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guardianofrivendell · 4 years ago

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Guarding Your Heart - chapter 2

Modern!Fíli AU written by @laurfilijames and @guardianofrivendell

Summary: Bodyguard AU: Lucy gets dragged into her father’s past against her will and is possibly in danger. Fíli gets assigned to her as her bodyguard. He doesn’t want to be there, she doesn’t want him to be there either. But then things get serious and in turns out Lucy is indeed in danger.

Warnings: mention of drinking and abduction, practically naked Fíli (twice... we don’t know how that happened... Really!), one suggestive moment and the expected amount of sass and smirks.

A/N: Are you ready for chapter 2? Buckle up, because it’s a long one (7k+ words... we’re so sorry - and no, we couldn’t split it up into two chapters because of... reasons). We had a lot of fun writing this chapter, a little too much because we had to cut a few scenes to make it shorter :) Have fun reading and let us know what you think, we love reading the comments and speculations!

GUARDING YOUR HEART MASTERLIST

Laurfilijames masterlist Guardianofrivendell masterlist

The morning sun came peeking through the blinds and slowly made its way over to Lucy’s bed, sliding closer and closer with every passing minute until it finally reached her face.

Now most people consider waking up with the sun shining and the birds singing their morning songs as a perfect start of the day. Who wouldn’t want to live their life like a Disney princess right? But not Lucy…

No, Lucy wasn’t exactly what you would call a morning person.

The only reason she would be awake around sunrise was because she didn’t go to bed at all and was still up partying. There was no way anyone would get her out of bed a minute earlier than she absolutely had to.

Lucy groaned when she felt the warmth on her face and hid underneath her duvet. It should be considered illegal to wake up before your alarm.

Wait a minute… The sun was shining, her alarm was set at 7 am. This shouldn’t be possible. What time was it?

Her arm appeared from underneath the duvet and patted the night table a few times in search of her phone. When she couldn’t find it, she threw back the duvet and looked around the room in a light panic. Now where could she… oh.

Everything from the day before finally caught up to her.

How her new babysitter took away her phone, and then had the nerve to come and ask for her laptop and tablet too. He even scolded her for slamming her bedroom door, like she was still a child. In her own home!

She stared at her open door. Him and his stupid rules...

She thought back to their argument about it yesterday. How he threatened to unhinge all her doors if she wouldn’t listen, and she in turn might have accused him of being a pervert. Fíli had pulled his hair in frustration before he thundered down the stairs again, mumbling something about impossible rich brats.

Speaking of… It was awfully quiet. He was still here, wasn’t he?

Lucy crawled out of bed and tiptoed to the open door of her bedroom, sticking her head out into the hallway. Nothing.

Without getting her hopes up too much, she made her way to the edge of the landing and peeked over the railing into the living room.

“I can hear you, you know,” a voice sounded from the couch. “You’re not exactly trying to be subtle.”

Lucy sighed and rolled her eyes. Nope, not gone yet.

Her bare feet dragged her down the stairs and to the living room before she realised she was still in her night clothes: a black tank top and her grey shorts.

Lucy paused, should she go back upstairs and change? Wasn’t this weird?

There was a stranger in her house and she was barely dressed. Chad would have a fit if he knew. It might even make Fíli uncomfortable.

But hey, she was in her own house! If she wanted to walk around like this, she could. If he couldn’t handle it, he knew where the door was.

Fíli was lying stretched out on his back on the couch, his head resting on his arms, feet on the arm rest.

“Comfortable, are we?” Lucy asked, crossing her arms over her chest.

She noticed he had rolled up his sleeping bag already and stowed it away with his pillow. It didn’t come as a surprise that he had his bed made as soon as he was out of it. Even if technically his bed was her couch. He shifted so he was sitting upright, and looked at his watch.

“Do you always sleep this late?” he wondered.

“Why, what time is it?”

“It’s well past 10.”

Lucy raised her arms and let them drop at her sides again. “Well I wouldn’t know now, would I? You took away my phone! And that’s my alarm clock.” She mumbled the last bit.

“You have heard of an actual alarm clock before, haven’t you?” he said sarcastically.

“Yes,” she hissed, her annoyance increasing by the second. “I just don’t have one because I happen to live in the 21st century and I use my phone like every other person!”

She walked into the kitchen and flicked on the kettle, desperate for coffee, and took a clean bowl out of the dishwasher for her breakfast. When she turned around Fíli was standing on the other side of the island, looking very smug as he plopped a travel-sized alarm clock down onto the counter.

“There. Now you’ll be able to tell the time and wake up before the day is half over.”

“It’s not like I have anything to get up for…” she mumbled as she worked on brewing her coffee.

Of course he had something like that on hand. What else did he have stashed away in his bags? Likely everything one would need to survive out in the wilderness for days on end.

She opened the fridge to get the milk for her cereal and almost dropped her bowl in surprise. Yesterday her fridge was practically empty. Not even enough food in it to keep that bloody mouse alive. Which is why she panicked when she heard she wasn’t allowed to leave the house again.

But now she was looking at a fully stocked fridge. Everything she could ever need was there: fruits, vegetables, yoghurt, milk, drinks, stuff to make sandwiches, …

“Told you I’d take care of it.”

Lucy turned around to face him. “How did you...?”

Fíli was now leaning against the counter, arms and legs crossed. He shrugged in response to her question. She didn’t need to know everything.

“Did you leave the house?” she asked him, taking the milk out and closing the fridge with her hip.

“No.”

“You got it delivered?” Lucy didn’t hear the bell, but then again, she was asleep or he could’ve got to the door before the delivery guy had the chance to press the button.

“No.”

She looked up at him again and tilted her head. “You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Fíli just smiled at her and went back to the living room without saying another word.

Lucy took a few deep breaths to calm herself. Easy now, don’t let him get under your skin!

She placed the milk back in the fridge and opened a cupboard to get her cereal, and almost gasped aloud. Not believing what she saw, she started opening the other cupboards and was met with the same view. Just like her fridge was now fully stocked, every cupboard was filled to the brim with canned and dry foods.

“You’re welcome by the way!” Fíli shouted from his place on the couch.

She might have closed the cupboard door a little harsher than necessary after that remark.

After breakfast Lucy went upstairs and changed into her running clothes again.

Yes, yes, Fíli had said she couldn’t leave the house, but she really needed to get some fresh air. It had only been a day, and she already felt like the walls were closing in on her. Her plan was simple: if she wasn’t allowed to go out by herself, he would have to join her. He could protect her just as well outside.

In the hopes he could keep up with her pace, but that shouldn’t be a problem. Not that she had let her eyes linger on his physique, no really, she didn’t, she was just assuming every bodyguard was in perfect shape. Nothing wrong with that.

When she entered the living room, said bodyguard was working on his laptop. His eyes met hers and he smirked when he saw her outfit.

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No, Fíli. I do not kid,” she repeated his words from the day before. “I really want to go for a run.”

He turned his upper body towards her and rested his arm on top of the chair.

“Tell me. What part of not leaving the house don’t you understand?”

“That’s why you’re coming with me.”

Fíli raised his eyebrows at her and then pretended to consider it. “Let me think… No.”

He turned back towards his laptop.

“Come on, Fíli, please? I really need to get some fresh air.” He had to understand she was practically going crazy here, she needed to clear her head to wrap her mind around all this.

“No.” He didn’t even look up at her.

“I need the workout,” she tried again.

“You can do that inside.”

“But if you would just-”

“Lucy, I said no!” he interrupted, raising his voice.

She was so caught off guard that she took a step back at his outburst.

“You’re awfully rude for someone who’s meant to be keeping me safe,” Lucy said, trying to keep her voice even.

“I’m here to keep you alive, not to be your friend.”

He watched as she bit her trembling lip and he almost regretted lashing out at her.

Every muscle in his body was ready to jump into action if necessary and sure enough, he saw her eyes flicker to the hallway. She was going to make a run for it.

“Luce,” he warned her, letting her know he was onto her.

But she was fast. Faster than he had anticipated, and she was already in the hallway before he got to his feet.

Fíli cursed heavily. “Lucy, no!”

It had only been two days since he arrived and he found himself using these two words more than he liked.

When he ran into the hallway, he could see her running up the stairs towards her room, and not out the door as he thought she would.

Fíli ran his hand through his hair, and exhaled loudly.

“She’s going to be the death of me someday, I swear...”

Lucy slammed the door and pressed her back against it, fighting the upcoming tears. How was she ever going to live through this?

She ignored Fíli’s demand of keeping the door open, needing a moment to collect herself before she lost it in front of him.

Lucy gripped her hands together tightly to stop them from shaking and took a series of deep breaths to try and prevent more tears from falling.

She didn’t want to admit that he scared her. It was just a question, there was no need for him to shout at her.

Could she really be in that much danger?

And even if she was, he could still try and be nice to her. Or at least try to understand her side of things and see it from her point of view.

Once she was changed into a legging and oversized sweater and felt strong enough to be in the same room as him again, she threw the door open and walked to the kitchen, ignoring Fíli’s stare.

She needed a drink.

Jars clinked together in the refrigerator door as she whipped it open, reaching for a perfectly chilled bottle of champagne.

Lucy stood on her tiptoes to reach a flute, and slammed the glass down on the counter a little harder than she intended, but it thankfully didn’t break.

With a ‘pop’ the cork was freed from the bottle, leaving whispers of fizzy smoke trailing in the air. Her hands trembled again as she poured it carefully into the glass, not wanting to give away her nerves to Fíli who was now leaning on the doorframe and watching her like a hawk.

“I don’t know if this is an appropriate time for bubbles,” he said, his voice full of judgement. “It’s not even noon yet.”

Lucy spun to face him and placed the rim of the glass to her lips, staring him down fiercely as she emptied its contents in one go, not stopping despite the burning sensation it created down her throat. All she could think about was how much she wanted him gone.

“Maybe I’m mourning the death of what used to be my life!”

“You’re unbelievable, you know that?” Fíli smirked, biting the side of his bottom lip. “People are simply trying to keep you alive and the only thing you can worry about is your running schedule.”

Lucy slammed her glass on the counter again and braced both arms against the edge to fake some courage.

“It’s not just my running schedule! It’s everything! My studies, my future career, my boyfriend! All turned upside down and tossed to the side because of my father, who I haven’t seen or heard of for the past seven years by the way. So forgive me for being a little bitter.”

She refilled her glass, the first one was not enough to take the edge off the terrible way she was feeling. Lucy could see Fíli shaking his head from side to side in her periphery and she nearly lost it when she heard him chuckle.

“You’re getting a kick out of this aren’t you? You’re watching my life crumble apart before me and I bet you find it incredibly entertaining!”

“Oh don’t flatter yourself, sweetheart. I’m equally as offended and inconvenienced by this whole thing as you are.” He shoved his hands in his pockets and looked at the ceiling, not liking where this conversation was headed.

“You can leave at any time!” she snapped, pointing her finger at him. “I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself!”

“Would you like to try?” he challenged her, raising his eyebrow in question.

“Try what?”

“Looking after yourself. Should we see what happens?”

“This entire thing is being blown out of proportion! Nothing is going to happen! Nothing ever happens!”

He took a few steps towards Lucy until his face was only inches away from hers. If he wanted her to cooperate, he needed to be brutally honest with her. She’d probably hate him after this, but she could use the wake up call.

He took the champagne glass out of her hand and placed it back on the counter, not breaking eye contact.

“Really? So the chances of someone breaking into your house in the middle of the night is, what? One in a million?” he started. “Someone gagging you and tying you up, then tossing you in the back of a vehicle and driving you somewhere, anywhere, where no one is able to find you, not even me? Them doing unspeakable things to your mind, your body, ... You really think that could never happen in your privileged little life? Think again, sweetheart. Your dad messed around with some nasty people and they will not hesitate to use you to get what they want.”

He watched as fear spread across her features, and he knew he’d done his job in scaring her. The furrow of her brows relaxed slightly with every description he made of what would most likely happen to her if he wasn’t there to protect her.

“God, you’re a prick!” her voice shook slightly and she bumped his shoulder harshly when she stormed out of the kitchen and up the stairs to her bedroom.

He heard the door slam and he exhaled deeply, his patience stretched incredibly thin. She seriously had the brazenness to shut the door, again?

Lucy spent the rest of the day ignoring Fíli, which he honestly didn’t mind at all.

She was watching some kind of reality show on the tv that night, with Fíli keeping an eye on her from his seat at the table. She was still ignoring him, sitting with her arms crossed and legs pressed together, and he could tell she wasn’t really paying attention to what was happening on the screen.

His phone buzzed, breaking the torturous silence and he was happy for the distraction. He picked it up to read a text from Kíli saying he had sent over the background check on Chad that he requested the day before.

Fili placed the book he was reading down on the table and opened the document on his laptop to check what had been found out about the guy.

Chad Van der Beek, 32 years old, works for his father’s insurance company, living in downtown Auckland… Fíli skimmed through everything and didn’t seem to find anything particularly interesting about him.

Fíli: Thanks for the report.

Kíli: No problem. Nothing out of the ordinary. Seems like your regular trust-fund douche.

Fíli couldn’t help but chuckle as he read through the gathered info on Chad and quickly agreed with his brother.

Fíli: You're not wrong there. Where did you get all of this from anyway? I didn’t really need to know where he ate the other night.

Kíli: His Facebook account.

Fíli: Are you serious Kíli?

Kíli: Hey! You’d be surprised what you can find out on social media. He has no previous infractions other than the odd parking ticket, so I dug a little deeper.

Kíli: You’re welcome.

Kíli: I still think she’s hot, btw. I looked at her profile too.

Fíli put his phone down beside him and continued going through everything that was discovered about her boyfriend, choosing not to glorify his brother’s comments on Lucy with a response.

Kíli had even managed to send over some older posts of Chad and his buddies partying on a yacht in Ibiza, completely surrounded by half-naked women, none of which were Lucy. This guy was the definition of a loser. She could do better.

His phone buzzed with another message from Kíli and he sighed as he picked it up again, bracing himself for another one of Kíli’s pervy comments about Lucy.

Kíli: How are things going anyway?

Okay, something normal.

Fíli looked over at Lucy who was sitting in exactly the same position as before with a full pout on, obviously still upset.

Fíli: Fantastic.

Kíli: I can sense your sarcasm through the phone. I’ve tried convincing Thorin to let me take over, but he keeps denying me.

Fíli shook his head, thankful for Thorin saying no for Lucy’s sake.

Kíli: You should make a move on her… save the poor girl from that idiot. You can’t deny she’s a total babe, Fee. At least make your time there worthwhile…

Fíli: Trust me, Lucy can handle a guy like Chad. And for the last time, I’m not going to sleep with her! This is exactly why Thorin didn’t put you on this assignment, you’re always thinking with your cock.

Fíli: Thanks for the info, dickhead.

Lucy woke up in the early hours of the morning, bathed in sweat and panting as if she had been running like crazy. Which she had, but only in her dream.

Her eyes darted around her room needing to assure herself she was in her own house, in her own bed. Not in the back of a trunk or tied to a chair in some dusty old warehouse.

She cursed Fíli for putting those images in her head.

Her bare feet touched the cold floor when she swung her legs out of bed, and she sat like that for a while trying to calm down. A glass of water would be nice, but she didn’t want to wake up Fíli. The travel clock he gave her told her it was a little past 4 am, and he would probably be a very light sleeper.

But her head perked up when she heard a grunt coming from downstairs. And then another one. And another.

Lucy was curious, that was definitely Fíli she was hearing and it sounded like he was either in pain or he was having a really good time.

She couldn’t go and check right? She shouldn’t… No, she definitely should not.

And yet her feet carried her to the open landing all on their own, her curiosity getting the better of her. What she saw wasn’t entirely what she expected, but somehow she wasn’t surprised.

This should be the moment where she should have turned around and gone back to sleep, leaving him to it, but she found herself unable to tear her eyes away from the show Fíli was unknowingly giving her.

Fíli was lying on his back in her living room, half naked, sweaty and panting.

She watched him work his way through his fitness routine. Crunches, sit ups, squats, lunges, planks… he just kept going. And Lucy kept staring.

The drops of sweat tracing the outlines of his muscles, his dog tags softly chiming every time they touched the floor during his push ups, the sounds he was making, it was all so mesmerizing to her. She swallowed thickly and finally seemed to regain her common sense. She had to stop, this was wrong!

Lucy hurried back to her room and crawled underneath her sheets, ready to fall back asleep and hopefully have more pleasant dreams this time.

But sleep wouldn’t come.

After a few minutes she heard Fíli come up and turn on the shower. It only lasted about 3 minutes, and when he was done she caught herself listening to every sound, trying to follow his movements through her house.

It kept her mind busy and away from her nightmare amongst other images, but it also prevented her from falling asleep again.

After another hour of tossing and turning, she finally had enough and got out of bed. It was around 6, and past Lucy would be horrified to know she was willingly getting up at this hour.

A shower would wake her up, and if that didn’t work she could always try to take a nap during the day. It was not like she could do anything else around here.

Heck, why not make it into a well-deserved spa treatment while she was at it? Face mask, exfoliate, hair mask, … God knows she deserved some pampering after all the crap she had to deal with the past two days.

She collected fresh clothes to change into afterwards, and made her way to the bathroom.

When he heard movement upstairs, Fíli got up from his seat at the table.

It was still very early, there was no way Lucy would be up already. He slowly climbed the stairs, his eyes fixed on the doorway of her bedroom, and he reached the landing at the same time Lucy stepped out of her room.

She froze as soon as she saw him standing there, wearing a black, fitted tee.

Images of him working out in her living room earlier flashed in front of her eyes and she felt her cheeks flush. Her eyes kept lingering on his chest and upper arms, the way they were flexing earlier and the memory of the engorged veins all over his skin made her heartbeat quicken. She clutched her clothes a little tighter against her chest.

“Good morning,” she stammered, trying to hide her flustered state.

She made a move to go towards the bathroom, but Fíli blocked her way.

“You’re up early.”

“Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered. There was no way she was telling him about her nightmare.

Fíli watched her closely. She was keeping something from him, but he decided not to push it. At least not yet. She’s probably just missing her boyfriend and he didn’t think he could handle lovesick rambling this early in the morning.

“Oh, so does this mean we’re talking again?” Fíli smirked.

“If you promise not to be a jerk today.”

He laughed at that. “Only today? I think I can manage that. No promises though.”

And there they went again, easily falling back into their bickering.

“Could you move? I’d like to shower.”

He stepped aside and Lucy disappeared in the bathroom.

She placed her clothes on the chair next to the vanity and when she was about to take off her top, she noticed Fíli standing in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” she asked bluntly.

“I need to make sure the window is still secure.”

“I really don’t think anyone climbed in through that window and is hiding behind the shower curtain.”

“I’m just doing my job here, Luce,” he said, pulling back the curtain after checking the lock on the bathroom window, twice.

That was the second time he used that nickname for her and she hated it. “It’s Lucy!”

Fíli stepped out into the hallway again once he was satisfied there were no threats and positioned himself against the wall beside the door.

Then Lucy had the nerve to try and close the damn thing, which Fíli prevented by placing his hand on the door to hold it open.

“You’re not serious!” Lucy said in disbelief.

“Doors open, you should know that by now.”

“But I’m having a shower!” She placed her hand on her hip and waved towards him with the other one. “What are you going to do, stand there and watch me change?”

No matter how good looking he might be, this was crossing a line.

“Of course I’m not going to watch, but you need to keep the damn door open. I’ll be right here on the landing.”

Fíli heard her huff and swear under her breath as he leaned back against the wall. She didn’t know how lucky she was that it was him who was here and not Kíli, who probably would’ve insisted they needed to shower together for “safety reasons”.

Fíli checked his watch for the third time, Lucy had been showering for over 20 minutes already. What the hell was she doing in there?

He peeked his head around the corner, but kept his eyes directed on the ground just in case she would choose to step out at that exact moment. “Are you almost done?”

“Nope!” she called back, popping the ‘p’ and with a sassy ring in her voice. She was taking her sweet time on purpose. Perhaps he needed to give her a hint to hurry it up.

Fíli stepped in the bathroom and turned on the taps of the sink, hoping it would have the intended result of turning her water ice cold.

Lucy screamed and flung the curtain open enough for her to poke her head out, but he had already turned the tap back off and disappeared into the hallway, doing his best not to let her hear his laughter.

“Did you just turn on the tap?” she cried at him.

“Nope!” he yelled back, popping the ‘p’ like she’d done moments before.

“Like hell you didn’t!”

“If you knew, why bother asking?”

Lucy kept quiet after that and Fíli let his head rest against the wall.

Kíli was right, this was a low-level assignment.

He was used to long stake-outs and week-long missions, even in the worst of circumstances, but this was entirely different and she was really testing his patience.

Maybe he could convince Thorin to let him switch with Kíli every other week after all.

Fifteen minutes later, Lucy finally finished her shower and Fíli sighed in relief. He had actually been thinking about going to the kitchen and shutting off the water completely… Maybe next time.

After a full week of paying attention to Fili’s habits, Lucy had come up with a plan.

The alarm clock read 3 am. Officially the earliest she had ever woken up. Except for that flight to Bali. Oh and that trip to Italy, how could she forget that one!

Correction; this was the earliest Lucy had woken up to don her running gear and pretend she was still sleeping in order to go for a run.

She was more than desperate to leave the condo after being cooped up with the Winter Soldier for more than a week now. She wanted to feel fresh air on her face and to allow her legs to carry out her frustrations by finally going for that mind-clearing run, but she needed to wait until Fíli was in the shower to make her escape.

He was going to be furious with her and it would probably make the next couple of days a living hell. Maybe he would actually lock her in her room this time, but she was willing to risk that for an hour of freedom.

She knew his morning routine by now and Lucy intended to use it to her advantage.

She had set the alarm on the travel clock to go off at 3, and stuffed it under her pillow so as not to alert Fíli. If he would wake up too, her plan was useless.

Thank God Fíli was very regimented, because at 4 o’clock sharp he was up and starting his daily workout. Lucy listened to him grunt as he carried out the ridiculous series of push-ups and sit-ups, and tried not to imagine what he looked like doing them. She knew of course, she witnessed it with her own eyes last week. But that didn’t mean she didn't wonder why on earth anyone could be bothered with such effort.

After an hour of rolling her eyes to herself in her bed, she heard his footsteps on the stairs and him approaching her room.

With the covers tucked up close to her chin so Fíli wouldn’t see her running clothes, she closed her eyes, ready for her best acting. She tried to breathe as slow and even as she could and even managed to make her fingers twitch a little like she was dreaming. An Oscar-worthy performance, truly.

A minute had passed and she listened to him step away from her doorway and head to the bathroom.

At least that was something positive about these open doors, she thought, he could hear everything she was doing, but that applied to her as well.

As soon as the shower flicked on, Lucy used the noise to her benefit and bolted out of her room, bounding down the stairs at an impressive rate, knowing by now his showers only lasted about 3 minutes. The door was ahead of her, and the last two steps met her feet in no time at all, her freedom so close she could almost taste it.

But then the ground suddenly fell out from under her and she landed hard at the bottom of the staircase.

A dull pain started spreading through her left ankle and she cursed under her breath. Perfect timing Lucy. She groaned and sat up to check on it, but she didn’t have much time left, any second now Fíli would be done with his shower.

She reached a shaking hand to it, prodding it to check its condition. It was tender to touch and Lucy thought she could see a swelling come up, but she was still hellbent on getting out of here. If she could reach the nearby park, there were enough benches to let her ankle rest for a bit if needed.

She moved to stand, immediately crying out from the jolt of pain that shot through her ankle as soon as she put weight on her foot and she collapsed on her knees. She clasped her hand over her mouth, knowing Fíli would have heard her with his razor-sharp hearing. She slammed her fist on the floor out of frustration. She could forget her escape-plan now…

Just as she predicted, a very naked Fíli appeared at the top of the staircase mere seconds later. He did have a towel wrapped around his waist thank God, his hair still dripping wet and drops of water running over his chest. She was certain he jumped straight out of the shower as soon as he heard her scream. The worried but calculated expression on his face turned into a grin the second he saw her lying on the floor.

It took Lucy a moment to notice the gun he was holding in his hand, the shock of having it pointed at her taking away from that of her fall.

“Were you seriously pointing a gun at me just now?”

“Were you seriously trying to leave the house?” he countered.

Fíli put the safety back on his gun and trotted down the stairs, easily stepping over the tripwire he had secured on the second to last step the previous night.

Lucy’s mouth dropped open in disbelief at his trap, reaching for it and plucking it with her finger.

“You set this up?” she gawked.

“Mhm,” he replied, crouching down and reaching for her ankle.

“Were you trying to kill me?”

Fíli took her foot in his hands to remove her running shoe and Lucy was surprised with how gentle he was.

“The exact opposite, actually,” he muttered.

“You’re insane.”

“And you don’t listen,” he said, his voice strained. “That tripwire has been there from the first day I got here. Every night I put it up as an extra safety measure in general, not to try and trip you if you decide to make a run for it. But you just proved its effectiveness. Don’t go anywhere, I’m going to put some clothes on first.”

Lucy grabbed the shoe he had removed from her now busted ankle and hauled it at him as he ascended the stairs two at a time, unfortunately missing him.

Despite the pain in her ankle and feeling like she was being kept prisoner in her own home, she kept her threatening tears at bay, refusing to cry in front of that bastard.

Within a minute Fíli was making his way back down the stairs, this time wearing a pair of grey track pants, his upper body still bare aside from his dog tags.

He scooped Lucy up into his arms like she weighed nothing and turned to carry her up to her room.

“Put me down! I can walk just fine,” she protested, completely flustered because she was pressed up so close against his bare chest.

He chuckled, “Okay then, suit yourself,” and he released her legs from the crook of his arm but kept his other arm around her waist just in case.

She stood tall, trying to fake her strength, and placed all of her weight on her right foot before very gingerly touching the toes of her left to the ground. That slight pressure alone made her face curl up in a wince. She instinctively grabbed Fíli's shoulder for support when her ankle gave out again, and Fíli in turn tightened his grip around her waist to keep her from falling.

He refrained from making any smart-ass remarks and instead he sighed, collecting her in his arms once again, making his way back up the steps.

“At least now I know you won’t try to run away again,” he commented.

Lucy made a gruff, displeased at the entire situation including being pressed up against his hairy chest again. She couldn’t help but notice how remarkably firm he was though. Guess those early morning workouts were useful after all.

It felt like it took an eternity to reach her bedroom, and when Fíli finally placed her on her bed she was surprised by the gentleness with which he treated her. Little did she know Fíli had genuinely considered tossing her onto it instead.

He instructed her to lay back and lift her leg up for him to check her ankle once more.

She did as she was told, and he swiftly placed one of her spare pillows under it for support. It took all of her willpower not to kick him with her other foot when he pressed against the sore and swollen part.

“You’re in luck, it’s not broken. Just severely sprained, you’ll need to stay off of it for a couple of days,” he instructed her and Lucy nodded, too stumped to say anything. “I’ll get you some ice. The bruising won’t start for another few days. In the meantime you have to keep it elevated.” He carefully placed another pillow beneath her foot before he went downstairs.

Lucy stared at her ceiling, cursing the fact that she was now completely dependent on the guy who she refused to believe she needed here in the first place. To be fair, he had been incredibly gentle when it came to tending to her foot - which she hadn’t expected at all - but the whole thing still made her feel helpless.

A tear slipped down her cheek and she furiously wiped it away, wishing more than anything to be wrapped up in Chad’s arms right now.

Three days had gone by since her fall and Lucy finally managed to hobble over on one foot to the large window in her bedroom without Fíli’s help. The state of her ankle was preventing her from moving around at any sort of a decent pace, so it took her far longer than she would’ve liked. She was already dreading the way back, but for now she was more than content to admire the view.

She leaned against the window frame and watched the sun setting over the city. After days of staring at nothing but her bedroom walls while being confined to her bed, it was a more than welcomed change of scenery.

She was lost in her thoughts, wondering what she was missing in her classes, what Chad was doing and if that mouse was still in her house somewhere, when Fíli’s stern voice startled her.

“Get away from the window!”

She whipped her head over her shoulder to glare at him, thinking how he could possibly forbid her from looking out her own bloody window. Yet another addition to one of his many rules. At this rate it wouldn’t be long before the only thing she was permitted to do was breathe and go to the bathroom.

“I was just getting a little tired of staring at the wall, that’s all,” she sighed, while she turned back to watch the shadows of the night slowly but surely take over the city.

“Someone could see you! You really need to stop being so careless,” he warned her as he quickly drew the curtains.

He watched her begin to make her way over to the bed on one leg for a few seconds before he lifted her into his arms to get her to her destination faster.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“It’s fine, just... keep away from the windows, alright?”

“Alright.”

Fíli grabbed his laptop from his bag and settled himself at her makeup table.

This was their new arrangement ever since she hurt her ankle. Lucy was dependent on Fíli now, and was very quickly getting bored to death, so Fíli worked in her room to keep her company.

He made her breakfast and cooked dinner, and she hated to admit that he was a very decent cook, which surprised her at first. She half expected to eat nothing but toast with beans for a few weeks if he was on cooking duty.

He really tried to make it as comfortable as possible for her, but she suspected he was glad she was immobile now. It made his job a lot easier.

Lucy watched him type away on his laptop, his phone next to him. You know what…? This wasn’t fair at all!

“Why can you have a laptop and a phone and I can’t? I have work to do too,” she said, a little put off.

Fíli sighed heavily before answering, he needed to choose his words carefully if he didn’t want to sound too much like an asshole.

“Because mine are on a secure connection with headquarters and I’m only using them to send in my reports and keep up to date with other cases.”

“Can I use your laptop?”

Fíli gave her a sideways glance, “Absolutely not.”

She grumbled and he had to bite his cheek to stop him from laughing. Saying ‘no’ to Lucy was just as bad as denying a child something they really wanted.

“What are you writing in your reports? How you tried to kill me with your boobytraps?”

“The same thing I write everyday,” he answered before smirking at her, “how annoying you are.”

Lucy ignored his insult. She really wanted to know more about his job. Since he knew everything about her, it was only fair he would share some information as well.

“So... how did you get into all of this?”

Fíli continued typing and gave her the most vague answer he possibly could.

“I was in the military before this and it just seemed like the appropriate next step.”

“I figured as much, those aren’t just an accessory.”

She nodded at his chest when he gave her a questioning look, causing him to glance down at his dog tags that were resting between his pecs.

“Hmm,” he hummed, tucking them inside his t-shirt and attempting to focus on his task.

“No offense, but why did you end up here? I mean… This doesn’t exactly seem like the kind of thing that would be assigned to you,” she stated, hoping to throw him off slightly and get him to talk.

“No, it isn’t,” he admitted, “my brother messed up and our uncle didn’t want anything else to go awry. So they sent me instead.”

His fingers stopped moving across the keyboard, and Lucy knew he had revealed more than he wanted to.

“Oh! You have a brother?”

She sat up a little straighter, interested to hear more. “What’s he like?”

Fíli exhaled deeply and continued typing, setting his jaw tightly, mad at himself for letting that information slip.

“You wouldn’t like him.” But Fíli knew that was a lie, of course she would like Kíli, everyone adored the cheeky bastard.

“I bet he’s a lot nicer than you.”

“I’m plenty nice.”

“Ha! That’s rich,” she snorted. “Do you at least get along with him?”

“Yeah, I do. Luce, I’m trying to work here...”

“It’s Lucy. What’s the age difference?” Lucy continued, ignoring his plea to let him work. “Are you older or younger? I bet you’re older. You’ve got that way about you that older siblings seem to have—“

“Shh!” Fíli suddenly interrupted her and held up his hand.

