy?”

Briar smiles, “hmmm. A lot of it we already do. But my new favorite is ‘free use’”

Harry’s stomach clenches, “That’s hot as fuck baby. You want me to just take you whenever I want? Wanna wear nothing but one of my shirts around the house?”

He continues kissing her neck as she moans out, “Yeah, daddy.”

“Wanna go downstairs and pretend to read your book? And I’ll be right there?”

Her heart races with excitement. This is just the distraction she needs. She peels herself away from him, but not before grabbing his crotch.

“Oi! Easy, Birdie.”

She scurries off to Harry’s sofa, peeling her panties and bra off as she goes. It’ll be like a scavenger hunt. She grabs a book from the shelf and positions herself on her stomach, knees bent and ankles crossed behind her in the air. The exposure feels cool against her wet cunt.

She flips to a random page, a smutty one of course. The character is pinned down, her partner kissing down her body with an ice cube in his mouth. She shivers, imagining Harry’s tongue swirling around her nipple with ice between his teeth.

She hears Harry coming down the steps. The trick to free use porn is to not say a word at first. Briar continues reading until she feels Harry come up behind her, his large hand grabbing her butt cheek and massaging it. She flips the pages, furrowing her brows and using her pointer finger to keep her spot exaggeratedly.

Harry pulls his cock out from his gym shorts and briefs before lining himself up and pressing into her. He keeps his thrusts short and shallow, not wanting to give her too much of a reaction.

Tiny gasps escape her throat, but she tries to keep her composure. For added fun, Briar starts to read her book out loud. Harry’s stomach clenches at the detail, wanting to do everything to his girl.

“‘Wrap your legs around me and tell me how much you like it, Nate says’,” Briar sighs out, slowly flipping the page. Harry has to bite his knuckle as not to cry out.

“I love reading, I wish my daddy read my naughty books with me,” Briar sighs, holding back a moan. “Oh my gosh, daddy? Is that you?”

She turns her head, a devious glint in her eyes.

“Ughn, keep reading your book, baby. Wanna hear your words.”

“‘Can you be a good girl and be quiet?’ Nate says, and I can finally start to feel his fingers under my skirt,” Briar reads out loud, her pussy clenching Harry’s cock deliciously.

Harry locks his jaw, smacking the book out of her hands. She gasps as he flips her over and starts to pound into her. He presses his hand into her bare chest for leverage. She throws her head back, a strangled cry falling from her lips.

“Love fucking you all the time, baby. Don’t know how I’m gonna live without this fucking pussy for a month,” Harry grits out.

In all their fun, it distracted Briar from the magnitude of their situation. Her mood shifts, and it’s like her cunt dried up immediately. Her heart is pumping from anxiety and not excitement. She cries out, her muted orgasm washing over her. She might as well have faked it.  

“Fffuck yes, baby. Gonna come now,” Harry grasps her cheeks with one hand, making her lips puff out like a fish. “Can you say, ‘I love you, Daddy’?”

“I wov you daddy,” she blubbers out, his hand making it difficult to enunciate.

Harry buries into her before dropping his body weight onto her and sticking his face in her neck as he pours into her, “Love you so much.”

She stares at the ceiling over his shoulder. Love fucking hurts sometimes.

~

On the day of Harry’s flight, he and Briar spend the whole day together. They got breakfast and took Gus for a walk around the public garden. Their pinkies are locked as they stroll past the once flowery oasis, spying piles of leaves on the ground.

“What’re you thinking about right now?” Briar asks.

“I’m not as nervous as I thought I’d be. I think I’m thinking of logistics. Like, if it goes well, what do we do? Do I fly to France a few times a year? I don’t think she’d let him come stay with me right away. Someone would have to fly back and forth with him,” Harry trails off, his pinkie cutting off the circulation of Briar’s.

“Well, there’s time to figure that out. It doesn’t have to be determined over night,” Briar says, leaning her head on his shoulder. Her heart has felt heavy all day. She tries not to let her feelings show on her face, because she knows Harry would back out. He has to do this.

“And I want to make sure you know where you fit in all of this. I know you haven’t said it, but I know your brain pretty well at this point,” Harry says, placing his thumb on her cheek as he turns to face her. “We’re partners. A team. I know you’re thinking you’re a burden. And you’re not; I value your input so much. Just need you to be patient with me.”