“I wasn’t finished talking, but don’t mind me!”

“Shhh!” Fíli said again with more concern this time, his brows furrowed, eyes fixed on something in the hallway outside of her room. He slowly stood up and walked towards Lucy, ready to take action if he needed to.

Lucy however was completely oblivious to what was happening.

“Would you stop shushing me! You’re so ru—.” Fíli cut her off by placing his hand over her mouth to force her to stop.

“Luce, be quiet for a moment, okay?”

He gave her a warning look as he removed his hand, and Lucy's eyes widened when she saw him pulling his handgun out of the back of his waistband.

Fíli carefully made his way to the hallway and peeked over the railing on the landing, only to see his suspicions confirmed. He cursed under his breath, hating to admit that Thorin was right after all.

He made his way back to Lucy, but kept his eyes fixed on the doorway and quietly gave her instructions. “Get on the floor and hide behind the bed.”

Lucy gave him a questioning look, “Why? What is it?”

“Someone’s here.”

Guardianofrivendell permanent taglist: @roosliefje @kata1803 @entishramblings @artsywaterlily @sleepy-daydream-in-a-rose @marvelschriss @kumqu4t @dark-angel-is-back @the-fandoms-georgie @lathalea @xxbyimm @sokkasdarling @katethewriter @aredhel-of-gondolin @leethology @elvish-sky @moony-artnstuff @kirenia15 @hey-its-nonny @moarfandomtrash @beenovel @cassiabaggins @shethereadinghobbit @justfollowtheroad @laurfilijames @fizzyxcustard @anjhope1

Guarding Your Heart taglist: @enchantzz @the-poldarkian @linasofia @magravenwrites @classyhorseeclipseduck @wishingtobeinadifferentuniverse

#Fili x OC #Fili x reader #Fili #The Hobbit #The Hobbit x OC #The Hobbit x reader #Modern!Fili #The Hobbit AU #The Hobbit Modern AU #Bodyguard AU #Lucy Turner #The Hobbit fanfiction #The Hobbit Multichapter #Fili Multichapter #Guarding Your Heart #dean o'gorman

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pickalilywrites · 3 years ago

Note

Halu! I love reading your rivetra fics especially the heart skips a beat <3 you're such a great writer! was hoping if you can try to write rivetra modern au during the pandemic? :D

here you go~ ah, i always take a long time to write now, but at least it was out before the pandemic is over ^^" (as much as i would like it to be over ...) i hope you like it ~

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

Love in the Time of COVID-19

Rivetra. COVID-19 Pandemic AU.

9543 words.

Read on Ao3!

Levi Ackerman is hugely germaphobic and antisocial. For him, the COVID-19 global pandemic is simultaneously the worst and best thing that has ever happened. People have finally begun to wash their filthy hands, cover their mouths with the crook of their elbows when they sneeze, and wear masks over their mouths to slow the spread of airborne contamination. All non-essential workers have stopped going outdoors, which makes Levi look less like a recluse and more like a normal person.

Of course, even these basic precautions couldn’t stop the coronavirus outbreak from growing into a full-blown pandemic. Maybe if everyone were more like Levi — washing their hands for a full five minutes rather than the CDC’s recommendation of a measly twenty seconds, bringing around a pack of disinfecting wipes and wiping down everything he touches, and rubbing his hands with hand sanitizer at least three times after he touches anything — the world wouldn’t be in this mess.

The worst thing about this pandemic, however, isn’t the fact that people are taking the bare minimum precautions, but the people who aren’t taking any precautions at all. For every person wearing a mask, there are at least ten people outside not wearing a mask. Hell, there are even people dying in the hospital of COVID that are convinced this whole pandemic is a hoax rather than a mess of their own making because they refuse to wash their own hands. It’s because of these people that Levi has to be especially careful on the few occasions he leaves his apartment, stripping off all his clothes as soon as he walks through his door and tossing them in the laundry basket before he takes a shower with scalding hot water to kill off all the germs he may have brought home with him.

For the most part though, Levi doesn’t mind pandemic life. It’s a lot like his life pre-pandemic, but he disinfects everything twice as much as he normally did before COVID. As a data analyst, he hardly went into the office anyway and he didn’t bat an eyelash when his company declared that everyone would be working from home until further notice. With delivery services becoming more popular, Levi found it was easier to get things delivered to his apartment. Even his neighbors are bearable. People are too busy working to be a bother during work hours and by the end of the day they’re too tired to do anything except turn on Netflix until they fall asleep on the couch. Really, Levi doesn’t have a problem with anyone except the woman living in the unit next to him.

Prior to COVID, Levi wasn’t even aware of her existence. He sometimes heard about her from the chatty woman in the unit across from him. The nosy woman somehow miraculously knew when Levi (or anyone, really) would be coming out of their apartments, popping out and ensnaring them in a conversation that always seemed fifteen minutes too long.

The gossipy woman loved the person who occupied the unit next to Levi’s. Levi’s next-door neighbor had moved in a few months before the pandemic started and was never at home, the talkative neighbor explained, because she was an actress.

“An actress in the theater. Musical theater, darling,” the woman emphasized, her eyes as wide as saucers like being in theater was the most magnificent thing anyone could ever do. “Poor dear is never home though. If she’s not rehearsing or on a show, she’s working part-time jobs at the diner downtown.”

Levi didn’t think very much of it after hearing about the woman next door for the first hundred times. It wasn’t his business what other people did. Anyway, if the woman was hardly ever home, that was even better. Except now that there’s a pandemic and everyone is required to stay home, the woman is home almost all the time and if Levi hadn’t believed the woman had a career in theater, he certainly does now.

The woman likes to sing on the balcony after work hours. It’s considerate of her but somehow also very infuriating to Levi because he can’t complain that he’s working. She also stops at an appropriate time (usually 8 or 9 at the latest), so it’s not as if Levi can send in a noise complaint without feeling like a dick. He just has to grit his teeth and listen to his neighbor belt out “If I Loved You” from Carousel while he cooks dinner.

She doesn’t have a bad voice either. It’s just that it’s incredibly loud. He supposes if she were any quieter, she wouldn’t be any good for musical theater. Maybe his other apartment neighbors are elated to have a living Disney princess sing for them for free every night, but it’s grating to the ears if you’re living right next door.

He probably should have said something when she started singing more dramatic songs, songs that crescendoed and built into a climax that Levi could probably hear if he were living on the other side of the apartment. It’s those goddamn musical ballads that Levi hates the most. If it’s upbeat, at least Levi knows what’s coming but those ballads always have to build and build until the woman is belting out to the heavens.

Levi thought he could bear it. Surely, the pandemic would only last for a few more weeks or even another month or two, but new coronavirus cases kept climbing and Levi knew he’d be listening to entire one-woman musicals for the next year if he didn’t say anything. One night when the woman begins yet another musical ballad, Levi finally throws open the sliding door to his balcony and is surprised when he sees his next-door neighbor sitting cross-legged on her balcony, a pink floral mask on her face, and a guitar in her lap.

The woman stops strumming her guitar and looks up, her amber eyes wide with surprise. “Hi,” she says, voice slightly muffled through her mask. She waves awkwardly at Levi even though he’s frozen in place on his balcony and hasn’t made any move to greet her.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he asks her as if he’s not wearing one too. It makes sense that he’s wearing one. He always wears a mask when he steps outside even if there’s nobody around. He knows most people don’t because they don’t see the point if nobody else is around, so why is she wearing one?

The woman’s nose scrunches up from under her mask while her eyebrows are knit in confusion. “We’re in a pandemic. Isn’t that why you’re wearing one, too?” the woman asks, gesturing towards Levi and then her own mask. She pauses for a moment as if thinking about whether or not she should continue. “Also, I heard you’re a huge germaphobe.”

“Who told you that?” Levi snaps.

“The lady who lives across from you,” the woman replies.

Ah. That explains a lot.

“But I don’t even come out here that regularly,” Levi points out.

The woman shrugs. “Just in case. It’s better to be safe than sorry anyway,” the woman says. “And it’s not like it’s a big deal to wear a mask.”

Levi’s not sure if it’s because he’s been stuck in his house for months, but he’s just fallen a little bit in love with this woman and it’s all because she said wearing a mask isn’t that much of an inconvenience. He doesn’t even know her name. After meeting for five seconds and realizing that she’s considerate for wearing a mask on the off chance that Levi might go out on the balcony, Levi’s starting to feel like a dick for coming out here to yell at her for singing too loud. She’s a lovely singer, really, and he should probably be thankful she’s not a part of a screamo metal rock band or something.

Levi fights the urge to disappear in his apartment. He slides the glass door behind him, trapping himself outside on the balcony and forcing himself to speak more with the woman. He’s not exactly sure what he should say. Should he ask her name? Compliment her singing? Ask her about how she’s handling quarantine? He sits down cross-legged facing her.

“What song were you singing?” he ends up asking the woman.

“Oh,” the woman says as if she’s surprised Levi’s still speaking with her. She looks skyward, trying to recall the name. “‘Please Don’t Make Me Love You.’ It’s from the Dracula musical.”

“Oh.” Levi hadn’t been aware that there was even a musical adaptation of the Bram Stoker gothic novel.

“Yeah, I know,” the woman says with another nose scrunch, her mask shifting upward from the movement. “There’s a musical for everything nowadays.” She hums a few notes and strums a few chords across her guitar. “But what about you? How are you spending your quarantine?”

“Me?” Levi repeats. “I just … am hanging in there.”

“That’s good,” the woman says. Levi can’t see her smile behind her mask, but he does see the edge of her eyes crinkle. She sets her guitar beside her and leans back on her palms. Her head tilts to the side and her ginger hair falls away from her lithe neck. “I’m Petra, by the way. I don’t think we’ve ever formally met.”

That’s probably because Levi has never made the effort to be neighborly. In fact, the only reason they’re meeting right now is because Levi was going out here to complain about her singing, but he won’t mention that. Instead, he shrugs and says, “Levi.” It’s a lame introduction. Even he cringes at it, but Petra doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ve never seen you out here, but maybe because I’m only on the balcony in the evenings,” Petra says. She picks idly at the guitar strings, letting their sound reverberate with every twang before she moves onto the next string. She stops suddenly and looks at Levi, eyebrow raised. “Oh, you didn’t come out here because it was too loud, did you? I know my voice is pretty … resonant, especially in a small space like this.” She winces apologetically.

Levi is thankful that his mask is able to cover the blush that is surely rising in his cheeks. “N-no,” he stammers. He sits up a little straighter as if this will somehow make him a less obvious liar. “I just … wanted some fresh air.”

“Mmm, makes sense,” Petra hums. Her eyes crinkle again and Levi’s heart does something weird in his chest. “Good to get some fresh air circulating in the apartment. I always have my air filter on nowadays too.”

Levi realizes with horror that she’s absolutely right. He usually keeps his apartment windows closed, opening them only in the early morning and the late evening for the fresh air. He hadn’t accounted for the lack of fresh air in the entire apartment complex. There’s no telling whose dirty air he’s been breathing these past months. Sure, he has at least one air filter in every room, but he can’t count on these machines to filter out every germ flying around the air. Why hadn’t he accounted for the poor air circulation through the building before this? He should have been keeping his windows open this entire time. The air outside is filled with germs as well, but the concentration of germs from other people who may or may not be spreading COVID within this apartment complex is much higher here than it is inside.

Levi stands up, grabbing the railing of his balcony for support. He feels a little dizzy right now and has the frantic urge to clean his entire apartment again even though he had cleaned it this morning. This time, he’ll be sure to deep clean the carpet.

“I have to go,” he tells Petra, but he doesn’t give her the reason. He doesn’t want her to think he’s an idiot for not thinking about air circulation sooner.

Petra raises her eyebrows as if she’s surprised and perhaps a little bit sorry to see him go. “Alright then,” she says. She picks up her guitar once more, strumming a few pleasant chords. “Have a good evening, Levi. It was nice meeting you.”

Levi pauses at the door. “You, too,” he says finally before he slips inside. He makes sure to leave the door open. The lack of barrier makes it easier for Petra’s voice to carry into his apartment. That’s not why he leaves his door open, of course. It's purely for the fresh air to come in, or at least that’s what Levi tells himself.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does not know why the news of the woman next door intrigues his friends so much. He had casually mentioned her once on a video call with them and now they won’t stop asking him about her, constantly requesting updates on little tedious things like the songs she had sung the night before and if she still wears her mask. Even more surprising, Levi finds he can’t ignore their questions and answers each and every one. He tells himself it’s because he knows their curiosity will never be quenched until he answers their inquiries and it’s better to respond than to be bombarded with the same question a half dozen more times.

“So you guys talk to each other every night?” Isabel asks. She sits closer to her laptop and her face fills the little square with her name in the right-hand corner. Her hands sit in her hands and she has a thoughtful pout on her lips. “That’s a lot, Levi.”

“We talk to each other every night,” Levi points out.

“And you complained that it was a lot!” Isabel says, which is true. He would have been satisfied with weekly Zoom calls or even fortnightly, but Isabel had insisted that going so long without seeing Levi and Farlan onscreen would drive her mad. “But that doesn’t seem to be the case with this mysterious next-door neighbor.”

“She’s hardly mysterious,” Levi snorts.

“She’s right, though,” Farlan comments. He isn’t perched at the tip of his seat. Unlike Isabel, he’s less intrigued about Levi’s new relationship with his neighbor and more amused about the whole thing. “You’ve never been interested in people enough to have regular meetups with them even if it’s a ‘coincidental’ meeting on the balcony every night.” Levi despises the way Farlan uses air quotes.

“It’s very Romeo and Juliet,” Isabel says with a nod. There’s a silence at the other end and Isabel adds, “Because of the balcony. Except this time there are two balconies and nobody is dying. Hopefully.”

Levi rolls his eyes. “I just bump into her more often now that I go out to get fresh air now,” Levi explains. It’s a part of his routine now. Better to breathe good, clean (or at least cleaner) air than continue to breathe in apartment air that has been god knows where. “Which, by the way, you two should really consider as well. Who knows what germs are floating around in your apartment complexes?”

Isabel wrinkles her nose. “If that were a problem, I would have gotten COVID by now,” she points out, and Levi wants to groan. He doesn’t want to explain to her once more that, after exposure to the virus, contracting COVID is a game of chance and she’s just been lucky. There’s no telling how much luckier she can get as the pandemic continues.

“I’ll consider it,” Farlan says, and Levi is at least grateful for that. He taps his fingers on his desk. Farlan’s microphone is so sensitive that Levi can hear the tap, tap, tapping noise on the other end. “But that neighbor of yours … what do you guys even talk about every night?”

“I don’t know just … stuff, I guess,” Levi mumbles. He rubs at the back of his neck. He can’t quite recall what he and Petra talked about yesterday on their balconies. Their conversations always start out similarly with her asking Levi about his day and Petra asking about his, and by the time Levi retreats into his apartment he finds that an hour has already passed. After a moment, he says, “Well, she told me about how she was sewing face masks in her free time so that she could donate them.”

“Oooh,” Isabel coos. Her head is in her hands again and she looks starry-eyed. “This girl sure has everything, doesn’t she? Not only is she cute, but she takes COVID safety precautions seriously and she cares about other people? No wonder you’re so interested in her, Levi.”

Levi’s mind stutters for a moment. “When did I say she was cute?” he stammers.

“Is she not cute?” Farlan asks with a raised eyebrow.

Levi’s knee-jerk response is to say “no” just because he knows a “yes” will elicit more teasing from Isabel, but the question Farlan asks makes Levi realize that he’s never seen Petra without her mask off. Prior to this realization, Levi has never minded seeing Petra with a mask on. After all, they’re both still in a pandemic and, even if neither of them show visible symptoms of COVID, it’s possible that they could still transmit the virus from their minimal outings for groceries or other daily tasks that require them to leave the apartment. Now that he’s realized it though, he’s overcome with this strange desire to see Petra’s face behind the mask.

There’s only so much one can see of a person when they’re wearing a mask. Levi knows the top half of Petra’s face quite well: slender, expressive eyebrows, large eyes the color of amber, and even the dip of the bridge of her nose. Anything beyond that is a mystery to him, hidden behind the cloth of Petra’s mask. He doesn’t know what kind of nose she has, if it’s grand and shapely or sweet and button-shaped or adorably upturned. He doesn’t know the curve of her lips, if she has a well-defined cupid’s bow or thick, full lips the color of petals. Judging by the state of the pandemic right now, it’s unlikely that he’ll find out anytime soon and he can’t fathom requesting Petra take off her mask just to satisfy his newfound curiosity.

“I don’t know what she looks like,” Levi finally says.

Farlan snorts and Isabel erupts into peals of laughter.

“You’ve been talking to her for how long and you don’t know what she looks like?” Isabel titters. She’s even wiping tears from her eyes, although Levi doesn’t think the situation is that humorous. “It’s not like you guys are wearing hazmat suits when you sit on the balcony.”

“It’s not like I don’t know what she looks like at all,” Levi grumbles. “But we’ve been wearing masks this whole time whenever we’ve gone out on the balcony to talk to each other.”

“Aren’t your balconies, like, more than six feet apart? You guys could probably take your masks off and it’d be fine,” Isabel points out. She sees Levi open his mouth to speak and she rolls her eyes, giving him a dismissive wave of her hand. “Okay, fine, just wear your masks like the hypochondriacs you are! If it’ll make you feel better about the ‘sick game of roulette viruses play when infecting us,’ go right ahead!”

Levi scowls. He wishes he could kick Isabel out of the Zoom chat, but Farlan has forbidden Levi to do that after Levi cut short the first Zoom call he hosted and Farlan has been the host of their Zoom calls ever since. Thus, Levi has had to sit through various Zoom calls with Isabel mocking his informative lectures on infections and diseases. On the bright side, at least she remembers Levi’s lectures well enough to recite them back to him even if it is in a sarcastic tone.

In a tiny square on Levi’s screen, Farlan watches with an amused expression on his face.

“What?” Levi asks.

“You could ask her if she’s comfortable with taking her mask off,” Farlan suggests.

“I can’t just ask her that!” Levi splutters. He gets embarrassed at the idea of it — just outright asking Petra as if it’s as simple as asking her about the weather or what her favorite color is.

Isabel rolls her eyes. “It’s not like you’re asking her to take off her shirt or something,” she says.

If Levi’s face wasn’t red yet, it certainly is now.

“Ignore her,” Farlan says. “But, you know, it is just a mask and you keep yourself extremely safe and she adheres to the CDC guidelines pretty well from what you tell us. If you two are both comfortable with it, why not just ask?”

Because it’s exactly as they’re saying: it’s not like asking her to take off her shirt. In a way, asking her to take off her mask is infinitely more dangerous and intimate than asking her to take off any other article of clothing. COVID-19 is a virus that is spread through aerosol droplets from infected persons. By asking Petra to remove her mask, Levi would ultimately be asking Petra to lower her defenses to these droplets and increase her chances of getting infected. If Petra were to ask him to remove his mask, Levi isn’t sure he would be able to say ‘yes’ for these very same reasons.

It’s something Levi mulls over even after the call ends and Isabel and Farlan bid him adieu for the night. He thinks about it in bed, imagining a different COVID-infected universe in which he musters up the courage to ask Petra to lower her mask for him and she says yes, revealing a beaming smile behind her mask when she lowers it for the first time. For some reason, just thinking about her smile and how it might look — if she has bunny teeth that stick out, if she has a cute underbite, if her teeth are just a little bit crooked, if she bothers to put on lip balm under her mask or if she forgets and leaves her lips chapped — makes it difficult for Levi to sleep. He spends his night tossing and turning in bed, haunted by a smile he’s never seen.

The thought of Petra’s smile follows him into the morning and well into the day. It’s all he thinks about as he cleans his apartment in the morning, he writes line after line of code at work, and as he cleans it once more in the afternoon. It’s all he thinks about as he opens the door to his balcony for his evening chat with Petra. It’s all he’s thinking about as he sits across from her and she tells him about his day.

He’s not brave enough to ask her to take off her mask, but he keeps thinking of it. He watches the movement of Petra’s mask as her lips move beneath it. If he concentrates hard enough, he thinks he can see the trace of her mouth, can imagine the outline of her lips when she purses her mouth in a pout or when he thinks her lower lip sticks out as she ponders what to talk about next.

“When do you think we’ll be able to take off our masks?” Levi asks. He’s brave enough to ask this at least.

“Hmm,” Petra hums, and Levi swears he sees the shadow of her lips pressed in that thoughtful pout once more. It drives him crazy. “Maybe when enough people get vaccinated. It should be a few months? My friend mentioned it a little while ago. They said it’s amazing how quickly mRNA vaccines are being developed to treat COVID.”

Levi nods. He’s heard this as well when doing his own research, although the technical aspects of the vaccine and how it works to protect him against the virus are beyond him. Still, he trusts medical professionals more than he trusts random people on the internet swearing that vaccines are just a conspiracy theory.

“So if you were vaccinated and it was two weeks after your second dose … and you were only in the company of someone who also received their second dose two weeks ago … would you consider taking off your mask?” Levi asks. He doesn’t look at her, instead drawing circles on the floor of his balcony. He can feel the dust and grime coming off on his finger and makes a mental note to sweep and vacuum his balcony tomorrow morning.

“I’d consider it,” Petra says. When Levi looks up, Petra’s mask is shifted upward just the slightest bit and the corners of her eyes are crinkled. He wants to see her smile so much. “If the other person were okay with it, too, of course.”

“Of course,” Levi repeats, his voice a quiet murmur, and he leaves it at that because he’s afraid of asking more.

But he lets himself imagine that the vaccine will be out to the public soon and, once it is, he’ll finally have the courage to ask Petra if she’s willing to take her mask off. He lets himself imagine that she says yes. And he lets himself imagine that the first thing she does when she takes her mask off is smile.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi sits on the balcony with Petra at 1:58 AM. It’s the third night in a row that they’ve done this, sitting on their balconies with their masks on and the glow from their laptop screens illuminating their faces. Were Levi with anyone else, he would complain that this was an unreasonable hour to be up even if it is for the slim chance to snag a spot for a vaccine appointment, but because he’s up at this ungodly hour with Petra, Levi finds he doesn’t mind.

Technically, Levi doesn’t apply for a vaccine at this time. The rules are confusing, but he’s not supposed to schedule an appointment until certain other people have gotten their vaccines. People who are currently eligible are healthcare workers and essential workers. Petra, being a waitress in the food industry, is considered an essential worker and is thus eligible for the vaccine at this time. Is it irritating for Levi to watch other people get vaccinated before him? A little bit, but he’s glad Petra will soon get the vaccine. Unlike Petra, Levi works at home all day and is thus less likely to be exposed to the virus anyway. Even if he can’t book a vaccine appointment at this time, helping Petra book hers will help him prepare for scheduling his appointment when the time comes.

Petra yawns, using her elbow to cover her mouth even though she’s still wearing her mask. Levi feels horribly endeared watching her. She’s dressed in her pajamas — a cotton pajama set in black and white polka dot print and fuzzy cat slippers on her feet. Her hair is tied in a messy bun atop her head, stray locks of ginger falling around her face even though she wears a hairband meant to keep them away. Even as Petra continues to hit the refresh button, her eyelids droop and she looks as if she’s about to nod off to sleep soon.

“Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM,” Petra murmurs to herself over and over. It’s like a mantra she keeps repeating, hoping that it’ll help her stay awake until she books herself an appointment. Levi doesn’t know how much it’s helping. “Abandoned slots tend to open up at 2 AM.”

“Should you really be staying up this late to book an appointment?” Levi asks. He hits the refresh button too, but the page remains the same. All appointments are full. “Don’t you have a morning shift tomorrow?”

Petra squints at him, concentrating as she fully registers his question. “Mmm, if I don’t get one at 2, then I’ll head right to bed.” Petra yawns again. As usual, she uses her elbow to cover her mouth. “I don’t know how people are booking their appointments so fast, but at least it seems like it’s a ‘first come, first serve’ type of thing. I heard it was worse at the hospital when they were first giving the vaccines out.”

Levi remembers hearing about it on the news and then hearing about it second-hand from Petra when she was talking about her doctor friend. There were some hospitals that determined vaccinations for their staff members by raffle, not even prioritizing doctors and nurses that were working first-hand with COVID patients. In the particular hospital that Petra’s friend worked at, COVID vaccinations were given out to higher-ranking doctors first regardless of whether or not they were working with COVID patients, which also caused a flurry of criticism from the hospital staff as well as media when the news broke out. The current system being used for front-line workers to get vaccinated certainly is inconvenient, but Levi doesn’t know what a better one would be.

“Just keep refreshing, just keep refreshing,” Petra says in a sing-song voice. She hits the refresh button robotically, but her eyelids are still drooping. Suddenly, she looks up, a little bit more awake than she was just a second ago. “Do you think my finger will fall off before I get an appointment?”

The mask hides the upward twitch of Levi’s lips. “I don’t think so,” he replies. He hits the refresh button and his eyes flicker to his screen. His eyes widen when he sees 10, 15, 20 spots open up at different pharmacies nearby. Quickly, he begins to turn his laptop around and points at the screen excitedly. “Wait, look!”

Petra takes one look at his screen and begins to tap around hers. She doesn’t even tell him that she sees them or thank him for alerting her because that would take a few extra seconds that might allow the appointments to fill up before she can claim a spot. Levi watches as Petra sits hunched over her laptop, the light from the screen allowing him to see how her brows are knit together in concentration as she types her information on the screen. She even has her insurance card ready beside her, filling in the necessary information easily. Levi doesn’t think he’s ever seen anyone type that quickly in his life, and he normally hits 100+ wpm when he’s writing code.

Suddenly, Petra hits the enter key one last time and looks up. Her typing has halted entirely and she stares at Levi with a blank expression on her face. It’s difficult to tell whether she got the appointment or if all the available slots had filled up at the last minute. It’s just an appointment, one that Petra can probably book later this week if not tomorrow, but the anticipation is making Levi’s palms sweat.

“So?” Levi asks. He’s never felt like it was hard to breathe wearing his mask, but he’s feeling a little breathless now. “Did you get one?”

A beat passes. Then two. Then three.

Suddenly, Petra raises her arms, lifts her head, and lets out a yell that’s far too loud for 2 AM in the morning. It’s so sudden that Levi flinches, but he sees that Petra’s eyes are crinkled at the edges when she faces him again. “I got it!” she proudly announces. She’s swaying as she sits. She probably used all of her energy just booking that appointment. Considering how tired and sleep-deprived Petra has been for the past three days, Levi’s surprised that she hadn’t made a typo at the last moment and missed her chance.

He’s grinning from ear to ear, not that she can see. “That’s great. Good for you. When is it?”

“Tomorrow morning,” she says. Petra shoots him with an endearing finger gun and winks. It makes his heart flutter in the oddest way. She shuts the screen of her laptop and the blue light that was illuminating her face disappears. It makes it more difficult for Levi to see the lines and creases in her mask. It also makes it a little harder for him to imagine the smile hidden beneath the fabric covering her face. “I’m going to call in sick and come in for my appointment. I don’t care what my boss says. It’s better if I get the vaccine anyway even if I might get yelled at when I come in tomorrow.”

Levi furrows his brow. “Are you going to be okay the next day? The side effects …” His voice trails off.

“It should be okay,” Petra says with yet another yawn. She should really go to sleep, but Levi doesn’t have the heart to tell her to go just yet. “The side effects aren’t really an issue until the second dose, I hear. Although, some people who had COVID said the first dose kicked their butts. Since I haven’t had COVID, it probably won’t be a problem for me.”

“But you won’t go into work if you happen to feel adverse side effects?” Levi can’t help but ask.

Petra doesn’t answer for a moment, just looks at Levi for a moment before her eyes smile again. “You’re sweet,” Petra tells him, and Levi’s flustered. For some reason, he wants to deny it, to tell her that he’s just asking what any reasonably concerned friend would ask, but Petra speaks again before he gets a chance to. “Yeah, I’ll call in another sick day if I have to. Thanks for worrying.”

Levi is about to tell her that it’s not a problem. Of course, it’s not a problem because helping her doesn’t burden him in any way, but he bites his lip instead.

Petra stretches her arms above her head. She gives him another sleep smile, one that Levi can only see in her eyes again, and waves at him tiredly. “That was kind of fun in a hectic way. Thanks for staying up with me these past few nights.”

Levi fiddles with the sleeve of his shirt. “It’s so I know what to do when it’s my turn to make an appointment,” he mumbles. He cringes when he speaks. He doesn’t sound convincing at all.

“Then we’ll do it again when it’s your turn,” Petra says. She points her index finger at him. “It’s the least I can do after you stayed up with me. I should do the same for you.”

He tells her that she doesn’t have to, but Petra insists and won’t let him go back into his apartment until he agrees. They have an undecided date for when they book Levi’s appointment. Petra, ever the optimist, says that the system will probably be less hectic by the time Levi’s eligible, but Levi’s not so sure. Still, he feels quite content as he returns to his apartment.

Petra gets her vaccine tomorrow. Levi wonders if he should construct a care package for her when she comes back and leave it at her doorstep. Not anything fancy, he thinks, just the essentials just in case side effects hit: canned chicken noodle soup, tea and honey, Gatorade, and a small bottle of Tylenol just in case. That’s probably overkill though, Levi sighs. He can think about being nice and thoughtful all he wants, but he knows he’ll back out in the end because there’s a chance that he’s overstepping his boundaries. He should just play it cool. Play it safe. Just pop out on the balcony tomorrow night and ask her how it went, if she was nervous, if her arm hurts.

It’s fine. He doesn’t need to be her caretaker. It’s good enough that they’re neighbors, two people in a short-distance relationship of six feet (or more) apart, unlikely friends in this strange time. It’s too much for him to hope to find love in this time of COVID-19. It’s enough that they’re just two people helping each other stay safe from COVID and booking appointments together. Maybe in a month or two they can be friends who are fully vaccinated against the virus. Two people who still take precautions against the infectious disease but who can live life in a little less fear because their chances of contracting the virus are lowered to about 5%. Two people who can smile at each other without their masks on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi gets his vaccine two months after Petra. Like many other people, he suffered few side effects from the first dose except for a sore arm the very next day. The effects of the second dose are far worse.

He was warned by Petra, who told him that the effects of the second dose were like getting hit by the flu virus and a truck at the same time. He was also warned by various anonymous persons on the internet that were kind enough to share their vaccine experiences on online forums as well as medical professionals that posted informative online videos on YouTube. No warning could have prepared him for how bad the side effects really were.

Levi feels the effects of the second dose ten hours after he returns home from his vaccine appointment. At first, his arm just aches and he feels slightly drowsy. He doesn’t think much of it, thinking that these effects are mild compared to what other people are experiencing. After a few more hours, his body feels terribly cold and his entire body is aching. Everything irritates him more than usual: the light streaming in from his balcony hurts his eyes, the rattle of the air vent is grating to his ears, and the pounding of his head makes him want to bang his head against the wall until he passes out. To put it lightly, he feels like shit.

Petra said she only felt some muscle pain and had a slight fever for a few hours, but Levi feels like he can barely walk. The night Petra had her second dose, she only came out for a few minutes to talk to Levi before leaving to sleep early, but Levi doesn’t think he can even manage that.

Lying on the couch with a blanket draped over his body and an ice pack on his head, Levi manages to reach for his phone on the coffee table and type out a brief text message.

Levi:

Staying in tonight. See you tomorrow if I feel better.

Petra:

🙁🙁🙁

I hope it’s not too bad.

Feel better soon!