She nods silently, placing her head on his chest. Gus starts to pull on his leash toward a goose, so it stops her from crying.

“Augustus Theodore Barlowe-Styles!” Harry yells.

Briar looks at him wildly, “Um, when did that happen?”

Harry shrugs, “If you need me to sign a fake paper, I will. But I am his dad.”

Briar bites her lip, looking the other direction so Harry can’t see the pain on her face.

They continue on, returning to the car about an hour later. Harry has a parking ticket, to which he grumbles to himself. Briar laughs, snapping a photo of him holding the bright orange paper.

They return home to put Gus away and wait for the driver. Harry arranged for a driver to pick them up so they can say their goodbyes the whole drive. When the black Escalade pulls into the driveway, silent tears start to blur her vision. The man grabs Harry’s luggage and opens the door for Briar to get in.

They sit so close together, not even a sheet of paper can fit between them. He grasps her hand for dear life, not willing to let go first. The drive to the airport is excruciating, so Harry just peppers kisses in Briar’s hair, taking in long whiffs of her scent.

“I can’t thank you enough, Birdie,” Harry starts. “A month will go by in no time.”

Briar breathes in deeply, a lump forming in her throat, “Just a month.”

“Just a month.”

They sit in silence, basking in the physical feeling of one another. Harry leans down to kiss her as they pull into the terminal. It deepens, Harry gently swiping his tongue through her lips. The car comes to a stop, so Briar breaks apart. Harry feels a pang in his heart.

Briar starts to cry, a tiny sniffle escaping her. She can’t bring herself to look at him.

“I don’t want to go yet, but I have to, baby.”

She nods, squeezing her eyes shut. Her grip on his t-shirt is so tight, her hands are shaking.

“I love you, Birdie, so much. Just bear with me, please. Whatever you’re feeling…Call me. Text me. We’re in this together.”

Harry grips her thigh before opening the car door. She shuffles out after him, the bright lights of the terminal blinding her. The driver is taking Harry’s luggage from the trunk, so the two of them stand at the hood of the car in a tight embrace.

Briar’s tears are dampening Harry’s favorite Kendrick Lamar ‘DAMN.’ hoodie. He looks so soft and comfy. His hair is freshly washed, the smell of the citrus shampoo taking over their embrace.

The AirFrance attendants take his luggage away, so he only has to worry about his trusty suede duffel bag. He places one last long kiss on Briar’s forehead and pulls away. Their hands are interlocked, but don’t separate until the last second.

Harry grabs his duffel bag before sadly following the attendant inside. Briar stands still, watching him through the glass windows until he’s at the escalator. Harry presses a kiss to the pads of his three fingers before turning his hand to face her. She reaches up, pretending to grab the stray kiss, tears still falling rapidly.

“Whenever you’re ready miss,” the driver’s soft voice breaks her train of thought. She looks over at him in acknowledgement.

When she looks back to the escalator, he’s gone. Briar sobbed the whole ride home.

~

“I can’t be a step-mom, Caroline. I’m fucking 24 years old!” Briar grasps at her hair as she’s sat at brunch. She didn’t sleep for a single minute after dropping Harry off. She paced her apartment, ready to send the most Earth-shattering text to Harry.

He couldn’t have been sweeter to her. He paid for in-flight wifi so he could text her throughout. He watched movies he thought she’d like, and rated his meals. He was a fan of the yogurt parfait but not the chicken milanese. He let her know there was a woman with a young baby sat next to him, so he offered to hold the baby while she used the restroom. Briar’s heart hurt at the last part.

“Well, maybe you don’t have to be all that involved, anyway. The kid lives in France, for Christ’s sake. You could be like Luke and Lorelai in Gilmore Girls.”

Briar stares at her, bewildered, “They broke up because of the secret kid, Caro.”

“You’re right! But they found each other in the end.”

She rolls her eyes at her friend’s inability to read the room. She’s too absorbed in her new bartender boyfriend to care about anyone else now.

Briar hasn’t heard from Harry in a few hours, but she assumes it’s because of the time difference. The waiter appears, asking if the girls would like more mimosas.

“Keep them coming, please,” Caroline smiles. He nods before disappearing into the back. She looks back at Briar. “Can’t you just hold on for two weeks? That way, he’ll have a better idea of how he can manage it all, and then you can decide.”

She’s right. Briar hasn’t even given it a fighting chance; she’s just always trusted her gut and it’s always worked out. The complexity of the situation scares her.

“You’re right. I don’t even know if they’ve met yet. I’ll relax a little, I guess. How’s Max?”

Caroline nods, giving Briar a side hug, “We’re good. Taking it slow. He got out of a long relationship not long ago, too. I’m really happy, Bri.”

Briar smiles, “I’m so glad. You deserve it. I’ll try to cross paths with him a little more at Wynnewood. Does this mean you’re moving back here any time soon?”

Caroline laughs, breaking the yolk on her eggs Benedict, “Probably. I’m already sick of my parents’ house. It’s weird not knowing anyone in your town as an adult.”

Briar looks down at her phone when she feels it start to vibrate.

🦊: Are you busy?

She puts her phone in her purse so she can focus on her friend. She’ll call him later.

“I get that. Have you met anyone at the gym or anything? Maybe you can start teaching spin again,” Briar suggests. Caroline juts her lip out.

“Maybe. It’s a commitment, though.”

“Might be good for you. Think about it.”

The girls wrap up, and part ways. If there’s one thing the two of them go hard or go home for, it’s brunch. Briar decides to grab an Uber since she had a few mimosas.

The driver arrives, but he furrows his brow when she gets in.

“For Harry?”

Fuck. She’s using his account, not hers. She nods, not really wanting to disclose that it’s her boyfriend’s account. Her phone vibrates again.

🦊: Where are you going? Call me if you’re heading home.

“Fuck,” she curses under her breath. Leaning her head against the window, she lets the glass cool her now warm forehead. Harry gets pinged when his credit card is charged.

She dials his contact, about to give up until he answers on the third ring.

“Hi, Birdie. What’re you up to?”

She can’t quite read his tone.

“Hi. Not much, just got done grabbing brunch with Caroline,” she looks out the window. “H-how’s it going over there?”

“Everything here is good. I landed in the morning, obviously, checked into my hotel, and then I met up with Camille and Oliver at a park close by. It was surreal, honestly,” Harry says, putting his free hand on top of his head. “It went really well. Better than I could’ve imagined.”

Briar smiles, finally feeling genuine about this whole situation. She could cry knowing that little boy will finally get to know his father. And she knows he’ll never skip out on him from this point on.

“I’m so glad, H. Really. I bet you’ll have so much fun the rest of the time you’re there. Will you be able to have him by yourself, do you think? Or does Camille want to be there for the first couple visits?”

“I think I will, eventually, yeah. She just wants to make sure he’s comfortable, y’know? But, from what I can tell, he’s already perfectly comfortable.”

“That’s great. Maybe there’s an activity you can do together,” Briar says, but pauses. “Honestly I’m not sure how French children spend their time. Eating cheese?”

Harry laughs, pacing his hotel room. He hasn’t been this anxious with Briar on the phone since their first call.

“From what I can tell, it’s a lot of play dates. The thing is, kids are allowed to just ‘be’ here. I feel like American kids have to be occupied at all times. It was cool to see his imagination play out. Even though we only had a football with us. He got really creative with it.”

“Anyway, I miss ya, Birdie. How’s Caroline? Is she still with Max?”

“Miss you too, so much. Gus does too. I don’t take him for runs like you do. And Caro is good. Still with Max,” she says as she fumbles out of the Uber.

“Thank you!” She says to the driver.

“You home already?”

“Yeah, walking up to the door. Sorry I accidentally used your account,” Briar says sheepishly.

“Don’t apologize, my love. Charge whatever you need to on my card.”

“Thanks. I’m gonna take Gus for a walk. I love you. I’m glad you had a good day. Remember to send pictures,” she smiles leaning on her door frame.

“Love you, Birdie. Have a good night.”

“Bye. Sleep well,” she says quietly.

She starts to cry again, maybe from the alcohol. She’s happy for him. Really. But she can’t help but feel this gnawing in her soul.

~

“Olivier! Viens ici s'il te plait,” Camille calls out.