I hope you feel better tomorrow 😊

Levi wonders what she means when she says she hopes he feels better tomorrow. Does that mean she hopes he feels better so that they can see each other tomorrow? Or maybe he’s overthinking it and she’s just being polite. It’s normal to say “hope you feel better” when someone is feeling awful, isn’t it?

He doesn’t want to think about this too much. He should just rest instead of mulling about what Petra’s messages really mean. With a sigh, Levi turns his phone screen off and leaves it face-down on the table so that he’s not tempted to check his texts every time he gets a new notification.

Levi settles down against the pillows on his couch and wraps his blankets around him. He’s already taken a Tylenol, but it has only managed to dull his headache and not get rid of it completely. His limbs still feel achy, although not in the unbearable way they did an hour ago. He wonders if he should eat something. He had downed a Gatorade when he first got home and then drank another bottle a few hours ago, but he hasn’t eaten much except for a slice of bread and half an apple. It would probably be best for him to eat something else, but he doesn’t have the energy to get up off the couch and prepare something. Even a packet of ramen feels like it would be too much for him to handle at the moment.

He tosses and turns on the couch until he finds a position that he doesn’t hate. He’s not sure how he’ll be able to sleep when he feels this uncomfortable. He thinks it’ll take him at least an hour or two, but he drifts off without realizing and doesn’t wake up until he hears the ringing of his doorbell.

Groggy with sleep and muscles still aching, Levi gets up from the couch, his blankets dragging behind him as he checks the door. When he looks through the peephole, he doesn’t see anything. He’s too tired to even be angry about someone ding-dong ditching his door and he’s too feverish to even wonder why somebody would ring his doorbell only to abandon his doorstep moments later. He’s about to walk back to his couch and collapse into another dreamless sleep, but the thought that he might have accidentally called for some takeout while in his post-vaccine delirium forces him to yank open the door.

There isn’t anybody in sight nor is there a bag of takeout. Instead, there’s a basket with a note on it. Levi bends down to read the neat script printed on the paper:

Hope you feel better soon! I made some food that might help since you’re probably not in the mood to cook for yourself. 😊

-Petra

Levi stands there and blinks at the basket of food, wondering if this is all part of his fever dream. Maybe he hasn’t woken up yet. Levi is sure he’s dreamed this all up, but his body hurts too much for him to be still dreaming. He’s about to go in and text Petra to ask her if she really had left the basket of food for him, but he looks up to see the apartment door across from him cracked open and his gossipy neighbor looking at him, only her eye visible. Startled, Levi quickly grabs the basket and shuts the door behind him with a slam.

He carries the basket with him to the couch, setting it on the table. When he picks up his phone, he sees he has over a dozen messages. Most of them, unsurprisingly, are from Isabel, but when he scrolls to the bottom he sees he also has one from Petra. He taps on that one first.

Petra:

Cooking post-vaccine sucks!! I know from personal experience 😥

Left you some goodies outside your door jic you don’t feel like cooking. I hope you enjoy!

If it’s from Petra, then it’s safe to inspect the package. Levi lifts the cloth covering the top of the basket and peers inside. He pulls out a colorful tumbler first. The container is a pretty and pastel peach color that fades to white at the bottom. On the side it has a label with the same neat handwriting the first note had. “Peach smoothie,” it says with the ingredients listed in smaller print at the bottom: peaches, banana, greek yogurt, almond milk, honey, vanilla & cinnamon. When Levi looks at the other containers, he finds that they’re labeled similarly.

It’s difficult to explain how Levi feels as he sits on the couch and eats the rice porridge Petra had packed. The porridge is still warm, steam escaping from the thermos when Levi had first unscrewed the cap. Earlier, he hadn’t been in the mood to eat, but now he finds he can’t stop as he shovels spoonful after spoonful of rich, hearty porridge in his mouth.

It’s warm, Levi thinks, and he continues to eat. He no longer feels the chills that had confined him to his couch and forced Levi to wrap himself in layers and layers of blankets. He just feels warm and content, the rich broth from the rice porridge filling his belly and warming him from the inside out. There are tender chunks of chicken breast that Levi devours hungrily and tiny pieces of julienned ginger that balance the porridge out with a kick of spice and just the tiniest bit of sweetness. Levi doesn’t remember the last time he’s eaten so well.

He feels … so content as he sits back against his couch, upright for the first time in hours. He nibbles on the apple slices had cut for him, making sure to admire the little rabbit-ears she had taken the time to carve into each one. In between sips of the peach smoothie, Levi ponders.

Is it normal for neighbors to make food for their neighbors when they’re feeling ill? Is it something good acquaintances do? Is it something friends do? The last one is possible, although Levi has yet to receive a care package from Isabel or Farlan. Then again, he wasn’t planning on sending them one for their second doses, although he’s seriously considering it after experiencing the second dose side effects firsthand. It could be that his post-vaccine delirium is causing him to imagine things that aren’t there: affection, fondness … love?

Levi downs the rest of his smoothie and decides to sleep it all away.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Levi does feel better the next morning, but he doesn’t feel entirely okay either. He feels … strange. While the symptoms he suffered from previously are now gone, Levi finds himself suffering from new ones. They aren’t as uncomfortable as everything he had yesterday — fever, body ache, chills, headache, to name a few — but they make him feel anxious nonetheless. He could be one of the few cases suffering from deadly side effects after the vaccine.

Like any person without a medical degree or a friend in the medical field, Levi takes to the Internet to find answers. He looks up all the uncomfortable symptoms he’s feeling: chest pain, heart palpitations, light-headedness. When he thinks he’s found a consistent answer among various medical sites, he immediately calls Farlan over Zoom.

“I think I’m dying,” he tells Farlan immediately after his friend picks up.

Farlan furrows his brow, his blue eyes filled with concern. “You mean … you didn’t manage to get COVID right before your second dose, did you?” Farlan runs a hand through his honey-blond hair, looking around his apartment for things he needs to drive over to Levi’s house: his wallet, keys, a first aid kit. “Are you okay? I’ll drive over there really quick.”

“No, no. Not COVID,” Levi says quickly. He rubs his hand over his chest. “It’s just … I’ve been feeling strange. I’ve been getting heart palpitations. Sometimes my chest hurts and I feel lightheaded. I think I might have myocarditis.”

Farlan blinks once. Twice. He takes a deep breath and then breathes out. Calmer now, he says, “I thought we talked about you self-diagnosing yourself with different diseases. Just because you’re a hypochondriac does not mean you’re qualified to make these types of calls about your health.”

“I’m serious this time!” Levi says. “It makes sense, doesn’t it? There are other people who have taken the vaccine and have developed pericarditis and myocarditis. I’m not being paranoid.” Levi admits to being quick to diagnosing himself with diseases in the past, many of which were probably impossible for him to contract in hindsight, but he doesn’t know why Farlan is scolding him for being careful about his health.

Farlan sighs. He leans back against his chair and rubs his eyes. “Alright,” Farlan says. He sits up. He doesn’t look angry anymore, just tired. “Tell me everything in detail this time and don’t leave anything out.”

“Well, I told you,” Levi says. “Chest pain and heart palpitations and dizziness -”

“And these all started right after you received your second vaccine?” Farlan asks.

“Yeah, I …,” Levi’s voice trails off. He pauses just a moment and realizes it’s not the first time he’s experienced these symptoms. He’s felt it once or twice before, these strange pangs in his chest and his heart fluttering oddly. “It happened before. When I was with Petra.”

Farlan smirks. “Well, congratulations. It looks like you’re not sick. You’re just an idiot,” he tells Levi and then adds, “and in love.” Before Levi can deny it, Farlan hangs up.

Levi is still spluttering at his screen when a message from Farlan pops up.

Farlan:

Ask her out.

Levi stares at the message even as a million little notifications from Isabel pop up asking him why he called Farlan without her. He thinks about the message. He thinks about asking Petra. He winces when the thought of it brings an odd, sharp pain to his chest, the same one he’s been feeling all morning.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Petra smiles when she sees him that night, her eyes crinkling the way they do when she smiles and her mask shifting upwards. Levi still doesn’t know what her smile looks like, but he’s imagined it every night for weeks on end.

“Feeling better?” she asks Levi. She leans against the railing, her arms resting on top. Levi stands his railing too, but he doesn’t lean against it the way Petra does. It’s perhaps the closest they’ve gotten in all the time they’ve spoken with each other. “The second dose is really something, isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He wonders if he looks terrible, if his face is pale or cheeks flushed, if there are bags under his eyes, if he looks any thinner than he was the day before. He hopes he doesn’t look too horrible.

Petra rests her head on her arms, eyes looking up at Levi. “So what are you gonna do once your two weeks are up and you have the antibodies?” she asks. “I mean, don’t go crazy and crowd surf at an unmasked concert, of course, but maybe you could go out and eat at a restaurant if they have outdoor dining or something.”

“Actually, I was thinking of staying home,” Levi says. His palms are sweating already and his heart is doing that thing where it’s beating erratically against his chest. His head is feeling strange. There’s a chance that Levi might faint and fall off his balcony where he’ll fall four stories until he hits the ground. He almost doesn’t believe it when he hears himself say, “I was actually wondering if you wanted to eat dinner at my place once my two weeks are over.”

Petra’s eyebrows are lifted in surprise. Maybe if she weren’t wearing a mask right now, Levi would see her lips shaped in a perfect O. After a moment, she asks, “Are you really asking me to have dinner with you on your first night of being fully vaccinated?” Her tone is teasing. It makes Levi blush and he almost regrets asking her until Petra says, “I’d be honored. Do you want me to bring anything? I can cook pretty well.”

“If you really want to,” Levi says. He doesn’t know how he’s still standing. A part of him feels as if he’s still on his couch in a fever-filled haze, suffering from the effects of the second vaccine. There’s no way all of this isn’t a dream. Subtly, he wraps his arm around his torso and pinches himself in the ribs. It hurts too much to be a dream.

He’s two weeks closer to seeing Petra without a mask on.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The night of the dinner, Levi finds himself frantically running around his apartment. He took the day off work just to clean his apartment even though he cleans it at least twice daily already. This time, he’s taken the liberty of dusting off the corners of the ceiling and making sure to get all the dirt from behind the furniture. He’s even cleaned the inside of each and every cabinet, including the very top cabinets that are a bitch for him to clean.

It’s overkill, Isabel and Farlan told him. They told him to just treat it like a normal dinner, to just pretend as if they’re the ones coming over instead of Petra, but Levi can’t do that. The difference between Petra and his friends is just too vast. For one thing, he knows that Farlan and Isabel don’t mind a bit of dust, but he’s not sure the same can be said for Petra. Because is so careful in following COVID prevention guidelines, he’s sure she would appreciate the extra time he takes cleaning his apartment just for her arrival.

He couldn’t decide what to buy for dinner. He knows Petra had offered to bring some food over for tonight, but it feels rude to assume that she’ll provide a full-course meal. The problem with ordering food himself is that he doesn’t know what kind of food she likes. Mexican? Italian? Chinese? Indian? There are too many possibilities. He doesn’t know if she has any food preferences or allergies either, and he’s far too nervous to ask her. Levi doesn’t know how to cook for shit, so ordering takeout is the norm for him, but it’s different when you’re ordering for another person. In the end, he orders one dish from different restaurants hoping that at least one dish will be able to satisfy Petra.

Then there’s the question of what to wear.

“Just wear anything,” Farlan groans. He’s splayed out in his chair and looking up at the ceiling. He hasn’t looked at the past dozen outfits Levi has suggested. “Wear your all-black grunge number or a three-piece suit. I’m sure it doesn’t matter.”

“I can’t just wear anything,” Levi hisses. “What will she think of me?”

“You’ve seen each other at 2 AM with only pajamas on,” Farlan points out. He yawns, not bothering to cover his mouth. “I’m pretty sure you two know each other well enough not to mind the other person’s fashion choices.”

“You should wear those tight leather pants,” Isabel says. She leans forward in her seat, her head in her palm with her elbow resting on her knee. “With that see-through shirt. And put some hair gel in your hair. Also maybe put on some eyeliner.”

Levi blinks. “I don’t have any of those things.”

Isabel groans. “I know, your wardrobe is sooooo boring!”

He shouldn’t have asked Farlan and Isabel for their help. He ends up with a mask, a sky-blue button-down, his darkest pair of jeans, and more anxiety than he had this morning. Petra should be here any minute and he’s feeling strange again. The same symptoms as before plague him: dizziness, pains in his chest, heart palpitations. The chime of his doorbell is enough to make him jump out of his seat on the couch and almost fall on the floor.

Levi scrambles for the door, pulling it open. There Petra stands, mask on and a bag full of food she’s prepared for tonight. She looked nice more than six feet away when they were standing on their balconies, but she looks even nicer standing right in front of him. He’s about to say as much when he notices the door across from them open and his neighbor’s eye peep out from the crack. Startled, he pulls Petra in just as she’s saying hello and slams the door behind her.

He breathes a sigh of relief only for his breath to hitch in his throat when he realizes that he’s trapped Petra in between him and the door. They’re standing far closer than six feet apart. It’s closer than six inches apart. It’s even closer than six centimeters. He can count every strand of ginger hair on her head, every eyelash, every freckle sprinkled across her cheeks.

Startled, Levi stumbles backward and apologizes. “S-sorry,” he stammers. His cheeks are flushed red with embarrassment, the heat made worse with his mask on. “The woman in the apartment across from me was staring.”

“Oh, yeah,” Petra says. She looks behind her, although there’s no way for her to see the neighbor now that Levi’s door is closed. When she turns back, her eyes are crinkled. “She talks a lot, that one.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He stares at Petra. He can’t help it. There’s a smile hidden behind her mask. He can see it if he only asks. He’s closer to seeing it than he’s ever been. Soon, he’ll know what lies beneath. Cautiously, carefully, Levi asks, “Would you like to take off your mask?”

“Sure,” Petra says. She unhooks the elastics from her ears. She removes the mask from her face, looks at Levi, and smiles.

It’s more beautiful than Levi could have imagined: a dimple in her cheek, freckles sprinkled across her skin that her mask had always covered until today, and just the slightest overbite in her smile. It makes Levi’s heart do a weird flip in his chest, worse than he’s ever felt before. His palms are sweating and he’s feeling light-headed. He’s not sure he’s even breathing.

Breathlessly, Levi tears off his mask. “Can I kiss you?” The question falls from his mouth without him thinking. He’s about to take it back and apologize for being too forward, but Petra takes a step closer to him.

Her smile is dazzling, growing wider as Petra takes a step. Her eyes crinkle the way they always did on the balcony. “Sure,” she says and reaches to place one hand on the back of Levi’s neck before pulling him in for a kiss.

It’s perfect.

#rivetra #snk #covid 19 pandemic au #levi ackerman #petra ral #requests #asks #answered #anon #anonymous

37 notes · View notes

sylvies-chen · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt 89 for Brettsey 🙂

This fic is partially inspired by @katie-049's fic "Sprucing Up Chicago" (which is a very good thing because wow I'm obsessed with her AU seriously go check it out). Hope you enjoy this :)

89. "You're holding back."

Sylvie swears she isn't a violent or angry person.

It's three weeks after Julie's died. She'd cried in Matt's arms, been comforted by Stella-- hell, she's been comforted by her own damn parents. And it's helped, sure, but there's still residual pain left over. She's still processing the fact that she's gone. That after a lifetime of getting nothing, of always wondering who her birth parents were, Sylvie only got a month with her before she passed. It makes her angry.

People can't control when they die. Julie didn't mean to die, didn't choose to leave like this. But Sylvie deserved time from her, and she can't help but feel like Julie for dying before at least giving Sylvie a proper amount of time with all the answers she'd needed. It's not Julie's fault though. It truly isn't. So why is Sylvie still so heartbroken? And why is she mad?

Matt texts her on one of their days off though, tells her he wants to meet her somewhere. She agrees to it, not because he insists that it will help her, but because she really just wants to see Matt. He's always there for her when she needs it the most, to the point where she finds herself needing him a lot. Hell, who is she kidding? It's not just a need anymore. She wants him-- in every sense of the word, unfortunately.

But that's not the point of today. Today, according to Matt, is about helping her heal a little.

She pulls up to the address he'd texted her to meet him at and is a little surprised. It's some random, run of the mill house except it has tarps on its windows and the white picket fence is severely damaged.

"Hey," he greets her from the front porch of the house. He's in jeans an a t-shirt, which isn't out of the ordinary for Matt, but he's sweaty and there are subtle streaks of dirt on his arms and shirt. It makes him look rugged and messy-- and admittedly, very attractive.

"Hi," she replies in a mousy squeak. "What, uh. What are we doing here, exactly?"

"Right," he remembers, pointing back at the house while keeping his eyes on her. "Well, this is one of my projects for my contracting business."

"And you thought I'd like drilling things? Being a working man, sing a few Springsteen songs?" She guesses amusedly.

"No," he laughs breathily. "This house is being renovated completely. Come on, I'll show you."

What happens next is a terrifying, wonderful surprise. Matt motions toward the house with his head, then grabs her by the hand and leads her inside. His hand doesn't let go the entire time, even as he's opening the door. It's calloused and sweaty from the work she knows he must have been doing on the place, but it's warm. It fits perfectly into hers and it makes her heart skip a beat.

The moment's over before she can even register it though. He pulls his hand away when they walk inside the house and up to the series of bare walls and counters surrounded by tarps and sawdust.

What the hell is happening?

"It's demolition day," he explains to her with a slightly proud smile on his face. It makes her chuckle a little.

He picks up two sledgehammers and protective glasses off one of the counters. "I figured," he explains as he hands her one of the hammers. "This might help you blow off some steam. Normally, I take Severide on these kind of things but his life's not all that bad right now. You need this more than he does."

"Wow," she awes, looking around at the place. "I... I don't know, Matt. I'm not really one for smashing."

"It's a lot more fun than you think, I promise," he assures her. He hands her the second pair of goggles and she gives him a hesitant look for a minute. Eventually, she caves in. Who knows? Maybe this will be fun. She's trusted Matt before and has never once been disappointed, she doesn't see why this will be any different.

"Ok," she sighs amusedly. "Let's do this, Matt Casey."

Matt moves to inspect one of the walls they need to demolish and, when he finds the proper hollow spot through a series of knocks, he points at the spot and then backs away. "You can swing right there. Give it your best shot, Brett."

Sylvie giggles, moves to the wall, and whacks it with her hammer-- a little half-assed, if she's being honest. She's still adjusting to this lovably strange idea Matt had, so she isn't in the full swing of it yet.

"You're holding back," he points out, tilting his head to the side in mock disapproval. "Come on, hit it hard, Sylvie. I know you can do it. You're angry, right?"

"I'm not angry," she protests meekly, her eyes drifting off seriously. "You can't be mad at someone for dying, that doesn't make any sense."

"Of course it does," he counters supportively. "It's okay to be angry, that's part of the grief. Don't shy away from it. Own it."

"Right, okay." She nods, hyping herself mentally. "I can do this."

She stares at the wall intensely, until she locks eyes with the spot she needs to hit and sends the end of the sledgehammer through the wall with a loud, cathartic thwack!

It's a blur of rage. She whacks it once, then twice, three times. When she pulls away, there's a huge, gaping hole in the wall where a cluster of paint and drywall used to be. She stares at it in shock.

She hasn't done something like that since she was a teenager, helping her dad out with farm work in Fowlerton.

She hasn't done this whole "smash therapy" thing before. It's strange, but delightful. It helps the residual pain, anger, and grief flood away into the air along with the specks of dust. Eventually, she forgets the anger ever existed.

"Did I just do that?" She asks, pointing at the hole in the wall in bewilderment.

Sylvie turns to Matt and sees him staring at her with delightful surprise. "You did, yeah," he nods.

"I did that," she repeats, soaking it in. "I actually did that."

"How did it feel?"

"Ugh, so good!" She's ramped up on excitement and adrenaline and, before she knows it, she's practically slamming herself into Matt and wrapping her arms around him in a hug. He laughs, but it quickly becomes awkward so she pulls away. "Sorry," she apologizes after a while. "I got excited there."

"No need to be sorry," he replies bashfully, scratching at the back of his neck and clearing his throat. "I'm just-- I'm glad I could help."

"Yeah," she nods, smiling warmly at him. His gaze is intense and for a moment, she's reminded of just how much she truly cares for Matt. And, admittedly, just how much she wants to be with him-- even if she'll never admit it.

He really is just glad he could help. He means that. He always is.

#fanfic prompts #drabble prompts that aren’t drabbles anymore #abby writes #sylvie brett #matt casey

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aellynera · 4 years ago

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Accidental Anniversary (Llewyn Davis x Reader)

ACCIDENTAL ANNIVERSARY

💜💘 Happy Valentine’s Fic Exchange, @samrockweil 💘💜

I am your Valentine’s elf (or maybe cupid?) It was an absolute blast writing this for you!! At first I couldn’t decide which guy to write for, but Llewyn spoke to me and I ran with it and I hope you love it even half as half as much as I did writing it. Happy reading and happy beeps!

Also, huge thanks to @sergeantkane for putting this fic exchange together! Love you Clarke!

Word Count: around 8k oops look i had a whole MONTH okay i’m not sorry

Summary: You meet Llewyn Davis one night at the Gaslight, and soon find out that the universe has an odd sense of humor and an even weirder sense of timing.

Warnings: A few curses. Nothing else, it’s 99.999999999% fluffy fluff.

March 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a whiskey, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as your boss flips the power on.

You’ve been working there for a couple weeks, a side job to help make your rent and keep you busy on the weekends. It’s not a terrible gig, most of the time; the patrons are pleasant enough, the performers hit or miss, and Pappi, your boss, is okayish, so long as you can mostly steer clear of him.

You begin to wipe down part of the bar while the next performer sets up on the small, dingy stage. You haven’t seen him before, but whispers from the stools at the counter hint he’s semi-popular around these parts. You quirk an eyebrow; he certainly is easy on the eyes, at least.

From the minute he takes the stage, your focus is ninety percent on him (you do need a little brain power to do your job, after all) and you find that he is also very easy on the ears. Dark curls, dark beard, dark eyes, dark clothes, but a surprisingly bright voice singing lovely songs. He finishes his set, comes off the stage, and sidles up to the bar. You hand him the requested bourbon with a soft smile.

And the next thing you know, Pappi is on the ground and this stranger is holding his hand, wincing, flexing his fingers. Your mouth drops open.

“Oh my god!” you cry. “What--”

“Jesus Christ, Llewyn,” Pappi groans from the floor. “I was only kidding.”

“Yeah, doubt that,” this Llewyn person mutters under his breath, taking a seat on the stool closest to him. “Can I bother you for some ice?”

You keep a wary eye on him, and on Pappi as he gets up and wanders to the other side of the room like nothing happened, and wrap some ice cubes in a towel and hand it to him. “You decked him.”

He scoffs and takes a sip of his drink. “You hear what he said about you?”

Well, no, you hadn’t actually, but having heard what Pappi has said about others in the club over the past two weeks, you can imagine. “I can handle him,” you say archly.

“I’m sure you can,” a huff of air escapes his lips, “but you shouldn’t have to.” He turns around to look at Pappi, who just glares and shakes his head. The man in front of you flips your boss off.

You refill his glass without him asking and stick out your hand, telling him your name.

He shakes it and says, “Llewyn Davis” with a sheepish smile.

April 14

Llewyn shuffles down the sidewalk towards the Gaslight, really only noticing the early spring chill that hangs in the air. It’s early, before noon, but he wants to run through his set before the night’s performance and the early hour is convenient for him to be able to do so in peace.

He’s about a block away when a sound distracts him. A voice is singing, pure and sweet - if a tiny bit off-key - and if he didn’t know any better - and he certainly does, at least most times - he would call it angelic. No, not angelic. An actual angel. That’s what it sounds like.

Llewyn stops and looks up at an open window on the third floor. He can make out the vague outline of a figure inside, but he’s unable to see any details. But that voice. A few minutes pass as he just listens, staring up at the window, thinking about calling up to get the attention of the mysterious singer. But he doesn’t, and he just stands and listens, until he finds his feet starting to carry him on to his usual destination.

Three steps into his walk, he realizes he knows the song. It’s one of his songs. Part of him can’t believe it, and the rest of him wants to offer pitch correction. Three more steps into his walk, and his face makes very solid, very resounding contact with the light pole on the corner.

“God dammit,” he shouts.

A few seconds later, the window on the third floor slides open and a head pokes out. “Oh my god. Llewyn?”

Llewyn looks up and groans inwardly as he recognizes your face from that last gig at the Gaslight. “Hey,” he waves awkwardly, leaning on the pole.

“Are you bleeding?” you call down to him.

He reaches up near his eyebrow and realizes he is, in fact, bleeding. Quite a bit, honestly. Before he can answer, you call back down, “Come up the fire escape to the side window!” The window drops shut and he can hear another slide open.

So Llewyn Davis climbs the fire escape steps and meets you at your side window, a first aid kit in your hands as you motion for him to sit. He does and you start to patch up his wound.

“You should be more careful,” you mutter as you worked, stopping briefly to look him right in the eyes.

He holds your gaze. “Sorry, I was...distracted.”

“Mmm,” you return. You fold a gauze pad and hand it to him. “Hold this on that cut. I’m going to get you some ice.” You turn to walk to your kitchen.

He mumbles his thanks and leans his head back against the fire escape railing.

May 14

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and although Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, he takes up a spot at the end of the bar and thanks you as you pass him a drink.

“How have you been?” you ask. You’d seen him a few times over the past couple weeks, here and there in the Village, but it’s been several days. You found Llewyn’s company quite enjoyable. You’d talked a bit and even shared lunch once at the diner a couple blocks away.

His lips turn up, a shy smile lighting his face. He opens his mouth to respond, when another voice breaks in.

“He’s been an asshole.”

Llewyn’s head ships around and you follow his gaze. A slender woman with long, straight brown hair and piercing eyes stands about ten feet behind him, arms crossed and glaring. Neither of them says anything for a beat, Llewyn turns away from her, and then she’s on him, daggers flying from her lips, going on and on about assholes and responsibility and electrical tape.

Llewyn keeps his eyes down, the bottom of his glass suddenly staring back at him. “Jesus Christ, Jean.”

You bite your lip as you glance between them. You have no idea who this woman - this Jean - is, but it’s clear she is not a fan of Llewyn Davis. In three seconds flat you decide you do not like her either.

“Is there something you needed?” you break in.

Her eyes flare at Llewyn, then at you, then bore into the back of Llewyn’s head. You resist the urge to literally toss a glass of whiskey in her direction.

“I need Llewyn to stop being an asshole,” she seethes. Llewyn rolls his eyes.

You arch an eyebrow and the words are on your tongue - I need you to back off, you crazy weird bit-- you bite your tongue just hard enough to make your mouth behave. Fortunately, she’s distracted by someone else calling her name and her attention drifts to the stage. With a final mutter of “asshole” and a rude hand gesture, she flounces off.

You point over Llewyn’s shoulder. “Um, what was that?”

He snorts. “A night of bad decisions and a lifetime of regret.” A pause. “It’s...a long story.”

You watch as she adjusts the microphone center stage. “Good lord, is she a singer? Tell me she’s not going to just smile and sing after...whatever that was.”

“Yeah. Well,” he offers by way of explanation and doesn’t say anything else. It’s almost like this woman sucked all the fight out of him and you feel your heart give a little twinge.

You toss the rag in the sink and take his glass. “Do you wanna get out of here?” The air around you has a weird vibe now, and you felt a sudden impulse to get out and take this man - your friend - with you, away from this...whatever she was, somewhere safe.

“Fuck yes,” he sighs, a grateful glimmer passing through his dark eyes.

“There’s a great cafe down the block.”

“But don’t you have to...you know...work?”

You look around and shrug. “It’s dead in here, and Bobby can handle it,” you hook your thumb at a co-worker behind the bar. “And if Pappi says anything, I know someone who can set him straight.”

Llewyn’s eyes glint and his lips turn up in a real, honest smile this time. “So, coffee?”

“Coffee.”

June 14

The summer - or very last days of spring, technically - is starting to get hot and your open windows are doing the bare minimum to alleviate the warmth. Of course, the third glass of wine you’re drinking probably isn’t helping things either.

Whatever. It’s your day off.

Shoes kicked off, jeans rolled up above your ankles, feet up on the arm of the couch, a record on the turntable and your glass of red as the dusk slowly melts into dark. The night is tranquil and relaxing and perfect. It has been a shitty week, and all you want is to ignore the outside world and do exactly this.

The shrill ring of your phone bursts that bubble..

You close your eyes and tilt your head back on the couch. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away. The phone stops ringing. Deciding to take no further chances, you switch off the ringer, completely, then sigh happily, settling yourself on the couch and sipping your wine.

Perfect.

A resounding, repeated thump echoes through the room. You bit back a shriek. Ignore it. If you just ignore it, it will go away - lightning can strike twice, right? It was extremely rude of people to just call you and knock when all you wanted was--

“Hey, are you home?” a muffled voice comes from the other side of the door.

Suddenly alert and somehow much less annoyed, you spring up and cross to your front door. Yanking it open, you find a very disheveled Llewyn Davis on the other side. He doesn’t seem to notice right away that the door was now open, and you had to jump back as his hand, raised to pound on the door again, almost knocks you in the head instead.

You take a deep breath. You catch a waft like the mat under the taps after a long night at the bar.

“Shit,” he mumbles. “Sorry.”

“Are you drunk?” You take him by the arm and drag him inside, appraising him quickly. His eyes are glassy, red-rimmed, his curls an absolute mess, and there’s a dark mark under his left eye and a split in his lip. He looks terrible, smells just as bad, but suddenly all your desire for a quiet, no-other-humans night evaporates. “And did you get in a fight?”

“...yes?”

You sigh and point to the couch. “Go. Sit. I’ll make some coffee, and then you’re getting a shower..”

“You’re incredible,” he slurs, smiling, “And you’re so…I tried t’call you, from th’phone on the corner but you dinnt answer. An’ then I realized, hey, I’m on your corner, so decided t’come up and see you. You’re pretty.”

You take him by the elbow and lead him to the couch, only stumbling twice and managing to catch him as he sways, precariously, once. “Uh huh,” you bite your lip to hide a smile. “Sounds like you’ve had a fun night. You wanna talk about it?”

“Nope.” He flops down on the couch and buries his face in a pillow.

By the time you make the promised pot of coffee and get back to the living room, Llewyn is snoring, still face down in the throw pillow. Turning off the music and the lights, you cover him with a blanket and take your glass of wine to your room.

July 14

Ring, ring, ring.

You’d remembered to turn the ringer back on three days after Llewyn slept it off on your couch, but your phone hadn’t actually rung again until just over half an hour ago, and honestly you weren’t sure if that was a blessing or if it was just sad.

You are sure, however, that the sheer desperation in the voice on the other end when you answered is the reason you’re on this train to Queens. Are you doing anything, Llewyn had asked, because I could really, really use some help right now. Please, I’m begging you. And now the echo of your phone ringing just, well, rings in your ears.

The train screeches to a halt and you exit, making your way to the given address. You knock on the door of a smallish, nondescript row house and it swings open almost immediately, revealing a very disheveled, slightly panicked looking Llewyn.

“Oh, thank fuck,” he breathes and grabs you by the arm, dragging you inside.

“Llewyn? What is going on?”

“It’s a disaster,” he says. He’s completely serious.

You’re preparing yourself for blood, broken bones, water damage, collapsed ceilings, possible dismemberment, anything, really, that could explain your friend’s current frazzled condition. What you get is completely, unexpectedly, not anything like that.

There are about ten kids, all around ten years old, running around in the living room, which is also full of balloons and streamers. One giant pinata, shaped like a baseball glove and bat, hangs from the light fixture. To Llewyn’s credit, it is kind of...chaotic, but it’s far from a disaster and you can barely contain the guffaw that escapes your lungs.

“Whose birthday?” you grin at him.

He narrows his eyes at you. “It’s not funny.”

You consider this and try to straighten your lips. Nope, not working. “It’s a little funny.”

Llewyn smacks you lightly on the shoulder. “It’s my nephew’s birthday, and my sister forgot some party thing and made a run to the store. I was stayin’ here last night and she just decided, oh, Llewyn can watch the kids, and she was gone.”

“So what’s the problem, exactly?”

“She should be back by now,” his eyes look slightly panicked.

“Maybe she had to go to a couple stores? Maybe she just got delayed by transit?”

“I can’t do…” Llewyn gestures around weakly, shaking his head. “This.”

“Llewyn, they’re kids. They can’t be more than what, ten years old? Just blindfold them and let them whack at the pinata.”

“You’re the people person. I can’t...can you help me, please,” he turns to look at you. Directly at you. You’re fairly certain his eyes cannot get any bigger or shine more pleadingly.

“Fine,” you sigh. “Let’s go wrangle some kids.”

The panic slides from his face and to your surprise, he throws an arm over your shoulder and kisses the top of your head in his thanks.

And when one kid takes a wild swing at that tacky papier-mache sports equipment, misses completely, and lands a clean hit on Llewyn’s thigh, neither of you talk about it.

You just get him an ice pack.

August 14

“I’m making lasagna. Come over for dinner.”

You worked early that day, and said this to Llewyn as you left the Gaslight for the day. He isn’t playing tonight, and he’s really just here to stay out of the sun, and as much as he doesn’t like to push his luck with others’ hospitality, he has to admit that a home-cooked meal does sound incredible.

He has a feeling your invitation was partly due to Jean showing up, ready to do unnecessary verbal battle because she just can’t let it go, and you’d asked to both deflect her and keep yourself from actual physical battle. But whatever.

So he finds himself at your front door a couple hours later, a bottle of cheapish red wine in hand and an odd tingle in his chest. He dismisses it offhand; he’s probably just hungry.

You open the door and Llewyn’s nose is assaulted by the smell of homemade sauce - he’s half Italian, he knows these things - and cheese and garlic. You smile brightly at him. Yeah, he’s definitely hungry.

“Hey! Come in, it’s almost ready.”

He hands you the bottle. “Brought wine.”

“Excellent,” you lead him to the kitchen table and motion to a seat. He settles himself into it and grabs a piece of bread from the basket on the table as you grab two wine glasses.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks around a mouthful of carbs.

The timer dings and you pull the lasagna out of the oven. “No occasion. I just felt like making this and I didn’t really want to eat alone.”

“Lucky for you I like to eat,” he chuckles.

Your face suddenly feels warmer. Well, you did just pull a piping hot casserole dish out of the oven, so that does make sense, you suppose. You turn and put the lasagna on the trivet in the middle of the table, then turn and grab two regular glasses for water. There is an outlandish, metallic ka-chunk-ing noise as you turn on the tap, and suddenly water is shooting from under the sink and halfway across the room.

Llewyn jumps up and dives at the faucet, a chunk of bread clutched between his teeth, at the same time you crawl halfway under the sink to try and shut the water off. The stream blasts you in the face and you sputter.

This is not how you imagined tonight. Blasted ancient, rickety building. You make a mental note to have words with the super tomorrow.

You finally get the water shut off, and Llewyn closes the tap and sinks down onto the wet floor next to you. You lean against the cabinets and try to wipe the water out of your eyes.

Llewyn fares a little better; he’s only wet from his waist down. Your head thumps back on the soaked particle board behind you and you turn your head towards him. For a long moment he looks back at you, then rips the butt off the hunk of baguette in his mouth and passes it to you.

You snort. He bites his lip.

“Sorry, I think dinner might be a bit late,” you deadpan, eyes still on him, and take a bite of bread.

He bumps your shoulder with his. “It’s okay. Lasagna is always better the next day.”

Llewyn has to admit, though, it’s still pretty good a couple hours later, after you’re both dry and the lake in the kitchen is mopped up and you settle on the couch with your plates.

And if you use the water glasses for the wine, well, neither of you mentions it.

September 14

It’s pleasantly warm today, the heat of late August dragging itself into the beginning of September, and you find yourself in Washington Square Park, on a checkered blanket, a basket in the middle and a guitar by your feet. Pigeons wander and plot to steal food, but it’s easy enough to shoo them away.

It takes a little convincing, early that morning, to get Llewyn to agree to join you. It didn’t, really; he’s quickly become one of your best friends, and he doesn’t have anywhere else to be, he just likes to tease you.

But he does accept, and you eat some of the bread and cheese you packed and drink the iced tea you brought, and you get out a container of fruit salad and package of cookies your down-the-hall neighbor, Mrs. Peterson, made for you that morning.

“For you and your lovely man,” she’d said as she knocked on your door. You feel the warmth in the tips of your ears and you certainly see the color rise in Llewyn’s embarrassed face, but you don’t have the heart to correct her. She’s such a sweet old lady.

Llewyn plays a song or two while you enjoy your lunch, and even asks if you want to hear a new song he’s been working on, which you are more than happy to agree to.

It’s such a pleasant afternoon.

Until a small, brownish-gray blur jumps onto the blanket and grabs a chunk of bread and darts further onto the lawn.

“What the hell!’ Llewyn shouts as you yelp in surprise. The squirrel, for its part, just stops fifty feet away and turns back with a triumphant gaze, then scoots off into the bushes, leaving a trail of breadcrumbs in its wake.

He starts to make a comment about the nerve of the wildlife, but you’re not really listening. Your eyes are fixed on the path the squirrel just ran and you tug on Llewyn’s sleeve. He keeps muttering and you tug harder.

“Llewyn.”

He finally looks up and follows your finger. There’s a flock - an honest-to-god flock, not that he has any real idea on the technical makeup of a flock, but there’s more than one so as far as he’s concerned, yeah, it’s a flock - of geese marching directly at the blanket.

Okay, so there’s only three of them. But they look angry.

The leader strides forward deliberately and bites at Llewyn’s shoe. Another yelp leaves your lips and he grabs your hand, pulling you to your feet. He also grabs the remainder of the bread and tosses it in the opposite direction as he takes off running towards the fountain, dragging you behind him.

“Where are we going?” you shout.

“No idea,” he replies. The leader falls for the bread feint, but his loyal minions do not, and they follow behind you, quacking and honking and flapping and Llewyn isn’t sure but he may dislike geese even more than he dislikes pigeons.

He jumps up on the edge of the fountain and pulls you into a protective embrace as the beasts close in. Only Llewyn doesn’t account for, you know, physics, and the force of your bodies colliding sends you both straight into the water.

Spluttering, you try to wipe the water out of your eyes. Llewyn is doing the same when a loud HONK startles you both. The leader is back, flanked by his friends, and they’re all staring at you.

“Um, Llewyn?” you whisper.

“Yeah?”

“...don’t geese like, love the water?”

His eyes flick to you, then the winged monsters, then you again, then the fountain like he’s seeing it for the first time and all he can do is mutter, “Shit!” and grab your hand as he pulls you to your feet and takes off running again.

You manage to swing by and gather the leavings of your picnic, blanket and basket tucked under your arms and his precious guitar clutched to him, as you beeline out of the park, soaking wet and laughing.

October 14

Llewyn slides the key into the lock and turns it, an odd flutter rolling up his spine as he hears the bolt click open. He’s had a key to your apartment for almost two months now. You gave it to him, insisted really, telling him this way he wouldn’t need to worry about finding somewhere to crash. That your couch is always open.

It still doesn’t feel real and he doesn’t always use it, but tonight he really, really doesn’t feel like making the rounds. You’ve been spending more time together recently anyway, and he feels mostly comfortable around you.

He’s greeted by the sight of you wearing a catcher’s mask and knee high rubber boots, and you’re wielding a tennis racquet. He doesn’t know what to say for a full minute.

“What are you...why are you wearing...what the hell.”

“There’s a bat,” is your whispered response.

Llewyn’s nose scrunches and he isn’t any less confused than he was a second ago. “What?”

“There’s a bat,’ you repeat. Your voice is slightly on the edge of hysteria because, well, “there is a bat. In the bathroom.”

“...okay?”

You jab your finger at the closed door. “I was just going to wash my face and brush my teeth and I went in there and it was just...in the corner, by the shelves. It was staring at me.”

He bites his lip, trying his hardest to suppress the smile tugging on his face. It isn’t working. He drops to a whisper himself and asks, “Baby, why are you whispering?”

Your head jerks towards the bathroom, and your shrug nearly sends the tennis racquet into his shoulder. “Because that’s how they...they’re...how they do the...the bat hearing thing!”

Llewyn laughs fully. He can’t help it; you’re ridiculous and his face heats a bit as he realizes it’s entirely endearing. “I don’t think that’s how it works,” he says, his voice sliding back to a whisper. He avoids your death glare as he makes his way to the bathroom door. “But sit tight, slugger, I’ll get rid of it.”

“What’re you gonna do?”

Hand on the doorknob, he pauses and considers this. “Just gonna encourage it to go home? I dunno.”

Your grip tightens on the racquet. “How will that work?!”

“I don’t know! I’m not a fucking bat!” he hisses at you. “Just, make sure a window is open.” He opens the bathroom door.

Several things happen at once. Llewyn doesn’t so much open the door as he flings it wide and it slams into the wall. The bat makes a squeaky-shrieky noise (you were entirely unaware, until now, that they could even do that) and swoops out, recklessly streaking through Llewyn’s mess of curls. You make an actual shriek and fling the side window open as wide as possible. Llewyn makes a sound he can’t describe and you’re honestly not sure if it was Llewyn or the bat. The bat decides to take a few laps around the living room and you duck under the window sill just before it mercifully decides that outside is the place to be. Llewyn slams the window shut and you spring back to your feet, crash into his chest and his arms wrap around you.

Neither of you say anything, and Llewyn isn’t sure how much time passes, but he’s very aware of your hand running through his hair, and your soft words catching as you say you’re just trying to smooth out the bat damage.

He clears his throat. “I, uh, I’ll keep watch out here, make sure that thing doesn’t come back,” he jokes. “You okay?”

You finally - finally, he cheers internally - take off the catcher’s mask and nod slowly. “Yeah, I’m...good. Thanks for...thanks.”

Llewyn lets you go and takes the tennis racquet out of your hands, placing it next to the couch. He throws you a soft smile. “Just in case.”

November 14

It’s been a long night at work, a lot longer than it has any right to be and infinitely insufferable. The Gaslight is packed, patrons nearly crawling the walls and not an empty seat to be found. Drink orders stack up and you try to keep up. It’s so crazy that even Pappi doesn’t have a chance to be a smartass like usual.

Apparently it always gets like this, closer to a holiday.

Note to self - skip holidays.

There are two acts tonight. Llewyn is first, and it’s clear much of the crowd is here to catch him. It cheers you slightly, and it would certainly cheer you more if you had the time to pay more attention to him, but the constant call for whiskey and gin takes most of your focus. But for the time he’s on stage, your heart feels lighter.

Then the second act takes the stage, and Jean launches eye missiles at Llewyn from behind the microphone, and your mood sours instantly.

Yeah, it’s a very long night.

Everything is blurry for the rest of the evening, until last call mercifully rolls around and you can finally get to straightening out the mess the bar has become. You notice Llewyn still sitting on his usual stool at the end of the counter, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Don’t even say it,” you point at him sternly. “When will you stop fussing about this?” Ridiculous man. He has a key to your apartment, and still he worries that he’s an inconvenience.

You toss an orange slice at him, and he allows you a sweet grin.

Finally - finally - you’re home and Llewyn follows you inside, locking the door behind you. He heads for the couch and you head for your room, a mumbled g’night the only word that passes between you. You’re far too exhausted to deal with anything higher level.

It could be minutes or it could be hours later - your alarm clock somehow ended up on the floor and the darkish sky outside giving nothing away, and when did it start raining anyway - when a loud SPRONG and then a yelp and a THUMP from the living room jolts you awake.

It takes a few seconds to regain your senses. “Llewyn?”

“Fuck.”

You stumble out to the living room to find him half-sitting, half-sprawled on the floor, the quilt he normally uses tangled around his knees and ankles. He rubs a spot on his lower back and winces.

“Llewyn! What happened?” you cry.

He points to the middle cushion and you see something sticking up from the padding.

“Oh, Llewyn, jesus. I’m so sorry,” you apologize. You really do feel terrible; your couch hasn’t been in the best shape for ages, and it looks like the squeaky spring you noticed a few weeks ago finally gave up and poked it way through. And stabbed Llewyn in the back as he slept. Damn it.

“It’s...it’s fine,” he tells you, still wincing. “I can turn the other way, or sleep on the floor. Not a big deal.”

You shake your head. “Yes big deal. My couch just stabbed you, and it’s cold outside, you can’t sleep on the floor.”

“S’fine. Not the first time I ended up on the floor.”

You make up your mind before you even think about it and reach your hand out to him. “Come on,” you wiggle your fingers. “Come to bed.”

Llewyn’s eyes go wide and he opens his mouth to protest, but your look is so firm that he relents with a soft sigh and extricates himself from the blanket. He follows you to the bedroom and asks, no less than seven times, if you’re sure this is okay and says he really has no problem sleeping on the floor. You eventually tell him to shut the hell up and get under the covers.

You both lay on your sides, facing each other, but keep a space between you. Llewyn still looks mildly uneasy but relaxes as you smile at him and the warmth of your duvet and the softness of your pillows pull him under.

“Good night again, Llewyn,” you whisper.

“Good night again,” he replies with a soft yawn.

The rain steadily patters on your window and the sky slowly lightens as morning breaks and you languidly wake, curled into Llewyn’s chest, his arms secure around you.

December 14

Snow falls lightly outside, coats the grass and sticks to Llewyn’s curls, and his breath swirls and makes curlicues in the chill winter air. It’s two weeks until Christmas, and you decide to put up a tree, a real tree, and you tell him he’s going to help decorate it.

You also tell him that a bunch of your light strings have stopped working, and before you can ask him to run to the shop down the block that sells replacements, he volunteers and is out the door.

He can’t remember the last time he was anywhere with a real tree. It was usually those cheap-looking fake ones, the green plastic branches a color that would never exist naturally, if there were any tree at all.

So yeah, maybe he’s a little excited. He comes up the steps to the apartment, a bag perched in the crook of his elbow as he unlocks the door.

“So I got the lights, like you asked,” he says cheerfully, and sets the bag down on the table by the door.

“Help.” That’s...not the response he’s expecting.

It’s two weeks since the entire living room has been rearranged. The new, non-back-stabbing couch is on the opposite wall. You rearranged all your shelves, got a new armchair, and much to Llewyn’s wary delight and bewilderment, a new side table. The side table has blank sheet music and pens and there’s a guitar stand next to it and he doesn’t really know what to make of it. You just smile and tell him he needs a space to be himself, whatever that means.

The newly-opened space under the window is where the tree is going. Or, should be going. Llewyn looks down at the toppled fir and sees a foot sticking out near the trunk.

“Sweetheart? What happened?”

Your voice answers from beneath the branches. “Can you just help get this off me, please?”

Llewyn rights the tree and turns his head to check on you. He’s more concerned about you than the tree, of course, but he wants to make sure it doesn’t take you out again so he secures it to the stand as he takes you in. Thankfully you look fine, a few needles stuck to your sweater and a tiny scratch on your cheek, but otherwise…

He tries to stifle a laugh. “You’re looking very festive.”

Your eyes narrow. “Go ahead and ask,” you bite out, “because I know you’re going to ask.”

“I already did ask, before I had to be your lumberjack.”

You refrain from telling him that lumberjacks fell trees, not upright them. Whatever. You motion your head to the shiny silver tinsel wrapped around your torso. You can’t use your hands, really, and you’re not sure how they got tied up in this mess, exactly, but here you are, sitting on your living room floor in a pile of pine needles, trussed like a Christmas goose in sparking silver twine.

And your best friend is laughing at you. Jerk.

“I was trying to get this around the top part, and I lost my balance. Then like an idiot I tried to catch myself on the tree, and the whole damn thing went down with me,” you sigh. “I don’t even know how the rest of this tangled mess happened.”

He does laugh now, full and rich. “I was only gone for like, twenty minutes.”

“Yeah, yeah. Um, can you maybe...untie me?”

“Oh! Wait, here, I got something else,” Llewyn jumps to his feet. He ignores your request and pokes around in the shopping bag.

“If it’s not chocolate, I don’t want to hear about it,” your grumbled response brings another laugh.

Llewyn’s back in front of you seconds later, holding a small white cluster above your head. The grin on his face is equally charming and infuriating.

“You have got to be kidding me,” you blink at him.

“I mean, I was just gonna, y’know, hang it above the door later and let it happen, but now seems like a better time for some Christmas cheer.”

“I think you’re pretty satisfyingly cheerful right now, idiot.”

He waves the mistletoe over your heads. “Come on. It’s tradition.”

One day, maybe you’ll be able to stop sighing in his presence, but today is not that day. You sigh again, roll your eyes, and lean in, planting a soft kiss on his cheek and delighting in the shade of crimson he turns in response. He clears his throat and places the mistletoe to the side.

“Now will you untie me?” you ask, sugar-sweet.

He does, and helps you get the tinsel where it’s supposed to go and you spend the rest of the afternoon decorating the tree and drinking hot cider.

Llewyn sings you more than one Christmas song to make up for all the teasing.

January 14

It seems like a good idea at the time. One of your friends at your actual day-to-day job offers to set you up with another coworker, and it’s been ages since you went on a date and you figure, why not? What could possibly go wrong?

It turns out the answer is, a lot. A lot can go wrong. So much that you don’t even want to think about it.

Okay, that’s not entirely true. There is no chemistry, no spark, just an hours-long recitation of how your date is god’s gift to pretty much everything under the sun and possibly also the moon. The name-drops are just the cherry on top.

Maybe your first impression isn’t wrong after all.

You trudge up to your apartment, the bag of your favorite takeout under your arm filled to nearly bursting, and get the door open. All you want to do is stuff your face and maybe take a long, hot bath with a glass of wine. Yes, that sounds perfect.

The melody of a strumming guitar stops as you place the bag on the side table and shimmy out of your coat. The lamp in the corner is the only illumination and you tilt your head towards the armchair’s occupant. You’re surprised that he’s there, but only because he was supposed to be somewhere else tonight. Knowing he wouldn’t be around was at least...half the reason you agreed to this stupid date in the first place.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date tonight?” Llewyn asks in a low voice through the dim light.

“Aren’t you supposed to be playing at the Gaslight tonight?” you retort, brow raised.

He shrugs. “Might have had a few too many an’ said some things. Might’ve gotten thrown out.”

“Mmm,” you appraise him. He just looks the same way you feel; ridiculously tired. Exhausted. “Might’ve told my date I had to use the restroom but… maybe didn’t mention I meant the one at my house.”

“That bad?” Despite his snort, Llewyn sounds genuinely curious.

You sigh as you flop down on the couch and hold up the takeout bag. “I’d rather not talk about it. You wanna help me eat this?”

In an instant he’s on the couch next to you and you hand him some plastic utensils and a napkin. You get up and grab two beers. For a while you just focus on eating, passing containers back and forth with occasional comments about the food. Your knees bump sometimes as you each reach for different containers or your drinks.

“So what happened?”

You stab a piece of chicken a bit more forcefully than necessary. “I said I don’t want to talk about it. It was a stupid idea to go on a blind date.”

“Kind of a stupid idea to go on a date at all,” Llewyn replies softly.

“What.” It’s not really a question. You definitely don’t mean it as a question and you vaguely think about throwing an egg roll at him but that would be an honest waste of decent takeout.

“I know what the problem is,” he continues in a normal voice. “It’s the fourteenth.”

You look at him with a raised brow. He has an odd look on his face and you wait a beat before asking, “Okay? And?”

Llewyn also waits a beat before replying and points at you with his fork, a green bean stabbed on the end. You lean forward and pluck it off with your teeth. He needs a moment to clear his throat before he can go on. “It’s the fourteenth,” he repeats. “Don’t know if you noticed, but...well..weird things seem to keep happening. On the fourteenth. Of every month.”

“Huh.” He’s right, now that you think about it. You stab your food again. “What do you think that means?”

Llewyn looks like he wants to say something, like he’s going to say something, but instead he just shrugs. You put the container down and lean back on the couch, swinging your feet into Llewyn’s lap.

He idly strokes your ankles as his expression grows serious. “I think it means we should not go out on any fourteenths, ever. Just to be safe.”

You poke him with your big toe. “You’re an idiot. There are things that can happen inside. There are things that have happened inside.”

A smirk creeps through his beard. “Shit, you’re right. One-a your crappy novels might fall off the shelf and crack me on the skull.” He pauses. “More run-ins with wildlife? Oh! I know. Squirrels, but this time, in the walls.”

“That’s not funny!” you try to poke him again and dissolve into giggles as he tickles your foot. Your combined laughter ricochets off the living room walls before dissipating back into silence.

This time, you’re clearing your throat before being able to continue. “It’s been a day. I’m gonna go take a hot bath.” You get up and walk down the hall to the bathroom.

“Please don’t fall asleep in the tub!” he calls after you. “Don’t forget what day it is.”

Idiot.

After your bath, you head to the bedroom and find Llewyn passed out on top of the covers. He has a key, and he stays over far more often than not nowadays, and even though he’s been told numerous times since the broken couch that it’s okay if he’d rather sleep in a bed, you don’t mind sharing, he rarely takes you up on that offer. Okay, so this is the first time since the broken couch that he’s even sort of taken up the offer.

It’s been a weird day.

You grab a quilt and curl up on the other side of the bed, pulling it over both of you and snuggling down into your pillow.

“I wonder what happens on the next fourteenth,” you yawn mutter into the darkness of the room.

You’re asleep, so you can’t notice that Llewyn isn’t, really, and he rolls to face away from you and whispers, “Yeah, me too.”

February 14

The air inside the Gaslight is thick with smoke that coils and kinks around the dim lights on the walls and the candles on the tables. Someone at the end of the bar calls out for a straight bourbon, which you pour and pass down. The sound system shrieks with feedback for three painful seconds as Pappi flips the power on.

You glance back behind the bar, making sure the bottles are stocked and the glasses are ready. Another night at the Gaslight is about to start, and Llewyn isn’t playing tonight, and he hasn’t shown up yet, which is strange.

Another thing that’s strange? This weird feeling of déjà vu. Whatever, you’ve been working more nights at the club recently, and they’re all starting to blend together.

“Your friend’s out back,” Pappi’s voice breaks into your thoughts as he sidles up to the bar and leans back on it.

“My friend?” you ask, confused.

Pappi shrugs. “Said he was a friend of yours. Dark curly hair, worn corduroy jacket, always looks tired or pissed off or both.”

Your expression doesn’t change. “Wait, why is...did he get the crap kicked out of him again?”

“Nah,” Pappi shakes his head. “At least, maybe not yet. Anyway, I dunno, he just asked me to tell you he was outside. I don’t know what the hell he’s up to.” He nods his head towards the back exit and turns to tend to the bar.

Strange.

You duck your head out the door and glance up and down the alley. You see nothing except the usual debris; trash containers, the dumpster, the rusty drain pipes that run down from the gutters, weathered fire escapes. Something skitters off at the far end and disappears between the buildings. Was that a raccoon?

You snort a laugh as you recall Llewyn’s jab about wildlife run-ins. It would be something that happens, in a dark alley behind a basket house in Greenwich Village on the fourteenth of…

Oh. It is the fourteenth.

“Hey,” a familiar voice calls from the head of the alley.

Llewyn stands there, leaning against the brick, dark curls and worn corduroy and all. He holds a single yellow rose in his hands. He looks incredibly nervous, enough to match you looking incredibly confused.

You step fully outside and the door clicks shut behind you. “Hi?”

“Uhm, this is for you,” he says, awkwardly holding the rose out. “Saw a guy selling ‘em a few blocks down, thought you might like it.”

“Thank you? But what’s the occasion?” Why is everything coming out as a question? Even that.

He bites his lip. “You don’t know what today is?”

“Yeah, it’s the four---” Oh. Oh.

“You wanna get out of here? Have dinner with me, maybe?” Llewyn rubs the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen him done countless times, usually when he’s thinking about something serious and… Oh.

You twirl the rose in your fingertips and don’t quite meet his eyes. “I thought you said maybe we shouldn’t go out any fourteenths.”

He chuckles. “Yeah, well. Um, I don’t know if you also noticed, along with this whole fourteenth business, but I...I really like spending time with you, just hanging out with you, and...I don’t know. Maybe it’s stupid, but I thought maybe we could, y’know, have a non-weird fourteenth day of the month for a change.”

He’s rambling and it’s adorable. You hum softly. “...on Valentine’s Day.”

Llewyn’s hands twitch in his pockets. “Well...yeah. I mean, I like spending time with you, but...I also like you. So why not?”

He has a point. And really, now that one of you has said it out loud, you really can’t deny it. All the time spent together, all the shared meals and drinks and late-night talks on the couch and letting him basically move into your apartment...it’s no secret, you realize, it never really was, how close you’ve become over the past many months. How easy it is with him. How natural it is.

All the times he helped you. All the times you helped him. All the times you were together, just being.

The fourteenth of the month be damned.

You pretend to think about it for a little longer than necessary as Llewyn watches you anxiously. “Well, I do have to work, you know.”

“I already asked your boss,” he shakes his head, “and he was more than willing to agree. Something about not getting a black eye on your behalf tonight.”

Your laugh rings out into the street. “But it is the fourteenth. What if one of us gets food poisoning or chokes on dessert or something?”

“Vomit doesn’t bother me and I know the Heimlich,” he smirks. “And I’m already asking you out in a dark alley in the Village, how much weirder can it get?”

“You make a fair point, Llewyn Davis.”

He extends an elbow and a hopeful smile.

If he notices, as he brushes his lips on your knuckles as you take his offered arm, that your breath catches and your heart rate increases, he doesn’t let on.

But later that night, as he trails kisses along your jaw and down your neck and asks you what you want to do on the next fourteenth, well, Llewyn Davis definitely notices then.

~end~

#llewyn davis #llewyn davis x reader #valentine's fic exchange #oscar fandom fic exchange #samrockweil

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blueprint-han · 4 years ago

Text

a musical encounter.

pairing: music major senior!han x music major junior!reader

genre: university (?? idk) au; fluff.

⇥ warnings: very terribly™ written by a person who has a -8.9 knowledge in music, also the singing parts are not very well described and this may seem incomplete because i’m trying to force teach myself to write short, but oh well 🤧 I wanna write a longer fic based on this in the future hhhhhhhh. me after writing this fic: wow i really clowned myself at “short fic” didn’t I 🤡 also not proofread so be mindful of errors and google autocorrect <//3

word count: 1.7 K 🤡

⇥ disclaimer: this writing does not aim to represent the activities of the real Han Jisung, nor does it represent JYPE in any form. Events are pure fiction. ♡

type: blurb drabble 😭 (why can I never write sh0rt hmph >:( )

network tag: @stayverse @districtninewriters @inkidz + @sunoo-luvs

part of: the url drabble game; requested by @missinghan :’’) (requests for this are closed now!)

!!; song y/n is imagined to sing here is ‘Freedom 90, the Pitch Perfect Version (of course, with pre added acappella). You may find the song here, if you wanna listen to it. hhhhhh this is based on my rusty research about music equipment (which may be wrong) so if this is not what it’s supposed to mean please go easy on me. 😂

↯ note: hhhhh okay so this one has no direct mention or relation to your url but I rather picked it up from your url ~vibes~ (since the only idea that was dropping into my head was making han go missing ufhurg) so I hope you don’t mind ! Hope you like it uwu 💓 Happy reading. <3 Again this will not compare to your writing queen, but I tried. 😔 ⇥ dawn.☀️

“Gosh, this is a music recording, not a date — what’s there to be scared about?” Your friend chided, setting up the mic and the filter as you panicked behind the glass. “You’re a music major! Isn’t this supposed to be what you do?”

“You’re saying that like you aren’t one, and you totally didn’t freak out two days ago, Sana.”

Sana huffed, shaking her head before moving to connect all the wires in place. “Yeah. but…” Her voice came out low when she crouched down to fix all the wires. “The nerves shake off eventually. You’ve nothing to worry. Did you hydrate?”

“I’ve been sipping on this water bottle for the past half an hour!” You sighed, walking inside the booth to stand next to your friend. “And what do you mean ‘shake off’ — you mean that time you ‘accidentally’ broke the headphones when you wear putting them on?” A bite of your lip to stifle your laugh, and Sana’s mouth dropped open in disbelief.

“Wow, you’re gonna-” She slapped your arm after getting up. “-bring that up even though we had an agreement that we’re gonna keep it a secret?”

“Okay, ouch that hurts!” You chortled. “There’s no one here though, I still kept my promise.”

“Yeah right, in a rented schoolroom studio, with cameras everywhere.”

“They still wouldn’t be able to hear me, right?” You pointed out, bursting into a fit of giggles, nervousness be damned when Sana pouted in defeat.

“Fine, now help me set this up. Come onnnnn…” Your friend shook your arm violently to kick you out of your laughter. You shook your head, crouching over again to fix the wires while your friend set up all the equipment outside the booth.

“All set?”

“Yeah…” You took a deep breath fixing your dress up a bit before reaching your hand out, fitting the headphones snug over your ears. Your eyes caught on something black lying on the tables, and you pointed it out.

“Whose headphones are those?” You pointed out, and Sana looked to the direction. “Eh,” she brushed it off. “Probably the person who’d received this room to record before, they’ll take care of it.” You tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear, nodding. “Now come on, let’s start. We have to submit this tomorrow and I have a movie date, so it can’t get later than this.”

“Alright,” You chimed, clearing your throat once, twice before inhaling deeply. You were surely nervous before, but somehow singing always helped you disconnect from your surroundings, it was your escape — one of the main reason you’d chosen music technology in a heartbeat when you found out it was an option for your major.

“Ready? And, go.”

Sana hit a button, causing soft music to play through the headphones, a melody she’d carefully crafted over nights of 3 am coffee and many, many texts to you — most of them saying “I wanna sleeeepppppp waaaaa”. You’d obviously heard it before but you realised why it took her so long (nearly a week), because it was near perfection.

“Heaven knows I was just a young boy~”

The song went pretty smoothly on the most part, with Sana stopping you in between verses and and going over parts she wanted you to repeat, which you gladly complied. She was the senior, of course.

When it cam down to the last verse, about half an hour had passed — and you felt pretty good about it. your vocals were shining pretty well and blended with the music perfectly, which put you at ease.

“Okay, let’s finish this.” Sana said, focused on changing up the settings, before giving you a countdown, hitting play. You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath as you waited for the beat drop to end, leading to your high note. That again. went pretty well, along with the rest of the song, finishing it up with an exhale.

When you removed the headphones and got out of the booth — you met the eyes of someone you did not expect to see standing there.

“O-Oh, hello Han-ssi.” You bowed down in gratitude, overly surprised of his presence.

Han was, just like Sana, your senior. He was one of the best students in your academy — of course, scoring the highest grade in all of his tests. Many would say otherwise because of his tsundere nature, but you could tell that he had a burning passion for music under those eyes. You’d listened to his tracks in various events your university hosted — and safe to say you were in love with his music. He had a way of making his tracks sound so… real? And natural — the kind that you wouldn’t get bored of no matter how many times you heard it.