Harry is rusty at French, not needing to use it in years. Nonetheless, his boy drops the toy in his hand and enters the kitchen.

For their visit today, they’re at Camille and Theo’s countryside home. Theo took their daughter for a walk to give them space. Harry didn’t request for Theo to make himself scarce, but he appreciates the gesture.

“Harry va t'emmener chercher une crêpe. Est-ce que ça sonne bien?”

The little boy nods. Harry is translating in his head. He only recognizes is his name and une crêpe.

Even though Camille is hesitant, the crêperie is around the corner in the small town. They’d be gone for half an hour max.

“Does that sound good, mate? What flavor are you going to get?”

Oliver looks puzzled, and stares at his mom. She nods her head, “Anglais, Olivier.”

“Oweo,” he says quietly. Harry learned Oliver has a small speech impediment they’re working through. He’s made great strides throughout the school year.

“I might get that, too. Ready to go?”

The boy nods, and they both stand to head to the front door. Camille waves them off from the window.

Harry feels like a deer in headlights. Should he hold his hand?

Oliver starts to walk on the gravel road, to which Harry switches positions with him so he’s in harms way if a car were to swerve at them.

Alright, he thinks. That was fatherly.

Oliver reaches his small hand to grab Harry’s, and he feels his heart lurch in his chest. It’s so small, Oliver holds onto his pinky. He smiles, thinking of Briar.

They walk a bit longer, Harry listening to Oliver ramble on about 100 topics. He smiles and nods largely, encouraging him to keep talking. The crêperie comes into view, so they enter the shop to meet a cheery older woman.

“Olivier! Bonjour mon coeur!”

Oliver hides behind Harry’s leg and peeps out, "Bonjour mademoiselle Celine.”

“Good morning. We’d love to have two Oreo crêpes, please. I’ll also take a cappuccino.”

“Of course, sir. Tout pour mon client préféré,” she giggles, looking at the boy. Judging by their mischievous smiles, he can tell Oliver is a regular here.

“Merci.”

They sit at a small table outside on the packed patio. Oliver sits on Harry’s lap, since there is only one chair. Oliver points out birds and starts to recite the alphabet backwards for Harry.

“Parles-tu français?” the woman next to them asks.

“Not much, honestly,” Harry laughs.

“Is this your son?”

“Oh, he’s n—,” Harry stops himself. “Yes. Yes, this is my son, Oliver.”

His heart is beating out of his chest. He’s so used to not claiming his niece when he takes her out.

“Beautiful. You look like twins,” she smiles before going back to reading her book.

“Merci,” Harry smiles.

The waiter brings their crepes and Harry’s drink. He pulls his phone out for a quick selfie of the two of them, Oreo crumbs messy around their mouths. He sends it to Briar, knowing it’s the middle of the night.

“Who is that girwl?” Oliver asks, spying Harry’s screen saver. His little accent makes Harry smile.

“That’s my girlfriend, Briar. Maybe one day you’ll get to meet her. Do you want to see her silly puppy, Gus?”

“Yeah!”

Harry shows Oliver tons of videos he’s taken of Gus and photos of himself and Briar. They enjoy their time looking at pictures and singing some of the songs he’s learned at school. The two walk home together, hand in hand.

Harry doesn’t stop smiling for the rest of the day.

~

It’s noon before Briar finally wakes up on her day off. Gus is well past his puppy years, so he’ll sleep as long as she’ll let him. She leashes him up, opting to not bring her phone and take in the sunshine.

She misses being able to let him out back at Harry’s, but she deals with it. They walk and Gus sniffs around for about an hour before they make their way home. She pulls her phone on the charger to find a few texts from Harry.

🦊: Awake yet, lazy bones?

🦊:  Went for crêpes. Just the two of us.

🦊: I already feel so comfortable hanging with him, Bird. I wish you were here 🖤

There are several hours in between texts, so she doesn’t rush to reply.

🐥: Two cute guys! I’m so happy for you. Wish I was there too.

She lies.

Gus lays down, so Briar immediately heads outside with her headphones. She hasn’t taken a run in weeks, but she wants her heart to hammer in her chest from exercise, not anxiety. She’s never told Harry she runs, in fear of him dragging her for long distances. She prefers to run to a coffee shop and then walk back.