Han bowed back and mumbled a silent “hello~” back to you before extending hia hand past you to grab the headphones placed on the table. Ohhh, so that’s why they were familiar. You’d noticed them hanging around his neck multiple times on campus.

Once he’d chatted with Sana and you for a bit (more Sana than you) and bowed before he left, you grabbed Sana’s arm before pulling her towards yourself.

“How long was he here for?” You whispered, a pout on your face.

“Umm, I think throughout the last verse?” Sana shrugged.

“What?” Your shoulders slumped. “Didn’t he come to pick up his headphones?”

“Are you seriously getting flustered right now?” Your friend narrowed her eyes playfully, making a teasing noise as she pushed at your shoulder.

“Ah,” You rolled your eyes. “Stop being so teasing, I’m just a little shy of anyone else hearing my singing.” You flapped your hand to brush her statement away — before she could say something or point it out how evidently flustered you’d grown of the fact that your role model — the Han Jisung — had listened to your music.

“Well, you’re a music major, kid. Get used to it.”

And with that, Sana bid her goodbye to you, helping you wrap up the place before hopping down the stairs, earphones plugged into her ears as she hummed a tune all the way.

You silently stood in front of the elevator, playing with the hem of your sleeves as you waited for it to arrive. Curse at your studios for being on the last floor of the building, waiting for the elevator seemed like an eternity.

You also didn’t notice the random person that stood beside you. it was getting late anyways, the sun was almost close to setting by the time you were done, so it was only obvious that the remaining students would go home.

“So, you sing?” A very familiar sounding voice echoed in your ears, and you flipped your head to the side, once again meeting the eyes of someone you didn’t expect to meet right now.

And of course, if was Han Jisung.

Now that you weren’t freaking out (but you were close to), you could focus on him a little more properly, and you immediately noticed the headphones hanging around his neck, again. He had a large black hoodie on, his hands were shoved into his pockets and his hair was neatly combed and parted. If you had to describe him in three words, it’d be “messy but clean”.

“Oh, h-hello again.” You bowed.

“Hi!” He reciprocated your actions, looking at you. “My question?”

“W-what?” Your eyes widened as you fiddled with the edge of your shirt.

“You sing?”

“I-” You started. “I do, I’ve loved singing since I was six.”

“Oh.” Jisung nodded, letting his words trail of for a second. “You sing really well. I listened to that last part of the song — really well done.”

Tensing up, a smile tugged at your lips. “R-really?”

“Yeah,” Jisung chuckled. “You have a pretty voice, Y/N. And that’s a genuine compliment.”

“O-oh.” You felt yourself grow bashful of his presence all of a sudden, your cheeks feeling hot as the heat spread to your cheeks. “Thank you.” You mumbled, diverting your gaze from your eyes as you tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “That’s so sweet of you to say.”

“I mean it.” The boy said, frowning. at the sight in front of him — your eyes drifting from place to place and the way you shifted from one foot to other — you seemed to be uncomfortable, but in reality you just didn’t know how to respond. “You okay?”

“A-ah, I am, it’s just.” Moving your hands around, you tried to put your thoughts into words, only to fail miserably, before you sighed and collected yourself. “I just really like your music a lot, and I…” You trailed off, rubbing at your shoulder. “Kinda look up to you, so hearing you say that, it just means a lot to me. Thank you”

The boy standing beside you beamed like sunshine at your response, gently poking at your shoulder as he eyes you mischievously.

“You look up to me, huh?” He giggled when you stumbled over your words, bringing a hand to rake through his hair. “You’re adorable, I’ll tell you that too.”

“Oh my god stop, do you want me to combust?” You laughed, the nervousness laced throughout your statement.

“Okay fine,” Jisung nodded, attaching his headphones to the audio jack of his phone, rummaging through his playlist. “You wanna come to my studio once?”

“What?” Your head snapped in his direction, eyes widening as you took in what he said, excitement filling your veins? Han Jisung’s studio? Seeing him make music in front of your eyes? Is this a fucking dream?

“I mean, only if you want to, of course. I was just asking because you seemed like you’d like to see my music making process. You don’t have to say yes though.”

“Oh gosh, no, I’d love to!” You yelped, stopping him in his tracks. He smiled gently, nodding at you as he scratched his chin in thought.

“So, tomorrow morning is fine?” He looked at you with almost, almost pleading eyes, and you felt like your heart melted into a puddle on the spot. He was cute.

You smiled, shyly nodding as you quickly went through your schedule in your head. “I can work with that.”

“See you tomorrow morning then.” The elevator chimed, the doors sliding open as the both of you got in, giggling at each other.

You couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning, that was for sure.

*silently puts on clown hat and leaves*

↯ note: 🕯️ ignore me this is just a small prayer that tumblr doesn’t make me battle the tags yet again 🕯️ may the tumblr gods be in my favor atleast this once ;-; 🕯️ ⇥ dawn.☀️

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wlntrsldler · 4 years ago

Text

unrequited (draco malfoy/ cedric diggory series)

PROMPT: You and Cedric grew up together. After the tragedy of the Triwizard Tournament, you’re left feeling empty without your best friend. Draco Malfoy steps into the picture. Will the feelings be reciprocated? Or will it be unrequited?

WARNINGS: MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, angst, fluff, sadness???

PAIRING: draco malfoy x reader and cedric diggory x reader; hufflepuff reader

WC: 2.2K+

UNREQUITED MASTERLIST

PART 6

You walked past Myrtle’s lavatory, expecting her to be alone. You slowed down once you heard her sweet voice in the midst of a conversation with someone else. You heard Draco’s voice, panicked and erratic, ranting to Myrtle about the letter he received from his father a few days ago. You didn’t know Draco knew of Myrtle, much less be friends with the ghost.

“Myrtle,” You heard Draco say. He ran his fingers through his blond hair, eyes struck with terror. He dropped his head in his hands, voice muffled by his palms, but not to the point where you could no longer hear him. “They want me to become one of them and I-” He took in a sharp breath, looking up at the ghost who was working to console him. “I don’t think I can do it.”

“So don’t do it, Draco.” She offered, not truly understanding the extent of his task.

“It’s not that simple.” Draco didn’t tell her the full truth, in fear that he might lose the only friend he’s made in Hogwarts. It was odd, their friendship, but somehow it worked out for the best. “I can’t disappoint my family.”

Draco stumbled upon Myrtle in his first year, ashamed that Harry rejected his offer of friendship. It shouldn’t have mattered to him as much as it did but it was his first encounter with the people he was going to spend years of his life with and he already managed to mess it up. His mother had placed a kiss on his temple before he left for Hogwarts, reminding him that he’ll be alright. He missed her terribly, his mother. She was the only one who showed him love all his life.

His mother and father would argue downstairs, loud and booming voices shaking the portraits mounted on their walls. The house was large, abnormally large for their small family. Draco would try to distract himself in his bedroom with Dobby the House Elf. He played games with the elf, trying to preserve as much of a childhood as he could while his parents screamed bloody murder below him. Dobby would offer a sincere smile, placing a hand over young Draco’s shoulder in comfort. Draco would feel bad whenever Dobby showed him kindness, always vividly remembering how he would mistreat Dobby in front of his father. The elf didn’t seem to mind.

When he got to Hogwarts, he got tired of the Slytherin boys quickly. All of them kissed the ground he walked on, trying to get on his good side so they’ll have the honor to say that they’re associated with the Malfoys in one way. Draco hated it. He just wanted a friend, not followers. But he realized it would have to do for now. He’s bound to make friends somehow, right?

The adventurous child he was, he explored Hogwarts on his own. That’s when he found the abandoned lavatory, closed off from students. He walked in, hoping to get some peace and quiet, humming the tune his mother used to sing to him when he was a child. He walked around, playing with the knobs and switches he found inside before being startled by Myrtle emerging from one of the toilets.

At first Draco was defensive, refusing to be friends with a ghost, but when Myrtle offered him friendship, his lonely heart couldn’t help but accept. Draco taught her the song he was humming after Myrtle expressed her enjoyment of it. He spent the rest of the day there, talking to Myrtle about how he missed his mother and how all he wanted was one friend.

During the second week of his first year, he saw you. That’s the first time you caught his eye. You were sitting beside a boy- whom Draco later learns is Cedric Diggory- smiling and laughing at a joke the boy told. He thought you were beautiful. Yellow was your color.

He tried to look for you in his classes and was disheartened when he realized you were in none of his. So every night, without fail, he would search for your shining smile throughout the Great Hall. Even just a glimpse of you would make Draco’s day. He would never admit it but even at a young age, he knew he wanted to be with you.

But of course, you were in love with Cedric Diggory. Everyone could see that and Draco knew he had no chance of being with you, not that he would ever put himself out there like that. Him with a half-blood Hufflepuff? His father would throw a fit. So Draco knew what he needed to do- admire you from afar.

Over the years, Draco started to visit Myrtle less and less; not because he found friends of his own but because people started noticing the absence of the Slytherin prince more often. He did try to visit Myrtle at least twice a month, especially when he was growing tired of putting up the Malfoy facade he had to wear. He would tell Myrtle about the girl he was smitten with, never letting your name slip out of his lips once. She would giggle, not taking the young boy’s declarations too seriously. Draco was happy for that, oddly enough. He was afraid that if Myrtle ever encouraged him to go after you, he’d do exactly that and end up with a broken heart. He wasn’t ready for that, knowing his heart wasn’t near being whole yet.

He didn’t speak to you for the first few years, never having the right excuse to do so. However, in your fourth year you started to befriend the Trio. It gave him the opportunity to talk to you. He knew he would seem suspicious if he was rude to the Trio but spared you from the insults so he decided to pick on you too. He always did try to keep it fairly mild, opting to call you a “pathetic Hufflepuff,” which is significantly nicer than what he called your friends.

But when you all weren’t looking, Draco stared at you longingly. He looked at the Trio, jealous of their bond and loyalty towards each other. Sometimes he wonders if things would’ve been different if he just didn’t let his father’s smug voice do the talking for him the first time he met Harry. He looks at them, seeing the life that he wishes he had- maybe the life he could’ve had if he wasn’t a Malfoy. He would turn his head and see you and Cedric, love practically shooting out of your eyes. Draco would drop his head in envy, wishing that he was worthy enough to feel such love. Maybe not today, he would reassure himself to stop the tears, but maybe one day.

Soon, he would repeat that to himself.

When he found out Diggory died, a part of him was relieved. He liked to think that was the side he got from his father. He wasn’t that heartless. He wasn’t heartless at all. But he can’t lie and say he mourned for the Hufflepuff boy because he didn’t. He barely knew Cedric, the Golden Boy. He never even spoke to him directly. Draco didn’t feel the need to mourn.

But when he saw you the following day, hobbling out of Hogwarts, his heart broke into pieces. You left the year early, unable to stay on the grounds without bursting into tears. He began to think of you and the pain it must’ve caused you. No, Draco wasn’t heartless.

He saw you the next year, standing in the garden in a robe too big. It was the first time he saw you since that day. His heart gave out on him. The girl he knew barely there. You were just a shell of her, walking around aimlessly through life. The look of love in your eyes was replaced with emptiness. It was almost as if they changed colors, sucking the life out of you. You were wearing Cedric’s robe, he was sure of it. He let you go that night, knowing Umbridge was the last thing you needed to deal with.

“Draco?” Myrtle called again, waving her hand in front of his face. “Are you there?”

He regained his train of thought, “Sorry?”

“I said just play it by ear, then.” She repeated. “See what happens when you get back home this summer.”

You decided to walk in, having done enough creeping for the day. “Draco? Myrtle?”

Draco snapped up, grabbing his wand to point it at you. He lowered his hand when he realized it was you, “Merlin, Y/N. Don’t scare people like that.”

“Sorry,” You replied sheepishly. “Didn’t mean to startle you.”

He tried his best to avoid you since Potions, not knowing what to do now that he’s faced with a realization. Draco didn’t know if he loved you. How could he when he had no model of comparison? He’s never known what love was. All he knew was that he felt something in his chest every time he saw you, no matter how hard he tried to ignore it. The day in Potions when he smelled you in his Amortentia was an awakening for him. Maybe he did love you… but it wasn’t like he knew how to deal with that, much less act on it.

He looked at you, the blush on his cheeks spreading down to his neck, as Myrtle’s wondering eyes flickered between the two of you. “It’s alright. What are you doing here?”

You smiled shyly, pointing up at Myrtle. “Wanted to talk to my friend but I see she’s a bit preoccupied.”

“Nonsense, I was just on my way out.” Draco shook his head, making his way out the door. “I’ll talk to you soon Myrtle.”

As he was half-way out of the door, Myrtle called out for him. He turned around to respond. She gave him a look as if to ask, “Is this her?” He merely nodded, ducking his head to prevent you from seeing the blush on his cheeks. He waved a small goodbye and walked out of the lavatory.

You let your eyes linger at the spot where Draco last stood. Once you peeled your eyes away, you grinned at Myrtle, who returned the favor.

“What’s going on, Y/N?” She asked. You could tell her focus has been split between you and whatever her and Draco were talking about before your interruption. You couldn’t blame her, you seemed to have forgotten your reason for searching for her.

You shrugged, “Just wanted to say hello.”

“Well, hello, Y/N.” She replied, still only half there. She began to float around the lavatory, staring out the windows.

You sat on the floor, watching her. Cedric’s journal was placed on your lap, waiting to be opened. You looked down at it and flipped to the page where you last left off. You’ve been reading it quite a bit since the first day you did. It was comforting, having a piece of him still with you. A piece that was authentically him, not just something you fabricated in his death. It was actually a part of him. You didn’t need to search too far.

You’ve gotten to the part before your first year at Hogwarts. He spent the day comforting you as you cried to him, worried that you’d be placed in a house different from him. Or worse, a house that reflected your family history. You didn’t want that. Cedric held you in his arms and told you that you’re a Hufflepuff, no matter what anyone says or what history wrote. You were a Hufflepuff.

You scanned the page, noting some lines that caught your attention:

“Y/N got sorted as a Hufflepuff. I knew she would.”

“My best friend is at Hogwarts with me. Life just got so much better.”

“I’m taking her to the secret passageway tonight. I hope she likes it.”

You thought about the first time Cedric took you there. You were a goody-two-shoes, to say the least. You were worried someone was going to catch you out there late at night but he assured you that you’d both be alright. You sat beside him, admiring him as he picked wildflowers from the area beside you. He gave them to you, tucking one behind your right ear, then doing the same to himself. You giggled at his action and rolled the lone flower between the pads of your fingers.

He sighed, wrapping an arm around your body as you laid your head on his shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here.”

“Me too, Ced.”

You were pulled out of your thoughts when Myrtle situated herself beside you. She hummed a familiar tune as she made her rounds in the room. A switch flipped in your brain, suddenly remembering where you heard Draco’s song before. Myrtle was humming it the day you met her.

“Myrtle?” You asked.

“Mhm?”

“Was Draco the friend that taught you that song?”

“Indeed.”

“I didn’t know you two were friends.” You admitted, a little shocked at what you found out today.

“Like I told you before Y/N,” She said, a sad smile playing on her lips. “A lot of lonely souls find their way to me.”

TAGLIST IS OPEN! SEND AN ASK!

@melancholiaflowers @jjjmaybank @marshxx @truly-insatiable @poisoned-pineapple @i-mmunity @p0gue420 @dark-night-sky-99 @hvrcruxes

#harry potter #harry potter fanfic #harry potter series #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fanfic #draco malfoy series #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x yn #cedric diggory x reader #cedric diggory fanfic #cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory #cedric diggory series #cedric diggory x yn #unrequited fic #frances writes

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wolf-and-bard · 4 years ago

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All The Way Down

Pairing: Geralt/Eskel

Word Count: 1.6k

Rating: Teen and Up.

Notes: No warnings (though one mention of blood.) Named after the song by Biffy Clyro. Will also post on AO3. Enjoy! :)

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In every cohort he trains, Vesemir is bound to pick favourites. It isn't something he tries to actively do nor avoid, it is a whim of human nature, something the mutations haven't touched. They may have even enhanced it, his compassion for the younger ones that expresses itself in rigorous instruction and knowledge for treats. In practice it doesn’t matter how or why, it doesn’t matter who. He’s long accepted it.

With every handful of favourites, comes a knot of anxiety at sending them off on the Path for the first time. Usually, they are the most ambitious and skilled of the bunch and Vesemir isn't worried for their survival, it's just that the brightest tend to carry the heaviest burdens too. This trend is something he first noticed with himself and his friends (of which none now live) and it wove through the generations like an invisible thread. With the two witchers he is most apprehensive to let go this year, the matter is more complicated though.

Eskel is dutiful, honour-bound, does not mourn his earlier life. Geralt is idealistic, determined and, with twice the mutations, eerily deathly. They are the prime of their cohort and will represent the school well. Vesemir is afeared nonetheless because there has been one thing both have never managed to go without: each other. Not a day has passed that the two have not spend adjoined by the hip. In training, in meditation, in class, in sleep. They do not seem concerned at the prospect of separation, but Vesemir knows them better than they yet know themselves. They will suffer for it and badly.

Alas, there is little he can give them other than the instincts he drilled into their bone matter, a few well-meant words of advice. And then they are off and he waits for winter to call them back home.

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Geralt is not a month from Kaer Morhen when his sword first meets a foe. He comes upon a group of bandits that hold a girl and her father, one of them trying to get up her dress. No monster bred by magic or mutation in sight, but one constructed from hatred and lust. Geralt intervenes. It feels grand and heroic and right. He knows this isn't the kind of altruism he was raised towards, can hear Vesemir's gentle chiding in his mind, but he feels called out, called by Destiny perhaps.

"Time for you to meet a real man," the swine spits at the girl.

"Time for you to meet a real man," Geralt replies with a growl and ends the man’s miserable existence. He thinks himself terribly witty. Eskel would have laughed his ass off.

As Geralt wipes specks of blood and vomit from his cheeks, the other bandits flee, so does the girl's father. Geralt wants to help her up, but she scrambles away from him, faints. And being a hero is the last thing on Geralt's mind. He ploughs on, dives head-first into what will prove to be the hardest year of his life to date. It's ugly all the way down.

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Eskel walks through his first year as if through a story plucked straight from the codices, bestiaries and journals in Kaer Morhen’s library. It is contract, haggle, monster, coin, rinse and repeat. No hitches, no trip-ups. No angry mobs that try to trick him out of his money, no prejudiced villagers that come after him with stakes and torches. Lords invite him to dine at their table, prostitutes accept him into their beds, children ask him to play chase with him. Eskel finds himself with a grin that doesn’t waver. He is the hero he and Geralt promised each other to be.

But he isn't stupid, he knows it won’t always be this breezy, this noble and proper. The scars and horrors will find him because there is no routine for witchers, no job security, no bright future. His shoulders are light when he treads the path up to Kaer Morhen, his head empty. Eskel grin has eased into a smile of easy anticipation and it's only when he arrives in the keep and Geralt isn't there that he understands that the year hasn't been easy at all. He's just been outstanding in his denial.

"It may not be unusual for a witcher not to return," Vesemir says under his breath which puffs between them and Eskel rubs his own biceps, bare, sweaty from a brawling tournament he held with his other brothers. “But it just doesn’t happen with first-years. And Geralt, he-“

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Geralt is late and Vesemir finds himself prowling the battlements even when the others tell him there's no chance he will make it up the passes now that the snow has started to fall and, anyway, it's not unusual for a witcher not to return. Eskel is with him most days and they keep waiting.

“Will be fine,” Eskel cuts in and Vesemir catches his gaze. The young wolf will accept no other truth. So Vesemir trusts.

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At the end of the bridge, half-veiled by the shadow the archway throws, stands a young witcher with a wobbly smile and open arms. Geralt drops his pack and sinks into them without hesitation. From then on, a cascade of dry sobs loosens inside of his chest and burst forth to die against the skin of Eskel’s neck. Eskel holds him. And holds him. And holds him.

“Esk,” Geralt rasps at last. There are so many words he wants to say. I’m sorry, I needed you, I need you, I hated every day without you. What comes out is something else entirely. “I failed.”

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Later, when Geralt is bathed and fed, acknowledged by his peers and lectured by Vesemir on the perilous journey up the mountain this late into the year, they sit in front of the fire. Geralt’s tucked into Eskel’s embrace once more and though the flames spew heat and Eskel is all around him, his teeth still chatter. He suspects the cold will be slow to dissolve, will cling sticky and viscose like resin to his limbs until Eskel’s done enough rubbing it off. He tries to meld with Eskel’s body, but to no avail, at least not until they talked. Neither of them has ever been big on starting conversations and yet, there is no need to prompt Eskel. Even spending the last months apart, they still know each other, inside and out.

Geralt drags himself over the bridge more than walking across it. The sheen of ice that encloses the wooden planks sing under his heavy bootfalls, cracks and splinters and hums a song of welcome Geralt has been waiting all year to hear. He got waylaid by a nasty basilisk bite that had him sleep in a thicket for a week straight and when he opened his eyes, the frost was already being chased by snow. But he is here now. Kaer Morhen looms proudly, glittering under a wintry sun and from inside, smoke and laughter pour into the hostile mountain atmosphere.

“I don’t mind the work part so much,” Eskel says and Geralt neither agrees nor disagrees. His sample is spoiled, he knows only one thing about the Path for sure and he waits for Eskel to arrive at that crucial point. “I really don’t, it’s what we were made for.” He lets that hang for a bit, threading his fingers through Geralt’s hair again, and again until the tangles dissolve and with them the bitter taste on Geralt’s tongue. Eskel sighs and his grip tightens and yes, Geralt thinks, yes, this is what��s been missing – not that he didn’t have some inkling all along – the comfort and warmth and steady brick wall that is Eskel wrapped around him in a cocoon of affection. More of that than either of them could ever feel for his other contemporaries.

“But?” he rasps and Eskel stiffens when Geralt lets his lips brush against his neck. Relaxes again, his own lips tracing Geralt’s part.

“But I mind your absence. It wasn’t until very late that I understood how much. I thought it would pass, this pull we feel, thought it would flatten out. I thought the winters would suffice.”

“They won’t,” Geralt says simply.

“No, I don’t think they will,” Eskel replies, some melancholy tinging his tone. “But we’ve drawn our lots.”

“Destiny drew them for us.”

“Doesn’t matter now.” Eskel’s hand wanders, and his fingers catch Geralt’s chin, beckoning him away from his neck and to an angle that has them face each other. “The point is the winters have to suffice. I’d rather be a witcher and have you for one season than not know you at all.”

Geralt feels himself splinter apart under Eskel’s eyes. They bore into his soul and lay bare all his shortcomings and missteps. Surely, his brother must see them. Surely, he must judge.

“I’m not good,” Geralt says. The words are off-kilter and fall into the steadily dwindling space between their lips.

“Don’t tell me the Path has made you self-aware,” Eskel snorts and a smile tugs on his mouth. “I know what you are and what you are not.”

“I promised you to be good.”

“Then be good to me,” Eskel murmurs and closes the gap with a feathery press of his lips that Geralt leans into immediately. Geralt’s lids flutter when they part and they remain close so that either needs but to tilt his head to reconnect. Turns out, he was wrong. The ice on his limbs just evaporated.

“That would be enough?” he asks.

“It would.”

#the witcher #witcher #tw3 #geralt of rivia #geralt #eskel #gerskel #geralt x eskel #angst #hurt #comfort #young witchers #kaer morons #vesemir #this works with any conception of them if you're curious no mentions of hair color or whatever #my writing

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homebody-nobody · 4 years ago

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you’re a part of me

(WHAT?? Jax wrote ANOTHER fic?? THREE FICS?? in TWO WEEKS?? I know, I’m shocked too. We’re gettin closer and closer to bein a Real Fic Writer lads.) How many juke first kiss fics will you write, Jax? all of them. as many as I want. I dunno. you're an adult obsessed with a tweeny-bopper show. shut up. who even has the patience for 5 +1s in this house it's 3 +1 and only barely bc I don't know how structured fic works so it's not even separate like it's supposed to be. anyway enjoy some dumb teenagers falling in love if the dialogue is cringe sorry lol I was trying to stay in the tone of the show and may have gone a little bit too disney channel (Also if you see typos/the same adjective used twice in one sentence/paragraph, no you didn't I don't edit it makes me nervous) ------------------------------- (ao3) ------------------------------ '... Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.'

(3 times Julie and Luke almost kissed and 1 time they did) ------------------------------------ Luke is overly physical. Theoretically, Julie already knew this. She’s seen him with the boys, the way he lives in other people’s space, hanging off Reggie and lurking next to Alex, not caring where his lanky limbs or knees or elbows end up, even if it’s in other people’s ribs. He was never like that with her, too afraid of the crushing disappointment that came when she phased through his hands. But now, there isn’t the strange, tingles-up-her neck way-weird, way-wrong sensation that came when she accidentally brushed through him. So even though Julie’s used to keeping a respectful distance, Luke has thrown out any semblance of personal space. He orbits around her just as closely as the others, no longer threatened by or hyper-aware of the consequences of his proximity. Basically, he’s getting entirely too comfortable.

She notices it the first time during rehearsal, when they’re hashing out the particulars of a melody -- Luke wants it to go down, and Julie thinks it should go up. She plunks herself down at the grand piano to prove that her idea will sound better, fanning the half-finished sheet music out across the top, pointing out the measure they’re arguing over, smudged and crinkled from repeated erasings.

Luke narrows his eyes at her from across the room, his face set in his trademark (adorable) grumpy expression. “It just sounds better!” she argues. “Listen.” She puts her hands on the keys, left hand hitting the chord, right dancing over her proposed melody. “So please, keep chasing me…” she sings, building to the last word and sliding her voice over an intricate run ending in a step up. Looking up, she tilts her head, her wild hair piled into a tenuous bun, curly tendrils framing her face. Luke’s stomach does an interesting flip. “See?”

He stands up, swinging his guitar strap down across his chest before walking around her, putting his right hand over where hers had just been on the paper. He stands just behind her shoulder, sending goosebumps down her spine. “It should go down,” he insists. “It’ll flow better with the next line and then the break before the chorus makes more sense. Listen.” He puts his foot up on the bench and swings his guitar back up like it's an extension of him, playing a riff and singing the line they’re arguing about before dipping in to the next. “So please keep chasing me,” he sings, his voice gracefully stepping up and then back down, “Cause even though I’m runnin’, I know you’re the one I need.”

“You’re making it too simple!” she cries, slamming her hands down in her lap and turning to face him. She opens her mouth to continue the argument, but when she looks at him, she starts, finally realizing just how close he is. The toe of his sneaker brushes her leg, and he leans over the sheet music, closing her in against the piano. His dark eyebrows pull together, mouth slightly pinched as he concentrates, solid and strong and very much in her space. “Um --” she says.

He shrugs, shaking his head a little bit. “What,” he says, not understanding what she’s having a problem with. Julie’s eyes drop to his mouth, close and stupid kissable, and he notices the motion. The air crackles as both of them unconsciously draw closer, song forgotten, focused only on each other. Luke leans in, half an inch, and Julie’s breath hitches in her chest. This is stupid. She knows this is stupid. Luke is dead. Full ghost. Not real. Well, real, but not a viable option. He might have a physical presence now -- a very strong, very warm, very attractive physical presence -- but that doesn’t make him any more possible. And yet, here she is, pulled into him like he has his own gravitational field and she’s helpless to it. Luke licks his lips, and Julie tilts her chin up, fractional motion tiptoeing toward something irreversible and dangerous.

Just as she’s about to step over that uncrossable line, there’s an almighty crash. Both of their heads whip up in time to see Alex topple off his stool -- he’d fallen asleep as they were arguing. The noise wakes Reggie, whose head was lolling against his amp. “I didn’t do it!” he yells, flailing into sitting up straight.

Julie clears her throat and turns back to the keyboard, stretching her hands over the keys. “You’re, uh --” she says, glancing at Luke out of the corner of her eye to find him smirking in an infuriatingly adorable manner. “You’re right. It should go down.” He stands up straight, mildly surprised at his easy victory, and backs off from the piano to show Reggie the chords. They sketch out the verse and Alex adds a backing beat, the moment forgotten.

That is, until Carlos comes in to nag her to eat. Alex poofs out and Reggie dives behind his amp. Since the whole discovering-corporeality thing, they’re not totally sure if Julie’s the only one who can see them still, and they’d rather not have to explain to Julie’s dad what three teenage ‘holograms’ are doing living in his garage. Carlos delivers his message and then darts back inside, eager for dinner, and Julie stands up from the piano, gathering the half-finished song and tucking it into the folder she keeps her in-progress projects in.

Reggie emerges in a comic mess of limbs and grins at her, Alex poofing back on to his stool. “I’ll be back after dinner to finish this,” she says, hoping they don't notice the shake in her hands as she tucks the folder away. Luke pops his chin over the edge of the couch, behind which he’d taken cover.

“Hey Julie!” he calls, and she turns back to look at him. “Just remember; KISS.”

Her brain short-circuits, heart tripping over itself as she remembers his eyes on her, his shoulders and his hands and his stupid concentration face. “I, uh -- What are you --” she sputters.

A shit-eating grin spreads across Luke’s face as he puts his elbows on top of the couch and pushes himself up. “Keep it simple, stupid.”

Julie practically runs out of the garage. Alex raises an eyebrow, his gaze arcing from the door to land on Luke. “That was uh…” Luke schools his expression into one of false innocence. “Bold.” Luke rolls his eyes and brushes him off, but Reggie gives Alex a knowing look. Their friends are idiots.

It happens again one afternoon when Carlos has a baseball game and Julie has the house to herself. Or, so she thinks. She’s lazing around on the couch, avoiding her history homework spread out on the coffee table, Adventure Time babbling on the television. She’s slowly working her way through a bag of gummy bears and m&ms (her favorite candy combination), wearing an enormous hoodie that used to be her mom’s, home alone; life is fantastic. Until --

“Oh, sweet, cartoons!” Luke poofs into existence directly next to her on the couch, and she starts violently enough to shake candy into the couch cushions. Some of it lands on his chest, and he holds up a green gummy bear with a wistful expression. Julie just stares at him, still mildly in shock, definitely still annoyed, and really not in the mood to endure his moping about food when she was having a perfectly nice time by herself.

“Hey,” he says, either ignoring or unaware of what he’s just done to her heart rate and her peaceful afternoon. “You think now that I’m corporeal --” (he over-pronounces the word, having just learned it from Flynn days before) “I can eat like, regular human food?” It isn’t until he looks to her for an answer that he realizes what he’s just done. “Oh, sorry,” he says, that same stupid-ass grin settling on his face, not sorry even a little bit. “Did I spook ya?”

His glee at the pun, which he definitely stole from Reggie, sparkles in his gray-green eyes, and Julie’s heart, which had just started to recover from his sudden appearance, trips over itself one more time. Emerging from the shaken-up snowglobe of her brain, she blurts out her first thought. “You’re the worst,” she says, even while thinking the opposite.

He looks genuinely hurt for about half a second before turning the gummy bear towards her, too, and speaking for it. “You should be nice to Luke,” he says in an absurd voice. “He’s so handsome and talented!” He laughs at his own joke and pitches his voice up to continue with the bit, but she snatches the candy out of his hand and pops into her mouth, grinning. He feigns shock. “That bear could have had a family, Julie.”

“If they did, they’ll all be happy together in my stomach,” she says, eating another one to punctuate the statement. Luke laughs, and the sound has a heart-stopping melody of its own. It’s comfortable, the relationship that they’ve developed with each other. He always laughs at her jokes and is the first to offer her a compliment after rehearsal, and she loves his dorky sense of humor, even when she gives him a hard time about it. They write music and goof around, and even with the (very strong) undercurrent of romantic (she hopes) tension between them, a friendship sits comfortably on top. He’s only been in her life for a short time, but she can’t imagine it without him. Her feelings for him endanger that, so she does her best not to let it show. He asks her what she’s watching, and she explains the basic premise of the episode so that he can understand what’s going on.

She’s hyper-aware of him as they watch the show, and she envies the ease with which he occupies her space, his shoulder brushing hers, their knees occasionally bumping. He slouches all the way down on the couch, one foot kicked up on the table, turning the remote in his hands and messing with the battery cover, completely at home. (He’s always fiddling with something -- a pen, his necklace -- or bouncing his leg, or clicking a guitar pick between his teeth. It’s a habit that’s mostly adorable and only sometimes annoying.) If he notices her staring at him, he doesn’t say anything.

It takes a couple more episodes, but she finally relaxes, and the distance between them -- already spare -- vanishes, her shoulder tucked under his, her head angled toward him, their feet bumping on the table. Half her attention is on Finn and the land of Ooo, and half on the boy beside her, who doesn’t seem to give any indication that he’s thinking about this as much as she is. Luke has a way of pulling her in until she’s closer than she ever planned to be, like she can’t help but touch him. Ever since the night they played the Orpheum, he’s become magnetic, his presence a force she can’t resist. If she tilted her head down, just a fraction, it would be resting on his shoulder. What would he do? Would he shrug her off, or rest his head on hers? She watches his hands play with the remote, imagining what his strong, slender fingers would feel like laced with hers. She’s had crushes before, of course -- she liked Nick all the way from seventh grade up to this year -- but nothing so real and powerful as this.

“Don’t you think Finn sounds just like Reggie?” Luke asks, pulling her from her thoughts. She looks up at him, and he looks down at her, and -- oh.

He’s very close.

His eyes always remind her of an overcast sky, swirling with unknown depth, and they widen when they meet hers, filled with awe. Blood rushes in her ears, muting the TV, tuning out anything that isn’t him. Her heart is beating so hard and so fast she wonders peripherally if he can hear it, and then that thought fizzles out with the rest of any kind of logic when his gaze drops to her mouth. He’s going to kiss her. He’s going to kiss her!! Panic and elation and anticipation all scramble in her chest. She’s never kissed anyone before, and even though she’s never asked, she knows he probably has. What if she’s bad at it? She’s half freaking out and half telling herself to shut the hell up as he turns his entire body towards her, his hand reaching up to hold her face and --

The front door slams open, announcing Carlos and Ray. “Mija!!” her dad calls. Luke jerks back from her like he’s been burned, eyes filled with absolute terror, before he disappears.

“JULIEEEEE!!” Carlos hollers, launching himself across the living room at her and landing on her stomach, knocking the air out of her. Her arms come up around him automatically, despite all the sweat and the diamond dirt sticking to it. Feeling mildly shell shocked and like she’s been hit by a hell of a lot more than her little brother, she barely listens as Carlos and their dad babble over each other in an attempt at telling the story of Carlos’ game-winning home-base slide. She’ll be happy for him once her heart rate slows down.

Luke stays away for almost a full twenty-four hours after that particular mishap, long enough she almost asks Reggie and Alex if he talked to them about it. There’s about a thousand reasons not to, but mostly, she doesn’t know if she can even explain just what happened. She does tell Flynn, who launches into a very confusing monologue that starts with her admonishing Julie for thinking anything good can come from involving herself with a literal ghost and ends with her gushing about how many cute love songs they could write together, zero percent of which makes her feel better.

The only reason he doesn’t continue avoiding her is rehearsal, which, of course, he would never miss. She’s hoping to talk to him before they get started, but then the bus gets stuck in traffic and all of her boys are already set up with their instruments and having an impromptu jam session by the time she gets home. “What --” she hisses as she heaves the doors shut behind her. “Did I tell you guys about playing in here without me?” Alex shrugs and apologizes, and she can’t really be mad at Reggie, at least not for long.

But Luke -- he barely looks at her, nervous fingers dancing across a complicated riff even as the other boys stop playing. It takes a second of silence before he looks up to see the rest of his band staring at him. “Oh,” he says, the phrase ending in the discordant sound of fingernails on steel strings. “Yeah, right. Sorry.”

They get started, but nothing sounds right. Luke rushes the tempo and refuses to make eye contact with anyone, spinning off into fancy riffs that have no place in the song they’re working on. Reggie keeps trying to keep up with him, tripping up Alex and frustrating Julie, and when the song grinds to a cacophonous halt for the fourth time, she stands up from the piano. Reggie takes a step back.

“What is your problem?” she practically yells, stomping over to Luke. He’s been surly and unusually stubborn, and the shift from his usual cheerful, passionate demeanor builds her own stewing anxieties to a dangerous head.

“It’s not my problem you can’t keep up,” he says, and then, after watching the words register in Julie’s expression, immediately regrets it. Alex’s eyebrows shoot up and Reggie makes a very soft ‘ooooohhh’ noise under his breath.

“It’s not keeping up if you can’t hold a steady tempo,” she says, too upset over his refusal to cooperate to catch the reaction from her bandmates.

“Okay, so maybe I was rushing,” he admits, trying to walk it back. But Julie’s on a roll, and once she gets started laying into him, she very rarely lets up.

“Thank you!” she yells, the sarcasm clear in her tone. She’d been especially fond of the product so far, a song she thought embodied the perfect blend of Luke’s harder edge and her singer-songwriter roots. His sudden, uncharacteristic left turn is as much an interruption in their rehearsal as a knock to the tenuous pride she’d been building in the piece. “And what are all those riffs you’re tossing in? You have to hear how they don’t fit.”

“Oh come on,” he says, proud in his ability and therefore less willing to step down. He rolls his shoulders back and moves toward her, the challenge set in his spine. “I was shredding and you know it.” Luke is sweet and kind and silly and compassionate, but he’s also a musician, and a lead guitarist at that. His ego, though it rarely becomes an issue, is far from insubstantial.

“If you want a solo, fine!” she cries with exasperation, her hands flying through the air like they always do when she’s upset. “But you have to say something so we can give you room for it!” Her annoyance has turned down the sensitivity on her Luke-nonsense monitor, caught up enough in the trouble that she can’t see that he’s riling her up on purpose.

“What, you afraid of a little improvisation?” He’s smiling now, and his obvious glee, such a stark flip from where she thought this was going, throws off her tirade. He starts walking toward her, and his newfound physicality gives him an ability to fluster her to a much greater degree than before.

“No --” she stammers, stumbling backwards, distracted out of anger by his sparkling eyes and the power in the body approaching rapidly. “That’s not what I --” There it is again, that power he has to turn the rest of the world into radio static, her vision blurring and her hearing dulling until it’s just Luke filling up the world in front of her.

“C’mon Julie,” he says, and right now she hates his stupid smirk and the stupid way he rolls her name around in his mouth before letting it out. “you have to take risks once in a while.” She’s backed up against the piano now, her hands wrapped tight around the lid, and he’s still pushing it, strong and warm and undeniably, frustratingly male in her space.

But Julie isn’t one to let him intimidate her into silence, no matter how cute and well-muscled he may be. She takes a breath and looks him in his ridiculous sparkly eyes, poking him in his absurdly firm chest.“I am not afraid of taking risks, mister,” she says, “Let’s not forget who performed in front of her entire school to get back into the music program --”

“My idea,” he scoffs, not backing up. Why isn’t he backing up.

“Or who fronts a band of actual ghosts!” she continues, her voice increasing in volume again, and the speed of her heart tripping over itself could be from the argument or the boy who’s collarbones are less than a foot from her face. Both are entirely possible.

“Less ghost now,” he reminds her, tilting his head, his weight leaned one one leg, his hand resting on the head of his guitar, relaxed when they’re supposed to be arguing.

“You just get to poof out after we perform!” she says, only about two-thirds of her mind still focused on the fight itself, the other third completely wrapped up in the feeling of Luke in front of her. “I’m the one who has to stick around and ask questions!”

“So you’re saying you take chances,” he says, diabolically diplomatic instead of challenging. He leans forward, putting his hands on the piano behind her, caging her in with his arms. She refuses to back down again, even though his face is now inches from hers. “You’d take a leap of faith?”

“Yeah,” she says, only half-certain, because she’s not totally sure they’re still talking about music, and her heart is in the base of her throat and her stomach is somewhere around her shoes, and suddenly her hands are sweating when they definitely weren’t a minute ago. This definitely isn’t an argument about the song anymore.

“Oh yeah?” he says, and there’s the challenge again, except this one sounds more like a dare, and he’s definitely looking at her lips this time, not even trying to be subtle about it, and her hands are braced on his forearms and when did they get there? And Luke is warm and when she looks up, his eyes are on hers, and despite all that bravado and provocation there’s still a question there, and all she would have to do to answer is lift up on her toes and finally, finally press her lips against his, and --

Alex coughs. The oxygen goes out of the room like someone opened an airlock, and Julie feels herself sink, just barely, back down on her heels. The world fills back in, colors and sounds suddenly too bright, too abrasive. Tearing her eyes off Luke, she glances over his shoulder to where Reggie and Alex are, still with their instruments, watching them intently. Alex looks politely put out, his eyebrows tilted up with incredulity, like he's asking if they seriously just made him watch that. Reggie, on the other hand, hides nothing in his expression, shock and amusement there in equal parts as he glances between Alex and the two of them still tucked close against the piano, jaw askance in a surprised smile.

"Are you done?" Alex asks, in a tone that sounds less like a question. "It’s not that I mind…" he gestures between the two of them with a drumstick. "This, but like, time and place, dude." He's not talking to Julie. Luke clears his throat, appropriately chastised, but still looking smug as shit.

"Um, sorry," she mutters as he returns to his spot next to his amp.

Alex shrugs. "Not your fault," he says, "from the top?"

"Uh," she says, frozen for a moment in embarrassment and confusion. She looks to Alex, and he gives her one of his soft, kind smiles, the sort that makes her feel like everything is going to be okay. “Right, okay,” she finishes, as her hands twitch and she settles back into her body. Rushing back around to the bench, she flexes her hands over the keys, curling them into fists and then back out again when they tremble. “From the top.”

The rehearsal goes -- okay, after that. The magic is missing; therefore, while she usually feels inspired and courageous and empowered walking out of the garage, she just feels exhausted and drained. She eats dinner with her family, and her dad definitely notices that she’s uncharacteristically quiet, but saves asking about it until after Carlos is safely sequestered with his iPad. “How ya doin, kiddo?” he asks as she helps him clear up the dishes. “Everything okay?”

Julie looks at her dad with mild alarm, wondering what exactly he knows. He does his best, he really does, but it took him a while to even notice she was in a band. Not to mention, he still believes they’re holograms. “Um,” she says convincingly. “Yeah?”

He smiles kindly, in the way that means he’s very politely calling bullshit. “Alright, mija. What’s going on?”

Heaving a sigh, Julie keeps her eyes on the dishwasher she’s loading, trying her best to plan an escape route out of this conversation. “I promise, Dad,” she says, “It’s nothing.” and then, what she thinks are the magic words. “Boy stuff.”

But Ray’s been prepping for this, had conversations with Rose about it before she passed, while the cancer slowly ate her alive. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to be there for her daughter through the time in her life a girl needs her mother the most, and she wasn’t about to let him hide behind toxic masculinity and leave Julie to figure it out on her own. “Okay,” Ray says, trepidation clear in his voice but also not unwilling to approach the topic. “What’s his name?”

Julie almost drops the pot she’s scrubbing. “Does it matter?” she asks, her voice crawling up several octaves.

“Just trying to learn who is in my daughter’s life,” he answers diplomatically, sitting down at the counter to make it clear he’s not letting her out of this one easily.

“I promise, Dad,” she says, doing her best to frantically dodge the interrogation she knows is coming, regretting she brought it up at all, cursing herself for being so obvious. “It’s dumb. You don’t even know him.”

Ray nods slowly, pretending to believe her. Julie goes after the pot a little harder, because maybe if she just finishes the dishes she can go upstairs and bury herself in her bed and not have to have this conversation anymore. “It’s not that guitarist, is it?” he asks, and her spine goes stiff as a ramrod. Ray’s her dad, but he’s not blind. He’s seen the way they look at each other when they perform, the way the boy follows her around the stage like a puppy, desperate for her attention, disappointed when she jams with the other members of their band and not him. He’s an excellent musician, but Ray knows too many stories of near-legends gone sour with misdirected young love.

“No!” Julie cries immediately in an obvious lie. “Of course not!” She turns, half-laughing, explanations falling out of her mouth “We’re just friends,” she insists, lacing her fingers in front of her and nodding exaggeratedly. “Just friends. Only friends. Uh-huh. Friends. And!” she continues, gesturing widely, “he doesn’t even live here! So that… wouldn’t even make sense!” she laughs awkwardly. “So no way. That it’s him. No way it’s him.”

Ray sighs out a laugh that Julie’s too panicked to hear and leans forward on his elbows. “Alright, nina. Just be careful, okay?” She’s nodding along, edging her way towards the stairs. “You and your band…” She looks like Rose, in that hoodie that practically swallows her, hair piled messily on top of her head. Her mom was also a terrible liar, he remembers fondly. “You have something special. Don’t throw that away for a boy.”

Julie nods rapidly and then bolts, thundering up the stairs before throwing her bedroom door closed behind her and diving headfirst onto her bed, burying herself in decorative pillows. How does everyone know?? First Flynn and then Reggie and Alex and now her dad? Is she that obvious? (Um, yes.) She flops onto her back, staring up at the colorful tapestries slung across her ceiling, the string lights and posters and art. Usually, she loves her room, the feeling of her creative mind as a space she can inhabit, exploring her heart and the things she loves without having to shut out the outside world. But tonight, she feels trapped in her own head, so she grabs her notebook and squeezes out the window, perched on the roof outside her room.

The evening air is cool and crisp, the gentlest bite warning the oncoming winter, as much as there is a winter in LA. She spends a while scribbling down half-baked lyric ideas and doodling angry black scribbles around the edges of the pages when nothing comes out right. It’s harder to write on her own, now, without the steady pulse of Luke’s genius behind her, the electricity that flows between them as they create impeccable harmonies. Sometimes, it feels like music belongs to the both of them together, a joined force, like they’ve given up their individual melodies for something greater. It’s thrilling and terrifying all at once.

Eventually, she just ends up holding the notebook open to ‘Perfect Harmony’ with one hand, the other arm wrapped around her legs, her chin propped on her knees. She still hasn’t shown it to Luke, afraid of how real it feels, how clear it makes her feelings for him. Also, it’s a ballad, which they haven’t even approached yet, and she has no idea how Reggie and Alex will feel about such an explicitly romantic duet. She’s thinking that maybe she might be able to vague it up, maybe even make it a solo piece, when Luke appears next to her, like thinking about him draws him to her. (Which might actually be true -- she hasn’t examined that very closely.)

“Hey!” he says cheerfully, all awkwardness from the evening’s rehearsal ostensibly disappeared. He plucks the notebook out of her hand, using the other arm to hold back her immediate demands for its return. “New stuff?” he asks. This is not normally such a grievous invasion of privacy. Ever since they started writing together, their songwriting journals have become common property, and half the pages in hers are marked up with his handwriting and vice versa.

“It’s not ready yet!” she cries, pushing against the (stupidly strong) arm he has across her collarbone, willing to climb bodily over him to snatch the notebook back. Luke’s face very slowly falls as he reads it, the lyrics sinking in, and her protests trail off as she stops scrambling to grab it out of his hands.

He stands suddenly, pacing across the roof. “Did you --” he starts, breathing shallowly, his tongue tucking his teeth between his lips, nostrils flaring before he speaks again. “Why did you copy this out of my songbook?” It’s not accusatory, only a question, born of true confusion.

“I didn’t,” Julie replies without skipping a beat, equally baffled.

“I wrote this after the garage party,” he says. “How is it in your notebook?”

“I wrote it at school before the garage party,” she replies, doing her best to keep down the memory of the Luke in her imagination and the song coming to her fully formed in the form of a Patrick Swayze-esque daydream. She didn’t even tell Flynn about that part.

“At school…” Luke repeats, studying the lyrics with a furrow between his eyebrows, and as much as Julie is also reeling from shock at the mystery, it’s kind of adorable to watch him try and solve it. “This doesn’t make sense,” he says, looking up at her, signature grumpy expression in place. He tilts the notebook flat, like he’s presenting it to her, hoping she has the next steps. Like he’s reached his conclusion, and it’s that he’s confused.

“It doesn’t,” she says, and it comes out as half a laugh unintentionally, just looking at his ridiculous, adorable face.

“Why are you laughing?” he demands with exasperated urgency. “This is super weird!” He rushes over and collapses next to her, a mess of flannel and limbs and beautiful dumbass. He shoves the notebook back into her hands as she folds her legs underneath her, relinquishing her grip on her knees.

“Yeah,” she sighs, unable to wipe the grin from her face. “Yeah, it is.” Luke looks like he wants to ask her what she’s smiling at, but then he starts smiling, too, because her happiness is his happiness. Julie’s already past the strange coincidence, lost in the joy of his gray-green eyes and the feeling of him next to her. She’s too used to strange, to the ever-changing rules of the afterlife and the constant uncertainty that Luke and her boys bring to her life. Yes, it’s strange, but she’s in a ghost band and her crush is dead and still manages to look at her like that so she has a certain level of perspective when it comes to things like this.

“What are you --” Luke tries to say, but her eyes are on his and they’re warm and brown and kind and he’s finding it a little hard to form sentences.

“This is ridiculous,” she says, and he’s nodding without knowing what he’s agreeing to. “We wrote the same song on the same day,” she laughs, and he nods again, half-listening, half lost in her. She’s excited now, about the possibility brought on by magic and her connection -- their connection -- souls tied together with passion and music and love. “That’s impossible!” It cements something for her, the feeling of coming together, of sliding into place. They’re so solid, tight, together, on the same wavelength… musicians have put it a thousand ways throughout the years, to communicate the feeling of a co-writer, a bandmate, a partner, reading your mind, singing the next line, playing the next riff that was just in your head. Julie and Luke get the added bonus of being inexplicably spiritually linked. Nothing can break that, or replace it. She’s not scared of it, anymore.

“Impossible,” he echoes. He always feels a little bit stronger, a little more alive whenever he’s with Julie like this, just the two of them, hanging out or writing music, and he’s in her immediate proximity, soaking in the warmth of her brown skin and brown eyes and the chaotic energy of her wild, incredible hair. She pulls him in, without knowing the power she holds or the light that she emits, casting a golden glow over everything around her.

“Luke,” she says, and he tunes back in, realizing that he’s steadily leaning toward her as they sit on the roof, Julie cross-legged, Luke angled toward her, one leg stretched out, his elbow propped on his other knee. “Are you listening?”

“Um,” he swallows, “Yeah?” but he’s looking at her lips, not her eyes, and he’s thinking about kissing her, just once, just to see what she tastes like, remembering the smell of gummies and m&ms, hoping she’ll be just as sweet. She doesn’t say anything, mostly because she forgot what she was going to say in the first place, watching his eyes watch her mouth, breathing him in. He’s too close again, closer than any friend or bandmate should be, and there’s no mic between them, and the door to her room is closed, and there’s no bandmates or brothers or dads, and her heart pounds in her chest.

When she tilts her chin towards him, she feels ready, finally, knowing what he means to her. Only a breath separates them, but they both stop, waiting for the inevitable interruption, the door slamming open, or someone calling up from the yard below, but it doesn’t come. Realizing what they’re both waiting for, they breathe out a simultaneous laugh, their foreheads dropping together. The tension fades, and Julie’s smile feels uncontainable, demanding every inch of her face as this beautiful, goofy, genus, talented boy adores her while she sits there, falling in love with him.

It’s easier, this moment, than the one before, because it feels less laden with the weight of someone pulling away, unsure or unwanting. This moment is comfortable, joyful, the two of them acknowledging every minute of want and disappointment and hilarious misfortune over the past few days, acknowledging what they would have asked for instead. And when Luke finally reaches up, pulling her in gently with his hand on her neck, his thumb sliding over her jaw, it’s with confidence and tenderness, reassured that she wants this, too. Julie leans easily into the touch, and when their lips meet, the spark and rush is better than any performance, any screaming crowd drowning in lights. They kiss each other, moving together, leaning in as one, harmony made in the movement of mouths and the press of lips, and this moment -- it’s perfect.

#jatp #juke #julie and the phatoms #julie x luke #luke x julie #jatp fic #julie and the phantoms fic #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #my stuff #homebodynobody #julie molina #luke patterson

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dream-a-little-bigger-x · 4 years ago

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Chapter 7 -- Perfect Harmony | Charlie Gillespie

Summary: Emily Fox is a talented 17-year-old with a passion for all things music. Her dream is to become a successful singer-songwriter one day. But to achieve that dream, she needs to get into one of the most prestigious music schools in her district – it’s all been part of her plan since she was six. Sadly enough, those schools cost a ton of money that her parents don’t want to invest. They don’t even want her to pursue her dream. So, now Emily’s hustling, working at the music store to save up to get into college. That’s until she meets Charlie, an annoying seventeen-year-old boy with the same dream as her. The only difference is, he’s just doing it. He doesn’t need a fancy college to pursue his dream to become famous with his band. He just writes his songs and books small gigs here, there and everywhere. Will meeting Charlie defer her from her dream college, or will he actually help her achieve the dream?

Pairing: Charlie Gillespie x OC (Emily Fox)

Warnings: mentions of death, sexual assault

Important note: the characters of Charlie, Owen, Jeremy and Madison are based on the characters they play on the show and i do not own their names, only OC are mine. The songs aren’t mine either, they’re all from the show except for one.

Chapter seven

~|Emily Fox|~

“Hey, you want to hang out after school today?” Madison asks me on Monday at lunch. “Oh, I—” I think of the most plausible lie, “I promised Ash I would close up again tonight. She’s got this thing with her girlfriend. I don’t know what, but she said it was important.” It’s not even that big of a lie. Ash has asked me that many a times before for the exact same reason. Only this time, she didn’t ask me to close the store. I want to go and tell Ash I will close it, for free, just so I – hopefully – bump into Charlie again tonight. I want to tell him I nearly finished the song and ask him if he has any clue what’s missing. “What about tomorrow?” I take a bite of my sandwich and chew ferociously, guarding my mouth with my hand to show her I can’t talk yet. “Got a shift from four until closing.” That’s not a lie. Tuesdays are mostly shift days anyway. “Wednesday?” I realize I can’t come up with another lie that I have to work. And besides, I think I could hang out with Madi until just before closing time and head down to the Music Store after. “Sure, yeah, Wednesday could work.” The brightest smile appears on her face at the answer. “It’s a date!” she pats my hand twice excitedly. “You know, we’ve been spending a lot less time together since you started working at the Music Store. I feel like I don’t even know what’s going on in that mind of yours.” I widen my eyes at that. If only she’d know. “Seen Cute Douchebag again?” “Uhm, no, I think he’s given up,” I lie. I can’t get into Charlie right now. She’ll know by the first word I’m crushing on him. Like really crushing on him. And she’ll say something crazy that I’m in love with him and it’ll get me to start thinking about that and I can’t have that right now. “Oh, sad. I really think you and him would make a cute couple.” The words nearly make me choke on my sandwich. “And he could help you write songs and get you into that fancy school of yours…” she trails off at the end, and I know exactly what’s coming next. “Or help you become famous.” I mouth the words along, earning a glare from my best friend. “I’m serious, Emmy.” A shiver runs down my spine at the nickname. “Don’t call me that,” I warn her. It’s what Uncle Robert always used to call me and Madi knows. “You know that name is reserved for someone else.” Madison holds up her hands in defense and quickly changes the subject. “You know Brianna’s doing her annual party next week right?” I nod my head. “Are you going?” “I’d rather die than go to a Brianna Holly party,” I snort, trying not to imagine me at that party. “Besides, you do know witches lure their pray into their house to eat them.” “I’m pretty sure that’s just from Hocus Pocus and it was mostly kids,” Madi corrects me. “Seventeen-year-olds are still kids,” I argue. “You’re seventeen years old, Ems,” she points out. I open my mouth to reply something to that, but then close it, not sure what to say. “Besides, she’s no witch. That there,” she points to the other side of the cafeteria, to the “popular table” where Brianna and Jake are seated. “Is a demon.” I watch Brianna as she cackles her witchy-demon laugh and can’t disagree. “You’re right.” Madi and I both pack our lunches back up and grab our stuff. “When am I not?” she wiggles her eyebrows, the way only Madi could. The two of us giggle our way out the cafeteria and to our lockers, getting ready for the other half of the day.

The day went by really slow. School normally has a bit of a slower pace, but I think turtles might go faster than this day went by. And it’s especially agonizing when you look forward to something that’s happening after school. “Ugh, finally!” I groan once Madi and I exit the school. “This day went agonizingly slow today.” “Eh, it was fine,” she says, shrugging her shoulders. “Yeah, because you don’t have a cute boy waiting for you,” I mumble under my breath, hoping she didn’t hear. When I subtly turn my head to watch her reaction, I find her distracted by some other cute boys. The lacrosse boys. Of course. For once I thank heaven for high school jocks. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Mads,” I say before leaving, but I doubt she heard it, so I shoot her a text instead. “You seemed a bit distracted by the Lacrosse boys. Had to go. See u tomorrow xx”

I don’t think I ever managed to walk from school to the Music Store this quickly. I arrive in under five minutes, when it usually takes fifteen, twenty when Madi walks along. “Emily, hey?” Ash greets, a little confused by my presence. “Hey, you mind if I close the store today? I want to work on my songs and don’t want to disturb Uncle Mitch tonight.” Ash gapes at me with big eyes and an open mouth. “I’ll do it for free.” She closes her mouth at this and narrows her eyes instead. “I know what this is about,” she says as the bell over the door rings. “That’s what this is about.” She nods her head towards the door. I turn around to indeed find what this is about entering the store. I quickly turn back to Ash before making eye contact with Charlie and offer her a sheepish grin. “Please?” I almost beg, hoping I don’t sound too desperate, but also thinking I might already be past desperate. “I swear, you don’t have to pay me for this.” Ash shakes her head at me. “You’re so desperately in love with him, sweetie. I hope you realize that.” I furrow my eyebrows at this, now it’s me shaking my head. “No, he’s just –” Ash finishes my sentence for me, “Incredibly attractive? Yeah – I noticed. I’m still bisexual, sweetie.” She winks at me before hopping over the counter and passing Charlie in the store. “My colleague will tend to all of your needs tonight,” she tells him loud enough, so I hear it to. She even turns her head to look at me, just to make sure I heard her. “See you tomorrow, Ems!” she raises a hand as a goodbye before exiting the store. “Tend to all of my needs, huh?” Charlie asks with eyebrows raised. This time, however, it doesn’t sound as fuckboy-y as it did the first night. It has a nervous quality to it due to him not daring to look at me. “Actually,” I say as I reach into my backpack to grab my notebook with all of my songs inside. Most of them written on loose papers, just stuck between pages of the book. “I need you to tend to some of my needs.” He snaps his head up at this, raising his eyebrows at me suggestively. “Not like that,” I scold and make my way to the piano. “I nearly finished the song, but I’m missing something, and I was wondering if you could help me out.” He leans over the paper to take a better look at the paper. Our shoulders touch, and I nearly feel my head explode at the simple touch. “Huh, you did use my bridge,” he says, pointing to the scratched out first version of the bridge and his bridge written very tiny next to it. “That’s not the point,” I say quickly, then point to the part I do want to talk about, “I don’t want to use the exact same chorus twice. I think it might sound better with something like…” I trail off and play a few notes on the piano. “You set me free You and me together is more than chemistry Love me as I am I'll hold your music here inside my hands We say we're friends, we play pretend…” I look up at him for him to add something to it, which only takes him a few seconds. “You’re more to me, we’re everything” I smile at him. I knew he’d be able to fix my problem. “When are you going to show it to me entirely?” he asks after a few seconds. “I am, aren’t I?” “No, I mean, when are you going to sing this with me?” I open my mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. I can’t do this yet. The song isn’t tweaked to perfection yet. I need a few more days before I can really show it to anyone. “Not yet, I want to get it perfect before I can show it to anyone.” I put the loose papers back into my notebook after having scribbled down the addition. “It just needs some tweaks.” I repeat, then look up at Charlie to find him already looking at me with that loose smile on his face and his eyes golden. “So…” he then changes the subject after a few seconds of complete silence that feels like a soft blanket, “We practically wrote a song together… I thought you said you wrote alone?” My heart stops beating for a moment as I think about the real reason why I don’t write with anyone else. Uncle Mitch told me to be honest. So, I probably should. Unless I want him to leave me alone for the rest of my life. Which I don’t. I want to see him every day and spend each possible moment with him. “I—” I take a deep breath, “It’s stupid. It’s a lame excuse, never mind.” I want to turn and walk away from him to properly start closing up the store, but Charlie grabs my hand and keeps me from walking away. My eyes glide from his hand holding mine to the arm connected to it and to the face that I’ve come to enjoy looking at. “You can tell me, Ems. Whatever it is. However stupid. I want to know why. I want to know why you won’t write with me. We’d be amazing together. Look at that song we wrote together without even realizing. From what I can see on paper, it sounds amazing. You’re really talented and I think we could make real magic together.” I draw in a deep breath, my hand shaking a little in his. I wonder if he feels how nervous I am. “Okay… It’s, uhm…” He stares at me with tentative eyes, urging me to continue, telling me to trust him. “I used to write songs with my Uncle Robert. He’s the one that taught me everything. He taught me how to read music, how to play piano and guitar, we used to sing together every day from morning until evening. When I got old enough, around twelve years old, we wrote our first song together. Albeit, it was about my bunny that died, but still, it kind of rocked.” The sniffle that comes after the chuckle makes me realize I’ve started crying. Charlie’s chuckle reaches my ears and encourages me to continue telling him. “Uncle Robert died a year ago. So, I haven’t really written with anyone else because it feels like betraying him. It was our thing, you know? I just… it doesn’t feel right.” Charlie reaches up with the hand that’s not holding mine and tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. The simplest touch sends shivers down my spine and butterflies into my stomach. “That’s not a lame excuse, Ems. I get it,” he reassures me with a small smile, “I just think that if you ever feel like you could start writing songs with me, we’d be able to create the most beautiful masterpieces, just like the song we wrote together now. Times ten,” I chuckle at that, “In perfect harmony.” My eyes widen at that as an idea pops into my head. I tug my hand out of his in a rush and grab the piece of paper with our song on, just to write “PERFECT HARMONY” at the top. I turn my face to look at Charlie with the beautiful smile on his face again that makes me feel all warm inside. “That’s perfect,” he tells me, “Can you sing it now?” I raise my eyebrows at him, as if saying “Really, bro?” and he raises his hands in defense, knowing exactly what the simple non-verbal communication means. “Now sit down and play some guitar so I can clean up in here.” He salutes me and goes to grab the guitar he always uses when he’s here. He sits down and strums the guitar. “This is tuned different from the last time I was here,” he notices. “Other people use those instruments, Charles,” I tell him, knowing all-too-well it was me who tuned it differently. On Thursday to be exact. I was missing him and decided to play some guitar myself. The exact moment Owen came in and asked me about the Open Mic Night. “You did that, didn’t you?” he raises his eyebrow. I feel my cheeks heating up but turn quickly so he doesn’t see. “Don’t be silly, Charles. Why would I use your guitar when I’m working?” I question whilst keeping myself preoccupied by sorting some papers, mainly to calm my heart down a little. “My guitar?” he emphasizes the ‘my’. “I mean, that guitar.” He stares at me for a moment, and I hear Madi in my mind going “Mmh-mmh…” “Just play your instrument, dumbass.” I return to my job whilst Charlie plays his guitar for a while. Once I’m done and I can lock up, Charlie places his guitar back in its place and joins me at the door. “Hey,” he says, once outside. I turn to face him after turning the key. “Thanks for letting me play in there. It’s nice not having parents yelling at you for not making so much noise.” I offer him a smile, and hope it says enough about how similar my parents are. “No problem, Charlie,” he startles at the lack of full name-usage, “See you tomorrow?” “Yes, definitely. See you tomorrow,” he gives me a wave and the two of us split ways. Ash is right. I am desperately in love with him. I don’t know what it is. Sure, he’s attractive, but I would be repulsed by boys that approach girls like he did that first day. Overly confident, thinking they own the place. Jake’s like that and I learned from my mistakes. But Charlie is just… different. There’s a warm, golden heart underneath all that confidence. Plus, ever since I rejected him that first day, he’s been really tentative and kind of nervous every time he’s around me. Which must mean he’s not the Douchebag he seemed to be. Charlie is… Charlie. And I am absolutely, totally smitten.