Main street comes into view once she finds a good rhythm. She’s listening to Clouds by One Direction, so her pace is quick. She passes Lululemon moms with their babies in strollers and designer dogs in tow, giving tight lip smiles.

Her favorite cafe is on her right, so she stops to stretch and even out her breathing before going in. The guy at the counter welcomes her asking what she’d like to drink.

“Can I have an iced green tea with just a pump of sweetener and a lemon?”

“Sure, coming right up,” he winks.

She sits at the counter to get off her feet.

“This might be weird, but I think you’re in one of my business classes.”

Briar cocks her head to look at him. They all have to have profile photos since it’s online. She finally recognizes him. Spencer.

“Oh, yes! Spencer, right? I’m Briar,” she reaches out to shake his hand gently.

“Yep, good memory. Are you almost done with your paper?”

Briar smiles, “Nope, haven’t even started outlining.”

“Okay, good. At least we’re on the same wavelength.”

He hands her the drink and waves her off when she tries to give him her card, “No worries, it’s on me. Let me know if you want to meet up and study some time.”

He walks swiftly into the back. He wrote his number on the cardboard sleeve surrounding the drink. Nervousness bubbles in her stomach.

🦊: Heading back to the hotel. Let me know if you’re free.

She reads Harry’s text. Re-reads it. Re-reads it again. Then she shoves her phone in her sports bra before sprinting out of the cafe.

Her music resumes at full volume, this time, Kiss You comes on. She smiles trying not to sing out loud for everyone to hear.

She makes it home in record time, running straight to the bathroom to shower. She continues playing her music, only to be interrupted by a call. She squints from across the bathroom to see the familiar fox emoji on the screen. She waits for it to go to voicemail before belting out the lyrics to Steal My Girl. Briar isn’t sure why she’s avoiding him. It’s only been 3 days. They have a long time to go.

She finishes her shower, taking the time to moisturize and do her skincare routine. Once she’s in her robe, she settles in her bed to call Harry back.

“‘Lo?”

“Hi,” She says quietly. “Did I just wake you up?”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. I think I fell asleep at 4pm,” he chuckles. “How is your day?”

“Good, I slept in and then went for a run, actually.”

“A run? How come you’ve never gone on one with me?” Harry is sort of offended.

Briar laughs, a genuine one, “‘Cause I was scared you’d make me run for miles. I like to run and get coffee or tea and then walk back.”

Harry hums, fiddling with the hem of his t-shirt. He’s not sure what else to say to her.

“Can we FaceTime? Wanna see your pretty face,” Harry says.

“Mhm,” Briar switches to FaceTime in one swift motion.

“Hi, pretty,” Harry says, his eyes lighting up.

“Hi, handsome. Looks like you already need a haircut,” she laughs.

“I know, I totally spaced getting one before I left. Although, I didn’t know I was leaving.”

Briar is quiet before asking, “How was your day with Oliver? That’s great you got some time alone with him.”

Harry beams as he tells her all the things Oliver has shown and talked to him about. He told her how natural everything feels, even so soon after officially meeting him.

“So, did Camille explain to him who you are?” Briar asks delicately.

“Yeah, but he hasn’t called me Dad or anything, yet. Papa, in French, I guess. She gave him all of my cards every year. She’s shown him pictures,” Harry yawns. “But I don’t think she ever told him the history, of course. Always said ‘maybe one day. Ultimately, Theo is raising him. That’s a bond I won’t try to interfere with. I trust him.”

“That’s good. I know I keep saying it, but I’m so happy for you,” Briar smiles softly.

“Thanks, Bird. You look awfully comfy,” Harry smirks. “Whatcha got under that robe, lovie?”

“C’mon, not now, H,” Briar blows him off.

A confused look flashes over his face, but it quickly fades.

“What? Why not?”

“I just — You’re there to see your son. I just feel weird calling and doing all this,” Briar admits.

“But it’s okay to call me while I’m on a work trip and get me riled up?” His head cocks to the side, eyebrows furrowed.

“T-that’s different.”

“How?” His nostrils flare out. “It’s not like I have Oliver here with me.”

“I don’t know, it just is. Don’t be like this, please,” she pleads.