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#julie and the phantoms #julie and the himbos #charlie gillespie #charlie x oc #jeremy shada #owen joyner #madison reyes #luke patterson #reggie jatp #alex jatp #julie molina #oc emily fox

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thegreatestofheck · 5 years ago

Text

Ocean and Alcohol Pt. 4 ✘JJ Maybank✘

Part One! Part Two! Part Three!

(gif not mine. All credit to thweaty!)

Part 4/? Taglist - @bitterbethany @lovelymaybankk @ilymarkchan @downbytheouterbanks @clearcolourlessglass @obxwriterfan @tangledinsparkles Word Count - 7513 Warnings - Swearing, underage drinking Synopsis - You meet the Pogues and JJ meets your brother A/N - I’m not sure why, but this one feels very domestic to me. Mostly fluff. Very little angst. Enjoy!

Two weeks left of school and then you were practically free. Your dad worked twice as much over the summer, which meant he was barely ever at the house. The real trick was guessing when he was going to be back at the house so you didn’t get in trouble. Other than that, you were a free bird. Although you would be spending a large portion of your summer working, you were excited for all the free time you had because, for once in your life, you had someone to spend that free time it with. You barely got to see JJ after that night at the party. You saw him driving Kid to school or coming back from work, but all you could do then was wave and pass knowing smiles off to each other. He, thankfully, didn’t even stop by your house at all. Still, your heart ached for him and both Kid and your dad could tell that something was off.

“That’s the third time you’ve sighed this evening, Elma. Are you alright?” Your dad asked. You looked up from your untouched bowl of mashed potatoes. “Yeah, Dad,” you said. “Finals are just stressing me out, is all.” It was an easy lie to sell. They were stressing you out, of course, but you had plenty of other reasons to be sighing. The dreams you had about JJ were getting absolutely out of hand. Kid had to ask you what you were doing taking cold showers at three in the morning. You had no easy way of explaining it. You wondered if JJ thought of you, too. You hoped he had been. Kid knew more than your dad did, but he didn’t say anything. Instead, he just spent the hours after school watching you carefully, eyeing your vacant eyes and mindless smiles. He didn’t want to say anything for fear that if he did, the magic that surrounded you would fade. He had always wanted to see you happy like you were now. Part of him understood that you sacrificed that happiness for him. He was glad to see that you were finally taking your happiness into consideration. The Friday before summer break, you were working on your last final, but your mind simply wouldn’t focus. All you had to do was finish the 10-page paper and then you were free. Or as free as you could be. Still, your brain wouldn’t focus. You could only think about everything you wanted to do this summer. A familiar knock came to the window. You tossed your computer to the side in an instant, running to the window. JJ stood outside, grinning up at you. You stood in front of the window, smiling back. He wrapped his knuckles against the glass again, reminding you that he still needed to be let in.

“What’s the password?” You asked. “Huh?” His voice was distorted through the glass. “Password!” You said slowly. JJ rolled his eyes. You saw his lips move, making a word, but you weren’t sure what he said. Cupping your ear toward the window, you beckoned for him to repeat what he said. “Bucko!” With a smile, you opened the window but leaned against the sill so that he couldn’t climb inside. “Are you going to let me in?” He asked, putting his hands around your wrists. You shrugged, lingering where you were. “What are you doing here?” You asked him, still smiling. “Left my last day of school early to come see you.” “I’ve got an essay to write.” “I won’t be distracting.” You rolled your eyes. “Of course not,” you said. “When have you ever been distracting before in your life?” JJ leaned forward and gave you a quick peck on the lips, startling you enough that he could squeeze past you into your room. “What is your essay about?” JJ asked, throwing himself into one of your chairs. You crawled back onto your bed, pulling your computer back onto your lap. “Hamlet.” “Ooh he’s the one with the murder wife, right?” “No, that’s Macbeth. Hamlet is the one they based the Lion King off of.” “Oh, right, yeah.”

JJ swiped one of Kid’s comics off the floor, flipping through the pages. You struggled to take your eyes off of him and look back down at your computer. He just looked so casual, so natural sitting there in your chair. “Shouldn’t you be working?” JJ asked a few minutes later, still flipping through the comic. Your face reddened and you looked down at your computer. Page 7, just three more to go and then you could run off with JJ until Kid needed to be picked up from school. All you had to do was focus. Just focus, that was all. It felt as if a million hours passed when you finally wrapped up the essay. You turned it in without reading it over again, tossing your computer to the side once again. JJ looked up at you finally, a smile tugging at the edges of his lips. “You all done?” A grin made its way up your face. “It’s summertime, baby!” JJ stood up from the chair and crossed the room, tackling you against the bed. “Get off!” You said through bursts of laughter. JJ peppered your face with little kisses. It wasn’t until you shoved him off the bed that he finally got off. You leaned over the edge of the bed and peered down at him on the floor. “What do you want to do today?” You asked him. “John B and Kie are out of school soon,” he said, glancing at his phone. “And we usually hang out on the Pogue until Pope gets out. Care to join?” Your smile faltered. “Meet...meet to Pogues?” You asked. JJ nodded. “Is that a problem?” “No. But….” You paused, “I’m a kook. Do you really think they’ll want me around?” JJ sat up on his elbows and poked your nose with his finger. “Kie is a kook, too, and John B would be the first pogue to fall in love with a kook, so I don’t think either of them would really mind,” he said. “Besides, if I’m cool with you, everyone else will be, too.” Your heart pounded at the thought of it. You weren’t sure if it was excitement because it meant hanging out with new people or worry because it meant hanging out with new people. You rolled off the bed and walked over to your closet. “Are you changing?” He asked. You turned to look at him. “Yeah, I just threw these on this morning and if we’re going out on a boat then I need to wear something to swim in and probably an extra change of clothes and-” JJ stood and wrapped his arms around you from behind, resting his chin against your shoulder. “You gotta stop overthinking everything,” he said and gave your shoulder a short kiss. “Let’s just go now.” “Now? But-” “Nope. We’re going.” “Maybank-” “Come on.”

JJ plucked your shoes off of the floor on your way toward your window. Against your better judgment, you followed after him. The two of you could very well have walked out the front door, but something about sneaking out the window felt right. You weren’t sure why you worried so much about everything all the time. Maybe it was a side effect of always being worried about Kid and your dad. But JJ was right. There was no point in worrying about the clothes you were going to wear and how you would get home. All you needed to do was follow him. He helped you climb down from the roof. “Do you want to take my truck?” You asked him. He smiled. “I was hoping you were going to ask,” he said. “I didn’t really want to walk all the way to the cut.” You both headed off for the car. “Do you wanna drive?” you asked him, pulling out your keys. JJ stopped for a moment, looking at you with his lopsided grin. “You’d let me drive your car?” You shrugged, walking forward. “You know where we’re supposed to be going. You trusted me after the party so I’m trusting you now.” You tossed the keys to him, giving him barely any time to react and catch them. Without saying another word, you opened the passenger side door and slid inside. “You coming, bucko?” JJ was giddy as a schoolboy as he hopped into your front seat. “Just, don’t wreck my baby,” you said, a sudden twinge of fear in your gut. “What was that about trust?” JJ asked, looking at you as he put the truck in reverse and started down your driveway. It felt like summer. Windows rolled down, music blasting, one of your arms dangling out of the window. JJ sang the words to almost every song, one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting on your knee. You wanted to sing along with him and the radio, but you couldn’t because it felt like the only thing you could do was laugh. You thought back to all the times JJ told you that just because you were surviving under your father’s roof, didn’t mean you were living. You were starting to think that this was what he meant by that. Learning to let go, to damn the consequences, was something you were starting to think you could afford to do.

You almost didn’t want to stop when you pulled up to the docks. For a few minutes on the road, you didn’t have to think about responsibilities and work and your dad. You could just think about JJ and the music and the feeling in your heart. But, the road did end and you found yourself at the docks. JJ turned the music down, looking at his friends as they messed around on John B’s boat, “The Pogue”. Your smile faltered, but you tried to keep it on your face. You sucked in a breath and nodded your head. “Yeah?” JJ looked at you. You nodded again, another true smile making its way onto your face. “Yeah.” “Let’s go!” JJ let out a holler and opened his door. You followed after him as he walked over to the Pogue. “There she is!” John B said as you and JJ neared them. He hopped off the boat onto the dock. “JJ has been talking about you non-stop since that fight at the boneyard.” JJ tried to stammer out a defense, the edges of his cheeks turning red. “Oh, really?” You said, looking back at JJ and crossing your arms. “What other inside information do you have?” John B smiled. If JJ was the ocean, then John B was the shore. Face peppered with freckles, you weren’t sure if there was a single day that he hadn’t been out in the sun. His smile was like the sun. It was obvious from the way he was grinning like an idiot at JJ’s expense that the two of them had been friends for a very long time. You shook his hand, wondering suddenly why you had been so nervous not two minutes ago. Kiara came up from behind him and you knew instantly that she was the one who kept the boys in check. She seemed to have a permanent look of “you’re stupid” on her face, which you could respect. You were convinced you had never seen a more beautiful girl. You had spent the last couple of years reading stories about a sea goddess, powerful, strong, resilient. And now, you were pretty sure you just met her. “Kie,” she said, offering a hand. “Elm,” you replied, shaking it. “We’re going to drive by Heyward’s to pick up Pope,” John B said, back on the boat. JJ jumped onto the boat after him, leaving you and Kie still on land. “You don’t go to the Kook Academy, do you?” Kie asked, putting her hands in her pockets as the two of you made your way slowly over to the Pogue. “No, I don’t. Homeschooled,” you said. Kie nodded her head. “Why don’t we see you out and about more often?” Kie offered a hand to help you into the boat. “Just busy, most of the time,” you said. “With school and work and keeping up around the house.” “Well, it’s good to have you out here with us,” she said, climbing onto the boat. JJ offered you a hand, pulling you into the boat. In all your time on the island, you had never really spent much time on a boat like this one. This day was already so full of new adventures, you couldn’t possibly imagine what else was in store for you. “Weigh anchor!” John B called from the wheel in some fake accent. “Aye, aye, Captain!” JJ called back in an equally terrible accent accompanied by a mock salute. You glanced over Kie with a raised brow. She gave you a little nod, telling you that yes, this was what they were like every day. It made you smile. You sat next to Kie as the boys drove the boat to your next destination. Kie told you about how she met JJ and the Pogues a few years back, and in turn, you recounted how it was that you and JJ came to your current relationship, leaving out a few key parts. You knew the rule amongst the Pogues, that they didn’t lie to each other, so you were sure that JJ had told them at least some of your home life. Still, you didn’t feel like it was a topic to bring up while you were supposed to be having fun. The first part of the trip was short. It was 3:30 when you stopped out front of Heyward’s to pick up Pope. His dad was out with him and you could tell as soon as the boat came into sight that Heyward wasn’t all too fond of JJ and John B. There was little to no chance he was going to let Pope come with you. “Hey, Mr. Heyward!” You called out, standing up and waving to him before he could demand that Pope not take a step onto the boat. His angry eyes grew wider at the sight of you. It wasn’t rare that your father and Heyward had dealings with each other, so you knew him well enough. He lifted his own hand to wave back as JJ beckoned frantically for Pope to jump into the boat. “What are you doing out here, Ms. Elma?” He asked, leaning against a shovel in his hands. You smiled as widely as you could. “Enjoying the sun,” you said as Pope fell into the boat. “It’s the first day of summer after all.” “Right, right. Well, Pope can’t be-” Heyward looked around for his son, who was currently lying flat on the deck of the Pogue, JJ sitting on his back and pretending to be doing anything other than caring about the current conversation. John B started up the engine again. “Pope?” “It was nice to see you, Mr. Heyward!” You said as John B started the boat forward. “Is Pope on that boat?” Heyward asked, taking a step closer, but John B already had the Pogue a few feet away from the dock. “See you around!” you called, watching Heyward shrink away on the dock. “Pope! You get back here boy!” He cried after you. “Pope!” But you were long gone. “Get off of me!” Pope groaned, pushing JJ to the deck. Pope stood, brushing the wrinkles out of his clothes. “I’m Pope.” “Elm.” Pope clapped his hands together and turned to Kie. “I’ve decided what I want to study in college,” he said. JJ plopped himself down beside you as you pulled your knees up to your chest, watching the scene in front of you. “What is it this time, Pope?” JJ asked, pulling a beer out of the cooler next to Kie. “You’ve changed your mind like nine times this last semester alone,” Kie said, sitting on the edge of the boat. “This time, I’m serious,” Pope said, looking at all of his friends. “What is it, Pope?” You asked. “Forensic pathology,” Pope said with a grin on his face. JJ popped the beer open and took a drink. “Um, what?” John B piped in from the front. “Forensic pathology,” Pope said again. “Like a coroner.” JJ didn’t try to hide a laugh as he offered you the beer bottle in his hand. Kie tried to be supportive with a smile and John B shook his head. “I think that sounds great, Pope,” you said, drinking from JJ’s beer bottle. “Don’t be a kiss ass,” JJ muttered, taking his beer back. You rolled your eyes. “Come on, guys. Forensic pathology! It’s cool!” “Sure,” John B said. “Cool is just the word I would use.” “Shut up, John B.” The bickering continued all the way to their destination. You stayed out of it as much as you could, but found yourself laughing almost all the way there. JJ kept his arm around your shoulders, nursing on the beer that Kie had brought. Pope and John B engaged in a deep conversation about some conspiracy or another. Pope was trying to spell out how little sense it made while John B kept arguing just to argue. It made sense to you why JJ spent so much time with these people. If you had the option and the invite, you would do the same thing. Eventually, Kie got sick of the bickering and turned on a small radio. Pope tried to continue the “debate” as he called it, but Kie wouldn’t let him. She grabbed his wrist and pulled him to his feet, forcing him to move with her to the beat. It was a familiar scene. “You too!” Kie grabbed your hand, pulling you out of JJ’s grip and onto your feet. “I don’t dance,” you tried to say, but JJ stood after you, hands on your hips. “Um, false,�� JJ said. Kie took you by the wrists and forced you to follow her movements. John B slowed the Pogue to a stop. Where there was an argument not a minute before, there was now a dance party. This group of people would surely be keeping you on your toes. It was strange how quickly one person could change so much about you. It had once been true that you never danced unless you were drunk or alone, but here you were, sober and in the company of others dancing like a normal teenager. All it took was moving just a little bit outside of your comfort zone. You wondered what else you would be able to accomplish by pushing your limits. You couldn’t help but laugh as you observed the distinctive dance moves each of the Pogues took on. John B had a liking for the Sprinkler and the Swim, looking something like a chicken. Kie was a spinner, keeper her hands in the air as she swayed her hips and turned in circles. Pope was proficient at the robot, though you weren’t sure if the stiffness was intentional or not. JJ liked to move his feet and flex his arms anyway he could. You could do little more than shift your weight back and forth on your feet and sway your arms around from laughing too hard. Just as you were getting into the flow of it, things were once again disrupted. JJ wrapped his arms around your waist and for a moment, you thought it was to continue dancing. Not wanting to make anyone feel awkward, you tried to wriggle away, only to find that JJ wasn’t trying to dance but was instead pulling you closer to the edge of the boat. “Don’t you dare, Maybank,” you said, struggling even harder. JJ laughed. “Come on, JJ. Let her-” Kie was cut short when John B scooped her up and booked it for the side of the boat. John B pushed himself off the edge, casting both him and Kie into the water before she could make a sound of protest. Pope and JJ made eye contact, a silent conversation passing between the two of them. “Don’t.” You shook your head, but nothing you could say would stop him now. “No!” He tried to toss you over and let go so he could jump in himself, but you locked your arm around his neck. When he threw you into the water, you made sure that he was coming down with you. Pope was the last in the water, curling his legs up into a cannonball. You kicked your feet, trying to make a break for the surface. JJ was already treading water by the time you surfaced. You could hear Kie screaming at John B, water sloshing around on the other side of the boat. You started toward the other side of the boat to join the others, but JJ grabbed onto your wrist before you could go any farther.

“What?” You asked with a laugh. He pulled you closer to him, putting his lips to yours. The kiss lasted only a few seconds because the water that was dripping from the both of you tasted disgusting and neither of you could really stand it. Besides, there was a serious water fight going down on the other side of the boat that you didn’t want to miss.

The five of you lay on the dock, letting the sun dry your skin. Music still played from the little radio, but there was no more dancing. After almost two hours of swimming, everyone was exhausted. Taking the time to soak in the sun was just what you needed after the long day. When you felt your phone buzz in your pocket, you were tempted to ignore it. But if your phone was going off it was either your dad or Kid and you couldn’t ignore either of them. You pulled out your phone and squinted at the screen. It was your brother and he had very bad news. “Shhhhit!” You seethed, sitting up. “What is it?” Kie asked, lifting her sunglasses from her eyes and turning her head toward you. “My dad’s on his way home early.” You stood quickly, shoving your phone back in your pocket. “Shit!” You spun in a few circles, running your hands through your hair. “Is that bad?” John B asked. Clearly, JJ didn’t tell them as much about your home life as you had originally thought. “I’m sorry, but I’ve really got to go.” You leaned down and kissed JJ on his head. “It was wonderful to meet you all!” You started to book it back to your car. “You, too!” Kie called after you. You waved behind you as you jumped into your car. You were reversing before you even got the door closed. “I like her,” you heard Pope say as you drove away. “Yeah,” JJ sighed. “Me too.” You didn’t usually make a habit of texting while you drove, but this was an emergency. You sent a quick text to your brother, heart pounding. If your dad was on his way home, driving at his usual speed meant he would get him long before you did. That meant you had to drive faster than your dad did by almost double the speed. You were definitely pushing it. “Shit!” Your brother texted you back: What is the lie? You thought it best to call him rather than text so you wouldn’t crash. Your phone barely rang once before Kid picked up. “El-” “I know! Just...okay. If he gets there before me, I went to the store for a treat because I finished school. Alright?” “Yeah, that’s good.” “You alright?” “Yeah. I got home a few minutes ago.” “Good. Start studying in my room. Open my computer and my Hamlet book. Make it look like I just finished. Alright?” “Yeah, yeah. I got you.” “Thank you, Kid, seriously. I don’t know what I would do without you.” “So, you spend the day with JJ?” You could hear his smile through the phone. “I’ll see you at home.” You hung up and pressed your foot harder against the gas. Finally pulling up to your house, you let out a breath when you saw that your dad’s car was not yet parked in the grass. You opened your car door before the truck was even fully stopped, sprinting across the lawn and up the porch as fast as you could. Once inside, you took the stairs by two up to your room. You heard your dad pull into the driveway as you jumped onto your bed, throwing your Hamlet book onto the floor, and pulled your laptop onto your legs. Kid smiled up at you. “Hi,” he whispered as the door downstairs opened. “Hi,” you whispered back, a smile on your lips. You tried to steady your breathing before your dad came up to your room. You heard the stairs creak under the weight of his footfalls, watched as your doorknob turned slowly. There was no way he could have known you were out, so why did you feel so tense? “Hey, kiddos,” your dad said once the door was opened. “Hey, Dad,” you said with a smile. “Hey,” said Kid, not looking up from his textbook. “How did finals go, Elma?” “Good,” you said. “All finished, so I’m just waiting on grades.” “That’s good. You have any big tests this week?” Your dad asked, looking down at Kid. “Just one. I finish on Wednesday,” Kid said. You watched him fiddle with his fingers, knowing that he wanted to ask a question but was too afraid to. “I’m sure you’re going to do great, Bradford.” “Hey, Dad?” Your heart seized. You weren’t sure what Kid was going to ask your dad, but you were ready to jump out of bed if things turned sour. “El is going to take me out to ice cream after school is over. Do you think you could come?” You dropped your head, focusing your eyes on your computer screen so neither of them saw the tears that began to gather. It didn’t matter to Kid how many times Dad got violent or all of the things that he had already missed. Kid always held out hope that your Dad would one day start to care. And it broke your heart every time to see his hopes get dashed. Your dad let out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Kiddo,” he said and Kid’s face fell instantly, looking back to his textbook. “Wednesday is super busy for me this week.” “That’s fine.” Kid’s voice was tight and you knew that he was fighting back tears. From the way your dad’s jaw began to tighten, you knew that he was about to say something that was going to break Kid’s heart even further. You spoke up before he could start yelling. “That’s alright, Dad,” you said, looking up from your computer. “We know that the work you do keeps us happy and healthy. It’s not a big deal.” Your dad nodded slowly. You watched the tension leave from his jaw slowly. He nodded one more time before closing the door a little harder than he should have. As soon as he was gone, you pushed your computer to the side. “Come here,” you said to Kid, holding out your arms. He let out a quiet sob and ran across the room to you, laying beside you. You wrapped your arms around him and held him close, forced to listen to the sound of your little brother sob. You held onto him tight, kissed him on top of his head, and wiped away a few of his tears. “It’s okay,” you whispered. “I know it hurts.” He let out another shuddering sob that sent chills down your spine.

“I’ve got you,” you told him, giving him another squeeze. “Nothing else matters. It’s just you and me, Kid.” He sniffled and pulled his tear-stricken face away from your shoulder. “Promise?” “I promise.” You wiped away his tears as he sat up. “You know what would make me feel better?” He said, taking a deep breath through his nose. “What?” “If you told me about JJ.” You rolled your eyes and gave him a little smile. “You are very manipulative, you know that?” “I learned from the best.” You let out something partway through a gasp and a laugh. You shoved his shoulder slightly, glad to hear a laugh come out of him. “Alright, how about this,” you said, leaning in as if to whisper a secret. “I ask him if he wants to come out with us to get ice cream. How does that sound?” Kid’s eyes lit up and he nodded fervently. “I mean,” he said, shaking his head and crossing his arms, donning a more serious look. “It’s just so I can get to know him, to see if he’s any good for my big sister.” You ruffled Kid’s hair. He swatted at your hand, laughing again. “Of course that’s why.” “I love you, El.” “Love you too, Kid.”

You spent most of Saturday and Sunday working and the rest hanging out around town with Kid. With his bike back, the two of you could go riding again, which was always welcomed. You had no contact with JJ the entire weekend and for the first time since you got involved with him, you didn’t mind his absence. Sunday night, after dinner, you and Kid went through your dad’s usual phone check. There was a very serious reason why you hadn’t yet ask for JJ’s number. Even if it would be easier to communicate, your phone was checked weekly, which meant you could have nothing to incriminate you. “Just to make sure you’re safe,” he would say. You knew it was code for “not talking to anyone you shouldn’t be”. In your case, that was boys. You had to delete and redownload Instagram every week so your dad wouldn’t find out about it which was stressful enough. After the phone check, you went up to your room where you spent the rest of your night trying to figure out the best way to hide any texts from JJ you could get. The next morning, after dropping Kid off at school, you drove past JJ on his way to go surfing with Kie. “Hey!” You parked your car on the side of the street and ran over to them. “Hey, Elm.” Kie smiled as you ran over and hugged you when you neared. “What’s up?” JJ gave you a quick kiss on the top of your head. “What are you doing Wednesday around 1:30?” You asked. JJ smiled. “Hanging out with you, apparently.” “Great! So, it’s my brother’s last day of school and I always take him out to ice cream and he wants you to come,” you said, cringing slightly, afraid he would say no. “You told your brother about me?” “Oh, no, he saw you leave my house the first time,” you said, waving your hand in the air. If it was up to you, he would know nothing about anything. But, alas, Kid has eyeballs and JJ is the least subtle person on the planet. “The first time?” Kie asked, eyebrow raised. You cringed again, forgetting that JJ may not have told them much about your numerous rendezvous. “Are you sure you want him to meet me?” JJ asked. “I mean, yeah,” you said, shrugging. “I met your family, I want you to meet mine.” There was a look on JJ’s face you couldn’t read. It almost made you worried that he was going to say no. Your heart began to pound, fear of being rejected suddenly coursing through your veins. “You don’t have to decide anything now, of course,” you said hurriedly. “Just...just think about it and let me know.” “Sure,” was all he said. You nodded your head a few times. “Cool. Cool.” A feeling of awkwardness and discomfort settled in your bones. “Kie, good to see you. I’ll just, um...bye.” Without another word, you turned as fast as you could, jumped into your car, and drove away. You spent the entire rest of the day beating yourself up about how absolutely stupid you were and how you literally could have handled that a million better ways. You sat out in the sun, reading a book as you waited for your shift to start. Mondays were your least favorite days after Thursdays because it was your late-night shift. Even though you got to spend the entire day doing whatever you wanted, you had to stay up extra late to help close the restaurant. You drove Kid home that day before heading off to work. “Did you ask JJ?” Kid asked. “Yeah, I did.” The last thing you wanted to do was think about that horribly awkward conversation again, but there you were, driving down the road with your cheeks red from embarrassment. “What did he say?” “He needs to check his schedule, but I’m sure he’ll come.” “Good.” At work, you thought a horrible thought. What if JJ thought this was a date? Like a real, two people go out to ice cream date? You put your head in your hands, wanting to die more than ever. If he was thinking that getting ice cream with Kid was a date then he thought you had just asked him out in the worst, most awkward way possible with another person standing right there whom you didn’t invite. “Elma,” your manager snapped. “Get back to work.” “Yes,” you said, scrambling to get back to the dishes in front of you. “Work.”

Shit. Did you just accidentally ask JJ Maybank out on a date? Even after getting home from your shift after one, you still couldn’t sleep. You showered, moving like a slug as you continued to murder yourself mentally for being an idiot. Clean, smelling like lavender, and still embarrassed as hell, you finally managed to fall asleep somewhere closer to three. You spent Tuesday in as much mental pain as you spent most of Monday, with your midday shift the only thing to take your mind off of things. Then Wednesday rolled around and you still had no answer to give Kid from JJ about whether or not he’d be there. You sat in a parking spot by one of the beaches, eyes shut and leaning back against the head of your chair. You wanted to scream into the void, and maybe dig yourself a ditch to die in. All there was to do for now was wait until you had to pick up your brother and tell him that JJ wasn’t coming because you were the biggest dummy on the planet. A knock came to your window. You startled upward, a gasp coming from your throat. When you turned toward your window, there was no one there. You scowled and opened your door. When you saw JJ on the ground laughing his ass off, you sighed.

“Why would you think that was a good idea?” You snapped, not really angry but your adrenaline had spiked so fast and dropped again that you weren’t really sure what to do with it. He couldn’t breathe through the laughter, let alone say anything. You put your hands on your hips as you waited for him to stop laughing. Finally, he pushed himself off the ground, sand stuck in all the creases of his clothes. He tried to reach out to you, but you stepped away from him.

“You are an asshole, Maybank,” you said. “I thought I was getting mugged or something.” “Ah, c’mon, Ellie. It was a little funny.” You glared at him, crossing your arms over your chest. “What are you doing here anyway?” you asked. “I came for ice cream,” he said. “Your brother and the after school thing.” You pinched the bridge of your nose between your fingers.

“I didn’t know you were coming.” “Well, I am.” “I told you to let me know!” “This is me letting you know.” JJ’s smile fell when he realized that you weren’t all too pleased with him. “Are you mad?” You shook your head. “No, I’m not mad.” You felt stupid for yelling at him about something that wasn’t his fault. “I just, I felt so stupid after Monday and I was pretty certain you weren’t going to come and I didn’t want to disappoint Kid. I’m sorry I yelled at you.” JJ clicked his tongue and waved a hand in a dismissive way. Stepping forward, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close to him. “Why does your brother want to meet me so bad anyway?” JJ asked, looking down at you. “Maybe because he saw you bolting from our house in the middle of the night. Maybe because you stole his bike. Maybe it’s because he thinks your shady,” you teased. JJ made a face at each of your options. “He just wants to make sure I’m safe, is all. He wants to make sure you’re ‘good’ for me.” “Oh, well, he’s definitely going to be disappointed then,” JJ said with a laugh. You rolled your eyes and pulled yourself out of his arms. “Schools about over, so we should get going,” you said, hopping into the front seat. JJ jogged around your car and slid into the shotgun seat. JJ told you about his weekend and the past two days while you drove to Kid’s school, which was back on the North side of the island. You watched him tense as you crossed the imaginary boundary, but he carried on his retelling. You really enjoyed the way he told stories. It was like a little kid talking about their favorite movie, even when he was just talking about the weed he smoked or the job he worked. You loved it best when he talked about surfing because you knew that was something he really cared about. “Do you surf?” He asked you, hanging one of his arms out the window. You shook your head. There were a lot of things you didn’t really know how to do. “I’ll teach you this summer. You’ll come out with the Pogues and I and we’ll teach you everything there is to know.” You smiled, imagining it all in your head. It was a nice picture. “I would like that.” As you pulled up to the school, JJ crawled into the back, where you had two tiny seats that faced each other. He spread his legs across the entire back and still didn’t fit. “You don’t have to sit back there,” you said. “Kid can manage.” “It’s his big day,” JJ said. “Little man deserves to sit in the front.” Another smile pulled at your lips. Hearing JJ talk about your brother made your heart pound in a strange way you never thought it would. You rolled the side window down as Kid walked over to you. “I have a surprise for you,” you said, glancing at the back seat. JJ stuck his head as close to the window as he could, succeeding in nothing more than jamming his face between the side of the car and the headrest. But it didn’t matter. Kid could tell who it was and his face lit up. “Dude, I heard you rode the surge last hurricane we had,” Kid said as he jumped into the front seat, turning immediately to look at JJ, who grinned. “Seatbelt,” you said, pulling out of the parking spot. “Yeah, me and my friends got beat out there,” JJ said with a laugh as Kid clicked his seat belt on. “What was it like?” “Only the best feeling ever.” “Hey, no, no,” you said, putting up a hand. “No encouraging my little brother to do dangerous things, please.” “Whatever, mom,” JJ groaned, giving you a mock roll of his eyes and sitting back in his seat. “How did your test go, Kid?” You asked. “Pretty good,” he said, shoving his backpack into the space near his seat. “Hey, JJ, have you ever been to the Caine house?” “Oh, no,” JJ said. “I actively avoid the place.” “I have!” Kid said, a giddy smile on his face. “No you haven’t,” you scoffed. “Yes, I have! With Dex.” “You went to the Caine House with Dexter Cyprus?” Kid nodded. “What were you thinking?” “Chillax, Ellie,” JJ said, leaning forward again. You were about to fume at him, but he sent you a look telling you that he would handle it. You almost thought that yelling would be better for Kid than whatever JJ would come up with. “You know that Mrs. Caine killed her husband, right?” “Those are just rumors.” “Oh, they’re more than rumors, little man,” JJ said, taking on his storyteller voice again. You tried not to smile. “They’re true.” You listened to JJ recount the entire story he heard from Hollis Caine, dramatic pauses and all. By the end of it, Kid was staring at JJ, eyes wide. “Great, now you traumatized him,” you said with a sigh.