“Okay…?” he draws out. Suddenly, her flaky behavior is not in his head. “Um, I guess I’ll let you go then. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

They both hang up with newly formed pits in their stomachs.

~

Harry woke up bright and early on day 11, getting ready to watch Oliver’s football game. They spent the last few days apart so he could visit his grandparents in the south of France.

Harry spent each day the same way; eating at a cafe, reading the newspaper, taking his French Duolingo lesson, and then hitting a museum or a park before ordering room service. Sometimes a call with Briar fits in there.

Harry smiles at the thought of his mum and sister meeting him. Gemma’s daughter, Hattie, is only a year older than Oliver. He can picture them running around in the backyard on a summer day, jumping in and out of the pool, ice lollies staining their faces.

He’s getting ahead of himself. He visibly shakes his head back and forth to focus.

Grabbing it off the side table, he looks at his phone. It’s 1AM at home, so he wonders if Briar is still awake.

🦊: Hi, Birdie. Still awake?

Briar is 5 episodes deep into Jersey Shore when her phone vibrates. Gus stirs, wondering why she’s disturbing him. Doing the math in her head, she realizes it’s 7AM in Paris.

🐥: Morning 🤍 I’m just watching TV

He doesn’t bother replying, and opts to call.

“Hi,” she says quietly, grabbing the remote to pause the TV. The tension over the last few days have been rough, and Briar knows it’s her fault. Her cold feet about going all in with Harry has consumed her. She’s been dodging his calls, calling back hours after he tries to initiate contact.

“What’re you doing up so late, baby girl?”

His gruff morning voice gives her chills. She misses his soft speaking voice gently rousing her from sleep in the mornings.

“Watching classic American television,” she laughs softly. “What’re you doing up so early?”

“I was invited to watch Oliver’s football games today. Camille’s parents will be there too, so it’ll be nice to see them.”

Briar grimaces to herself. Will it? Those people left him high and dry as much as Camille did.

“That’s nice. Were you close with them?”

“Yeah, her dad and I bonded over vintage cars and watches. And her mum is very sweet.”

Briar hums. After a while, Harry speaks up.

“You’d tell me if something was wrong, right, Birdie?”

She freezes. He’s onto her.

“Yes,” she starts off slow and questioning. “Why do you say that?”

“Not sure. It might be me. Just feeling like we’re a bit off.”

“I’m not a long distance person. You know that,” she lies. Again.

“I know that. This isn’t a long distance relationship, though,” Harry replies.

Briar opts for silence. Again.

“I need words, baby. This is never going to work if you’re not honest with me.”

She closes her eyes, “I just don’t think it’s going to work at all, Harry.”

There it is. The breaking point. The atomic bomb. The earthquake that destroys 100 cities.

Harry covers his eyes with his hand. He’s so shaky he can barely stand. A highlight reel of their time together flashes through his mind. The high highs and their few and far between lows. He’s never in his life felt so tied to another human being before. Not even his son, whom he’s just getting to know.

“You don’t mean that,” Harry presses. His heart is racing so fast it’s all he can hear.

“I don’t fucking know, Harry,” a cry explodes out of her chest. “This feels like too much, too soon.”

Harry clenches his teeth and balls his fists, “No. No, Briar. This isn’t how this is going to go.”

“Why do you get to dictate everything? This is a big fucking deal, Harry. I can’t see where I fit into this, so I’m taking myself out of it.”

“No! Baby, please. Please just wait until I’m back. There’s gonna be a plan, and I’m sorry I don’t have that for you right now. I’m so fucking sorry. Don’t do this to me. Please,” his voice breaks, exaggerated wheezing leaving his chest.

Briar holds the phone away from her ear, unable to listen to the begging. She’d cave immediately.

“I’ll fly you out. Right fucking now. Drive to the hangar and get on the fucking plane,” he seethes. 

She shakes her head, even though he can’t see her. 

“Get on the fucking plane, Briar,” the anguish in his voice shatters her heart into a million pieces. 

“I-I’m sorry,” Briar clicks off hastily. She feels like the most heartless person in the world. Violent sobs take over as she leans down to rub her face in Gus’s fur.

“Fuck, fuck, ffuck, fuck, fuck!” Harry yells. He starts to punch into the pillow on the bed, slamming his fist over and over again.

With shaky hands, he texts Camille that something came up and he’ll see them tomorrow instead. Harry crumples to the floor, feeling like he could vomit. His phone buzzes, hoping--praying-- it’s Briar. 

Harry, that’s not how this is going to work. You’re either in, or you’re out.

C

“Fuck!”

_________________________________________________

Alexa, play ‘I Know the End’ by Phoebe Bridgers. IM SORRY IM SOFIFJRIJFJRG SEND ME A MESSAGE OR A BOTTLE OF TEQUILA

@daphnesutton @pandeebearstyles @anxiouswaterss @gem1712 @stylesfever @awesomenavy @crazygirlinthisworld @butdaddyilovehim-hs @luxiorchive @alchemxx @narry-heart​

[misscinnamonroll16]

Brozone diner au: the day John Dory took off part six

god this is long

He always made the funniest faces. John took that picture too, along with the photo album. John grabbed the rest of the items, taking one last look around the room before heading back to his campervan. After arriving back at his campervan, John Dory decided to bake their grandma's famous fluffleberry cake. After making and decorating the cake, John noticed that the crocodile plush had a tear and was incredibly dirty. He hand washed it and patched up the tear. JD checked his watch, it was only 8:45 pm. John made himself some dinner and put on a movie. Partway through the movie, John dozed off, probably going to be sore tomorrow from sleeping on a couch. John woke up to his usual alarm, stretching and popping his back. John made a quick breakfast and some coffee, packing up the cake to take to work as a thank you gift to his brothers. He grabbed a box to put the book and plush in, hesitating for a moment, what if they didn't want these things? They clearly hadn't been missing them because they were still there. John decided to take them in anyway and talk to Bruce about to make sure his sentiment is understandable, luckily Bruce was the first one in. JD got to the diner, setting the cake and box in the office, locking the door behind him. He usually didn't lock the office when he was here but that stuff was a surprise so he didn't want one of them seeing it. John set everything up as usual, quietly singing to himself, only perking up when he heard Bruce opening the front door. “G’morning Brucie.” John said, pouring Bruce a cup of coffee and handing it to him. Bruce grunted, he's never really been a morning person, taking the cup of coffee. Bruce took a big sip of the coffee, slowly waking up. John Dory gave Bruce time to fully wake up, knowing he'll be an asshole if he's not awake enough. After a few minutes Bruce turned to John, trying to figure out what he's thinking about it. “Alright, what's going on? You're thinking about something." Bruce said before taking another sip of his coffee. “I was just waiting for you to finish waking up. If you're ready, come on." JD mumbled before turning to walk into the back towards the office. Bruce grabbed his coffee and followed John Dory to the office, even more confused. “Ok so yesterday I went back to Grandma's old pod and found some stuff that I'd think you guys would like but I don't know for sure so I want your Older Brother Opinion ™️. I don't know, maybe I'm just being sentimental.” John said, opening the office and showing Bruce the box of items. " Dang, you want my opinion on this? You're probably overthinking this. Aww, that's an adorable picture of Floyd and baby Branch. You trying to make Clay cry by giving him this book? I think Branch might have missed Crocko. Wait, when was this picture taken?” Bruce said as he looked through the box, setting his cup down on the table. " Oh grandma was taking pictures of us for some magazine company and you wouldn't stop making faces. I guess she had that one developed. I remember you being behind her making faces for Clay and Floyd.” JD said, looking down at the picture fondly with Bruce. “Oh now I remember. Yeah, I think this was a good idea but also you were just being sentimental. Find any other good things there?" Bruce asked as he placed the picture back in the box. John shook his head, placing the box on the floor. That's when Bruce noticed it, the cake. John was talking but Bruce didn't hear a word, too focused on the cake, not sure if it was what he thought it was. Finally John Dory realized Bruce wasn't paying attention, following his line of sight. “Yep, that's what you think it is. But you have to wait for the others to get here. It's a little thank you gift for forcing me to take the day off.” John said, stepping in front of Bruce, who was practically drooling. " Well we wouldn't have to force you if you'd just take days off once in a while.” Bruce sassed, finally snapping out of his trance. "I'm trying to be nice and say thank you, don't be an asshole about it.” JD teased.

@bzjohndory