“He’s fine.” “He’s traumatized.” By the time you got to the ice cream parlor, any worry you had about the meeting was gone. JJ got the same flavor as Kid, saying it was his favorite, despite telling you weeks ago that his favorite was chocolate. You sat back and smiled behind your scoop and cone, watching Kid and JJ tell each other crazy, half-made up stories for almost two hours. Long after your ice cream was finished, the conversation carried on. It was just one other thing to heap onto the pile of things that felt natural with JJ. In a moment of weakness, you wondered if JJ would come with you when you moved off the island with Kid. You shook the thought away and jumped back into the conversation about kaiju versus Jaegers. After you left the ice cream parlor, the three of you headed down to the beach, where you walked and talked for even longer. At one point, Kid decided that talking was getting boring so, as you and JJ walked ahead, Kid made a mudball and threw it at your back. With a gasp as wet sand slid down your spine, you spun around. “Oh, you’re going to pay for that one, Bradford,” you said and ran at him. Kid laughed and ran away from you.

“Help!” Kid shouted, not able to keep away from you for long. Before you could react, JJ had you around the waist, arms pinned to your side. “I swear, if you throw me in the water again-” “What was that?” JJ asked, dragging you toward the ocean. “JJ!” you shrieked, but it was no use. Lifting you up, JJ dropped you just as a large wave crashed against him, submerging you in water. When the wave stopped tumbling and you could finally control your movements, you heard Kid howling with laughter. Wiping sand and saltwater out of your eyes, you were appalled to see JJ run over to Kid and give him a high five. “Oh, it’s on!” You spent the next hour or so chasing each other around the beach. By the time you were heading back to the car, each one of you was soaked and covered in sand. “I should get him home and into the shower,” you said to JJ as Kid shivered in your front seat. JJ put his hands on your shoulders and sighed. “You should.” “Thank you,” you said. “You really made his day.” “Yeah, well, he’s not so bad.” JJ lifted a hand, waving at Kid. “Now that it’s summer, will I get to see you more?” “Should. I know we both still have work, but we’ll figure something out. Here.” You pulled a pen out of your pocket and scribbled your phone number onto his hand. “I won’t be able to save your contact, so you’ll have to text me every Monday, capiche?” “Got it,” JJ said, smiling at his hand. “I’ll see you around.” “Yeah, you will.” He leaned forward to press his lips against yours. You inhaled the smell of the sea, his lips salty and chapped. You knew that yours were no better, but he kissed you anyway. You wanted to stand there forever, swallowed by his scent and his taste, but Kid obviously had other plans. The horn of your car honking nearly startled you out of your skin, but when you turned and found Kid tapping his wrist with a raised eyebrow, you realized that it really was time to go. You turned away from JJ and got in the car. You waved once more before pulling out of the parking spot. “I like him,” Kid said, cranking up the heat in the car. “Yeah,” you mused. “Me too.”

#jj maybank #jj obx #jj x reader #jj x oc #outer banks #obx #john b #john b obx #kie #kie obx #pope heyward #pope obx #reader insert #series #tw: abuse #fluff

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ghostbread892 · 4 years ago

Text

Fly with me

Pairing: Geralt x jaskier

Warnings: Near death experience, Love confession, Fluff, Oblivious boys, Roach has the braincell, Hurt/comfort, Soft jaskier, hurt geralt

A/N: I really liked this one and I hope you guys do too-

Summary: Jaskier throws his lute into the mud to distract the monster that about to kill geralt and it ends up needing to get repaired, chaos ensues and unknown feelings come to light

During his time on the path, Geralt never got to experience the little things life created. He only focused on getting coin and never being in the same place twice, he knew that if he stayed in the same place for too long someone would eventually grow tired of him and kick him out like many villages before had done, he had gotten used to the rinse and repeat routine he'd established for decades. He never truly got to experience what it was like to wake up calm, inhaling the scent of freshly bloomed flowers and the natural scent of the air after a long rainstorm like he had been able to do today. He knew this morning would be different, and in time he would realize that his whole day would be different as well.

He woke up to the sounds of singing and lute strings being plucked, his chest filled with relief that his bard hadn't been taken during his slumber. Something which he would've been able to notice but he feared he would be too slow to save him. He paused and went back over his inner dialogue again, 𝙝𝙞𝙨 bard, he'd gotten so used to this tiny human that his brain had claimed him already. This brought a warm feeling to his heart and made an unusual flush take over his normally stoic features.

No no, the bard wasn't his, as much as he would like that, the bard wasn't his to claim and even if he was, who in their right mind would love someone as monstrous as him. That thought brought a sour taste to his mouth, so he pushed it back and started getting their camp packed up, already thinking of where to head next and what monsters he would find in these parts.

They reach a village by dusk; Jaskier having been extra talkative and excited the whole day, but Geralt couldn't seem to figure out why which annoyed him to no end due to possibly not knowing or forgetting a special day for his bard. He paused again, the blush returning to his neck as he thought of the bard being his before he clenched his jaw and scoffed, as if a human could ever love a witcher. He continued walking whilst trying to keep his mind off Jaskier, which proved to be more difficult than it should've been. He ended up quietly talking to Roach as they made their way over to the closest inn, completely unaware of how Jaskier had gone quiet and was staring at his witcher with a lovestruck expression.

When they reached the inn he motioned Jaskier to go in to get them a room and food, while he saw to Roach and left her as comfortable as their coin could leave her, and checked for any contracts.

He found one for a fiend in the woods behind the tavern opposite of the inn and took it, he then made his way up to their room using his senses to locate jaskiers specific scent. One that he'd grown to love and that often calmed him when he woke up sweating and panting from a nightmare of the fears that haunted him as a child and that still haunt him even in his decades of life.

Once he got there he put his packs down before sitting down on the small table near the fireplace to eat the food Jaskier had got them, which was a mug of watered down ale that tasted like swamp water and a bowl of rabbit stew that had way too many unseasoned vegetables and hardly any rabbit, but it was enough to fill him up for his hunt so he ate it. Not before giving Jaskier an amused look as he went into a speech about how inns should be more greatful of their guests and give them better food, he chipped in now and then to correct Jaskier about small things just to watch him flush a soft pink, looking alarmed before continuing with his rant.

When he finished his food Jaskier was still rambling so he took a moment to look at his companion; the companion who has cornflower blue eyes that beam whenever Geralt brings him small gifts like lute strings or oils for his collection, who has hands that he fidgets with when he's nervous and shake when he's inspired to write something but too busy too get his book out, who's smile never fails to make Geralts world brighter even after seeing it for a decade, who's words still leave him speechless when he talks about something he likes because goddamn Jaskier knows how to treat each word with such gentleness that it could melt his heart, who sings away his sorrows and helps Geralt remember what happiness and joy feel like whenever he talks, the companion who has stayed by his side through ups and downs, and the companion that Geralt found himself loving more every single day.

He snaps out of his lovestruck haze when he smells the foul stench of fear and worry.

Looking up to see Jaskier reading through the contract with a frown on his face before looking up and sighing "Beloved, are you sure this is safe? I mean I know you're strong enough and trust your judgement but this sounds very dangerous and as much as I like having coin I wouldn't want to ruin my clothes, which were very expensive mind you, by going to drag you out of whatever hole you fell in and thats-"

He stops when Geralt gives him a fond look, "Jask I'll be fine, it's not that hard, I'll be back by daybreak" He rumbles out, seeing how it visibly affects his bard, making him shiver in place and gulp roughly, causing him swallow out of the sudden dryness in his throat.

He shakes the thoughts out of his head before getting up to grab everything he needs for his hunt, not looking over at Jaskiers direction on purpose because he needs to be focused.

He can feel Jaskiers eyes on him the entire time and can basically taste the worry radiating off him like the stench of a kikimora but he doesn't have time to calm him down. Even if Jaskier is the love of his life, his soulmate, his everything, he can't put his focus on anything else other than the monster of he'll be too slow.

Just as he's heading out the door he feels two arms wrap around his stomach and Jaskier press himself as close as their bodies allow him too. Geralt feels his heart stop, just as he feels his lungs collapse from emotion, his brain not capable of processing that for the first time in all the years he's been alive someone is holding him, someone fears that he may never come back and that scares them. He can feel Jaskiers heart accelerate just as he can feel his own.

"Please be careful, dear heart" Jaskier whispers, sounding like a wife saying goodbye to her husband who's about to go save his kingdom in the battlefield. It makes him feel special, wanted, 𝙡𝙤𝙫𝙚𝙙.

He takes a moment to calm both himself and his heart before humming softly in confirmation, "I'll be back by daybreak, I promise, little lark" He quietly grumbles back, not used to having to express his emotions through words.

Jaskier seems satisfied with his answer and let's him go, not before leaving a kiss on Geralts shoulder blade, even if it was covered with armor Geralt felt the kiss in his soul and it gave him more of a reason to come back to his little lark.

He walks out of their room and towards the stables, setting up roach for the long night of monster hunting ahead of them. He let's out a small smile and gently pats her nose to which she huffs and pushes against his hand, making him chuckle softly, "let's go girl" and with that they take off, not knowing that this night might end with something neither him or Roach had planned.

He doesn't know how it happened.

One moment he was landing the killing strike and the next he was on the ground, a gash made from its horns going right along his chest to his ribs.

He knows he's too weak too get up and without his potions, which were shattered mid battle he has nothing to do but wait.

He starts thinking about everything he's every done. Kind of ironic since they say your life flashes before your eyes as you take your last breath. To him it sure feels like it.

He thinks back to when his mother left him on the road for Vesimir to find and train as a Witcher. How much he had to endure during the trails just to end up alone in the end.

Alone? That's not right; he has Jaskier now. Jaskier who's probably worried sick back in their room, who even when Geralt has looked more beast than man has smiled at him, not showing any fear even when Geralt spat nasty words at him to get him to leave, who even after Geralt hurt him, came back because he wanted to, because he wanted Geralt to be the person he spends his life with.

Geralt had never felt more joy than being with Jaskier when they would travel together, his bard chattering like always while Geralt listened, listened because he cared and loved everything about Jaskier.

From the way his eyes crinkle with happiness when he sees something pretty, to when he taps his fingers to a beat when composing his next song.

He knows Jaskier will move on, his bard is one of the strongest and most courageous person he has ever had the luck of meeting.

His little lark will find someone else who can always be there for him, not having to worry about dying every minute, and that Geralt thinks, is how it should be. He let's a small tear slip as he's falling unconscious, not worried in the slightest because he knows that his lark will learn to fly again, even without him.

When he woke up again there was someone screaming and a monster weakly roaring.

It turns out that the fiend was still alive and that Jaskier was trying to distract it, that dumb bard was trying to distract a fucking flesh eating monster without a sword to protect himself.

Geralt doesn't know what fueled him but the next thing he knows is that Jaskier throws his lute far away, catching the fiends attention long enough for Geralt to get close enough to slice it's head clean off.

After he collapses, Jaskier being faster and catching the Witcher in his arms. He can feel jaskier shaking and something wet splashing on his face.

"Jask- Jaskier?" He rasped out after jaskier forced one of his potions down his throat, him already feeling the effects of the potion healing him.

Jaskier shushes him, snifling softly while rocking them both back and forth, "You stupid, stupid Witcher, I told you to be careful" He whispered while holding Geralt to his chest, in an awkward position too.

Then Geralt realizes something; his lark is listening to his heart. This hits Geralt harder than it should but it does, his lark was so afraid of losing him that he wanted to lay his head on top of Geralts heart. As if listening to the beat made everything better.

This realization made something warm spread throughout Geralts chest. He lifted his arm and hugged his bard back as much as he could, softly stroking through his hair.

"It's okay little lark, I'm here, you can let it out" He whispered, knowing that Jaskier was holding back his tears and even if he couldn't bear the thought of his lark crying, he had to let him get the grief off his chest before they could walk back to their room.

As if on cue, Jaskier started to sob, gripping tightly onto Geralts chest plates as if he thought that if he let go, Geralt would disappear.

After a while, they got up and headed back to the inn with the proof of the monster being dead, Jaskiers destroyed lute, and whatever they could salvage from the fiend.

After they got to their room and had a bath is when Geralt realized what happened to Jaskiers lute. He softly put his hand on top of Jaskiers, which was stroking his now dirty lute.

"You shouldn't have risked your life like that for me, jask" He whispered softly, looking down at the dirty lute and wincing, because be knew this was his fault. Jaskier on the other hand seemed offended by that comment, "No no, you do not get to play that card with me Witcher, you almost died out there and I wasn't just going to sit around and watch you die like that" He said in defiance, his face twisting into a frown that only made him cuter in Geralts eyes.

"You love that lute like a child, little lark" He spoke quietly as if afraid to get Jaskier mad at him. At his words, Jaskier softened,

"So that's what this is about huh?" He asked in a softer tone, "Geralt, while it is true that I love this lute a lot, it is replaceable and there are so many just like this one all over the world." He turned to look at Geralt, letting the lute lean on the bed frame as he took Geralts hands in his. Which left Geralt breathless at the softness, he never experienced something so intimate and his brain almost went into shut down mode before he managed to calm himself down.

Jaskier gazed into Geralts eyes, letting him see all the love and adoration he felt for his dear Witcher, "The reason I love this lute so much, is because you gave it to me, darling" He smiled, his thumb rubbing Geralts hands soothingly as he felt his lungs collapse from how hard those words punched him.

"What? " He breathed out, unable to form a clear sentence in his daze.

"Granted, you didn't directly give it to me, but it's a reminder of the first adventure we went on together" He paused and squared his shoulders leaning in to press his forehead against Geralts, and softly, sweetly, and so gently that Geralt thought he might collapse he said, "A reminder of when I started to fall in love with you, my white wolf"

And with that sentence everything became clear, after four decades of traveling together, everything made sense. He knew now that he wasn't alone on this boat of love, softly drifting with the current through calm waters, watching as the sun sets and the flowers bloom.

He leaned in, closing the gap between them, sharing the sweetest kiss he'd ever been given and that when he knew that even if they had their ups and downs, close calls, and awkward moments; they would both rely on each other and learn to fly together, because in the end, his little lark still had a lot to learn about life, and he would be there to teach him every step of the way.

Taglist: @binkysteebnpewter @andyl394 @fuzzy-cloud-head-queen @nightunite @punof-agun @sc4rletw1tch @timelords-13 @likubuju @bonkyboinkybucky @bombshellbella @subtlewriter @ashleefo @mori-senpai @klinenovakwinchester

#the witcher #geralt z rivii #geraskier #geralt x jaskier #witcher geralt #geralt of rivia #geralt x dandelion #geralt x julian #jaskier

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mimosaeyes · 4 years ago

Text

Jon still gets nightmares.

Set in a post-canon ‘verse where they save the world, build a life together, and adopt a cat. It’s a series now! This fic (2.7k) works standalone, but is best read after the others, especially I Was Found (13.2k of softness). Everything below the cut will spoil you for the end of that fic.

Beta-ed by @emberidzae. Thank you for telling me it’s probably fine.

There is a special kind of quiet that occupies a room near two in the morning. The refrigerator hums, the water pipes whine, sirens go off in the distance — this is London, after all. But beneath that lies stillness, elusive like the space between breaths.

Jon sits on the sofa, rocking ever so slightly and waiting for... he doesn’t even know what. For peace to slip into his lungs. Be carried along in his blood, spread throughout his brain. Every time he blinks, he thinks he sees horrific afterimages on the backs of his eyelids. Tonight, his dreams have been full of bodies: burning, running, festering, falling, twisting, crying, choking. Closing in on all sides of him, until his sight was completely obscured.

Out of that apparent void, a single, all-encompassing eye mired in spiderwebs had opened, and looked directly at him. Under its scrutiny, it was as if he and Martin had never fixed the world he’d broken. Never torn themselves out of the Mother of Puppets’ plots, or away from the Ceaseless Watcher.

He exhales slowly, burying his face in his hands. Surely he should be used to nightmares by now. He’s had a long history with them, between statement givers and his own encounters with entities and avatars. The dreams were always vivid and hallucinatory, clinging to him as he struggled toward consciousness and woke gasping, often clutching the arms of the office chair he’d dozed off in. Later, after he ended the world, he’d stopped sleeping entirely. Slumber no longer carried the promise of rest.

No one remembers clearly what happened to them in the domains during the apocalypse. That collective, polyphonic torment now lives on only in Jon’s mind. He may not be affiliated with the Beholding anymore, but some part of him will always be the Archive.

The frustrating thing is that over the last year and a bit, the nightmares have been happening less and less frequently. He’d actually thought they were going away, but all week now, Jon’s been waking up screaming or sobbing, tangled in the sheets, his pyjamas soaked through with cold sweat. Martin hasn’t gotten through a night undisturbed, either. They’re both exhausted; that’s probably why he managed to slip out of bed without alerting him initially.

Just then, a slight sound makes him look to his left. What he sees is so incongruous to his mood that he begins huffing in silent laughter.

Boo, the smaller of their two cats, is using one front paw to bat at his ear, on which a large dust bunny appears to be stuck. It’s a slightly lighter grey than his fur, else Jon may not have even seen it.

Jon knows the exact moment Boo notices him looking, because he stiffens for a second. He’s been with them for a little over a month now, and while their efforts to make him feel at ease in their home have paid off somewhat, he remains jumpy.

Jon holds perfectly still. After a few seconds, Boo returns to his scratching, but to no avail. The dust bunny somehow ends up entangled in his whiskers, stretching between them and the tip of his ear. Boo shakes his head once, twice. Then he sneezes — and arches his back, his fur standing on end.

He had actually startled himself with his own sneeze. Jon can’t help cracking a smile, endeared and grateful for the distraction, inadvertent though it may be.

Clearing his throat quietly, he asks, “Would you like some help with that?”

Boo ignores him, which is ideal. It takes a certain amount of trust on this cat’s part to be considered beneath notice — meaning, not a threat. When Jon gets off the sofa and tries to approach, though, Boo freezes and watches him warily. So he sits down on the floor instead, thinking.

After a while, he begins softly singing the alphabet.

Immediately, Boo’s look changes from alert to curious. Whenever Jon has had the opportunity to do so, he’s been reading aloud to get Boo used to hearing his voice. Assembly instructions for a new shelf, dubious job listings he finds online, the weekly shopping list. At first, this strategy had been very successful. Boo learned to stop diving for cover every time Jon or Martin called for each other from another room. Then came the day Jon paused midway through washing up after dinner, to find Boo sitting not two metres away from his feet. It had been a crowning moment of triumph until Martin said, “You hum songs when you do the dishes, did you know? I think he likes it.”

Jon had somehow not been aware of this habit. He was instantly embarrassed.

Not that he’s stopped since it was pointed out to him. He’s actually been experimenting. Boo may have a certain fondness for ‘90s power ballads.

Which he is hardly going to attempt at this time of night. Instead, Jon cycles through the rainbow song and that one about the teapot, making no move as Boo cautiously approaches, blue eyes huge and unblinking. When he’s within an arm’s length, Jon stops singing and offers his hand for Boo to sniff at.

Purring now, Boo lets himself be pet. Jon seizes his chance and gently pulls off the dust bunny. “Now where did you even get this?” he wonders aloud. They’re generally diligent about household chores, especially keeping the place clean. Martin has allergies, and Jon likes the routine.

Boo nudges up into his fingers and leaves a smudge of fine dust on them.

A sneaking suspicion enters Jon’s mind. He narrows his eyes at the cat. “You’ve been in the study all day,” he says. “I saw you go in. And the desk has that jammed drawer, doesn’t it?”

They’ve been meaning to fix that. The drawer is stuck just wide open enough for dust to collect on the inside. And apparently, for a skinny, timid cat to make his hiding place.

“Well, that’s one mystery solved,” Jon muses, continuing to pet Boo despite the dirt. “Filthy boy,” he says affectionately. “Scruffy. Crumpet will refuse to cuddle with you.”

Mrow, Boo protests in his low, bullfrog-like way. He’s much less vocal than his calico counterpart, so Jon doesn’t get to hear this often.

“I suppose you’re right. She’ll probably just try to clean all this off you. She dotes on you, doesn’t she?”

He falls silent for a while, until Boo indicates with a flick of his tail that he’s had enough. Jon lets him wander some distance off and begin grooming.

In the lull of activity, the memory of his nightmare comes back with a vengeance, screaming in his brain and making him suck a breath in through his teeth. He had known their names as they struggled in their personal hells at the end of the world, had drunk his fill of their suffering and felt sated in that most inhuman side of himself.

It’s since been ripped away, of course, taking with it the voyeuristic detachment that had, in a perverse way, protected him from the distress his nightmares now cause him. Yet it scares Jon that that had ever been a part of him. Ever found suitable soil and taken root.

He’s fine, though. Or so he keeps telling himself. These aren’t the worst dreams, after all. No, those are the ones where he loses Martin. In the Panopticon. In the house on Hill Top Road. To the call of the Lonely. To the slip of a knife in the Hunt. There were so many ways one or both of them could have not survived. Not gotten to have everything they now have together.

Jon swallows and massages his temples. “Boo,” he says, “you’re afraid of everything. Any tips?”

Boo looks at him for a long moment, then yawns.

“I see,” Jon starts to say, just as a strangled cry comes from the street below. One of London’s many foxes, probably. Jon has learned to tune out this sort of thing, but the sound sends Boo scrambling for shelter.

And he runs to Jon.

“Oh, it’s okay,” Jon murmurs. “Just a fox. It’s over now. It’s okay.” After hesitating a moment, he picks Boo up and deposits him on his lap, then encircles the cat loosely with his arms. He doesn’t squish him — it’s Crumpet who likes to be bundled up and snuggled. He just sort of surrounds Boo, letting him mash his face into the crook of Jon’s elbow.

It takes a long time for Boo’s fur to settle back down. Jon starts stroking him after a minute, keeping his movements soothingly slow. “You’re safe here,” he tells him.

Then he sighs and repeats quietly, to himself, “You’re safe. You’re here. It’s over.”

Boo leaps off his lap, rumbles at him, then darts back into the study. Jon watches him go, shaking his head. A problem for tomorrow.

He sighs, then pauses and deliberately takes a deep breath. He holds it for a count of five before releasing the air. He imagines tension bleeding away as he does.

Martin had taught him this technique back in the safehouse in Scotland — far from the first time Jon had had nightmares, but certainly the first time anyone had been there to comfort him when he woke up. Progressive muscle relaxation, Martin said it was called. He’d used it himself during his stay in the Archives, whenever those thirteen days he spent trapped in his flat by Jane Prentiss came back to haunt him.

“Breathe in, tense? Okay, now hold,” he murmured, sitting up in bed next to Jon, his silhouette familiar and comforting against the yellow glow cast by the bedside light. It had been on by the time Jon surfaced into consciousness, still panting and crying.

“One one-thousand, two one-thousand, three, four, five,” Martin counted for him. “Release, breathe out.” His hands ran over Jon’s shoulders, warm and soothing. “Better?”

Jon nodded. “A bit,” he said, his voice a little hoarse. He must have yelled in his sleep before Martin managed to rouse him. “Listen, you... you don’t have to do this. I can go sleep on the couch.”

Martin went silent for a moment. “The other day, when I dreamt I was back in the Lonely. Did it cross your mind to kick me out, even for a second?”

“No,” Jon said at once, shocked. “Of course not.”

“Then that’s settled,” Martin said firmly. “You’re not okay, and I can help. That’s all there is to it. On to your arms next, ready? Breathe in, tense...”

Alone in their living room, but following Martin’s instructions from before, Jon works his way through various muscle groups until he gets to his hands, at which point he clenches his fists and presses his knuckles down against the floor on either side of his thighs. That probably isn’t recommended. He hasn’t done it hard enough to hurt, though, and he needs the sensation, he thinks, to ground himself in reality. To remind himself that he’s here in their tiny apartment, and if he goes to peer out the window, the sky will not look back at him.

He’s here and it’s long past midnight, but if he texts Daisy, she will grouse good-naturedly, then call him to ramble about how the new podcast she’s started listening to is pretty good, but could never measure up to The Archers. If he goes back to the bedroom and tells his husband he needs him, Martin will rub his eyes and get up to make Jon some tea. He’ll put in milk and sugar, which always seems too indulgent for Jon to do himself, and they’ll cuddle up with a book, or in front of the telly with the volume turned way down.

The people he loves, who love him in return, are within reach. Even when they’re not there next to him. Jon knows this in a way that has nothing to do with the Beholding. It’s just hard to remember sometimes.

He exhales one final time, and that’s when Martin appears in the doorway to their bedroom.

“Hey,” he says quietly, looking soft and rumpled in his pyjamas. His voice is rough with sleep, low with concern. “I woke up and you weren’t there. Is this a bad night?”

Another one, you mean? Jon wants to say bitterly. He bites it back; it’s only the sleep deprivation talking. “I just needed a moment to clear my head,” he says, clambering to his feet. “Let’s go back to bed.”

He honestly feels a lot better, and he thinks he’s done a decent job of sounding normal. He must still look like a mess, though, because Martin frowns and stops him from squeezing past. “Wait. Do you want to talk about it?”

Jon’s already shaking his head. “No. It was just... more of the same.” The first few times, Martin had stayed up with him while Jon stammered out the things he’d seen in his dreams. He listened and tried to reassure him, and it had helped to an extent. But the more Jon spoke, the harder Martin’s lips pressed together in that way that meant he was horrified and trying to hide it. Jon had grown all too familiar with that expression during their walk through the domains.

He clears his throat. “Really, Martin. Everything’s fine.”

“Then why’d you come out here by yourself? Why didn’t you wake me?”

“Well, I thought one of us should get some sleep,” Jon says drily, only he’s tired, so it comes out rather snappy.

Martin cants his head at him, his brows pinching together. Jon can practically hear the gears whirring in his mind. He shifts uncomfortably.

“I know it’s been a bad week,” Martin says at last, softly, “but please don’t shut me out.”

As soon as he says it, Jon knows that that’s what he’d been trying to do tonight. Keep his nightmares and guilt to himself, protect Martin from the horrors he knows about anyway. At least, that was his excuse. It’s not that Jon didn’t want his help; he did. It had simply felt too selfish to ask for it.

Jon watches him for a long moment. He thinks about fear, and love, and self-isolation. He thinks about Martin waking up in the safehouse smelling like sea spray; about telling him to Breathe, just breathe. You’re not alone. Not anymore. He thinks about a little grey scaredy-cat who feels safe with Jon, of all people.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

Martin gives him a small smile. “Okay. How can I help?”

Jon bites his lip. “Would you... would you just hold me, please?”

“Oh, Jon.” Weary though he is, Martin’s look is full of sympathy. “Of course.”

Jon follows him back to bed. As he lifts his side of the covers, Martin says, “Ah, careful. I think Crumpet’s settled in the warm spot you left.”

He peers in the darkness. Indeed she has. “Your Royal Highness,” he greets her, bowing slightly. That’s the appropriate form of address for a princess. It doesn’t roll off the tongue very easily, but Martin groans and rolls his eyes whenever Jon says it, so he keeps doing the bit.

He can never bear to move either of their cats if they look comfy, so he gets into bed gingerly and ends up pressed close to Martin, who loops an arm over him. They’re face to face, with mere inches separating them.

“Hi,” Jon says, somewhere between shy and pleased.

“Hi,” Martin says back at him, his smile colouring the word. Jon thinks they could be seventy years old and still greet each other like that, bashful and sweet as teenagers with a crush.

Jon tucks his face against Martin’s shoulder, humming in contentment at the warmth and solidity of him. After a while, he mumbles, “By the way. Boo needs a bath.”

Martin laughs. “That’ll be an adventure. Why?”

His voice is light, but betrays how tired he is. Jon shifts and presses a kiss to his cheek. “Tell you in the morning. Go to sleep.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes,” Jon says slowly. “I think I will be.”

[my TMA fic on AO3]

#the magnus archives #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #mimofic

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searchingwardrobes · 4 years ago

Text

The Convenient Groom: 8/13

I can’t believe it took me almost a month to finish this chapter, but here it is! None of this was even in my outline, lol. However, I like where the muse took me, and there’s more "oh shoot, we HAVE to kiss”, so that’s always good. Hopefully that all makes up for the long wait - especially for the girl this was a gift for to begin with. I hope you enjoy this, @spartanguard!

I also realized that I accidentally posted two chapters labeled as chapter six here on Tumblr. The chapter count is correct on Ao3. This is chapter 8. I fixed the “second chapter six” on my tumblr blog as well. Sorry for the confusion!

Summary: Killian Jones just happens to be there when Emma Swan gets the phone call that changes everything: her fiance is leaving her at the altar. The thing is, it could also mean the end of her career. Convenient that Killian has nothing better to do that day. Convenient that he’s secretly in love with her. Not that Emma has to know that. Written for @spartanguard .

Rating: M

Words: almost 3k in this chapter

Also on Ao3

Tagging: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @let-it-raines @teamhook @bethacaciakay @xhookswenchx @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @distant-rose @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @carpedzem @ohmakemeahercules @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @sherlockianwhovian @vvbooklady1256 @hollyethecurious @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan

“This dress is absolutely gorgeous,” Anna gushed as she helped Emma zip it up.

“Thank you,” Emma told her sincerely, “but I really didn’t have to wear it again. A simple sundress would have been fine.”

“Excuse me?” Anna snapped with an arch of her brows and a hand on her hip. Behind her, Elsa chuckled.

“Anna, don’t be rude.”

“I’m not!” she retorted, and Emma could easily imagine these two as kids. “I simply want to get the full effect of this wedding, okay? We didn’t get to be there, so today better be the next best thing.”

Elsa shook her head and caught Emma’s eye in the mirror as she adjusted the baby’s breath woven through the loose braids crowning Emma’s waves. It wasn’t the style she would have gone with personally, but she had to admit that Elsa had done a gorgeous job with her hair.

“It’s fine,” Emma assured the other blonde, “your sister has a point. And I don’t really mind recreating the wedding - in a smaller version, of course.”

The door leading from the basement out to the backyard rattled, followed by a frustrated shout from Killian. Anna shrieked as she raced for the door.

“You can’t see the bride before the ceremony, Kil!”

“We’re already married, A! This is ridiculous!”

“Humor a pregnant woman!” she barked, and Emma and Elsa couldn’t contain their laughter any longer.

“Fine,” Killian snapped back, “I’m just here to tell you that Liam and Kristoff want to eat soon, so we better do this.”

“Men and their stomachs,” Anna grumbled with a roll of her eyes.

“Look up,” Elsa told Emma, and she complied. Elsa gave her eyelashes one more swipe of mascara. “There, you’re perfect.”

Emma picked up her small bouquet of forget-me-nots (that matched Killian’s eyes, Anna had pointed out), and lifted the bottom of her dress so her heels wouldn’t get tangled.

“Okay, let’s get this show on the road.”

Anna nodded, then turned back to the door. “Are you still out there, Kil?’

“Yes.”

“Well, go take your place under the arbor!”

Killian mumbled something about bossy women, but did as he was told. Anna peeked out, just to be sure the groom was where he was supposed to be, then she flung the door open. She and her sister went out first, walking out to strands of Canon in D. When the classical music faded out, Emma stepped out of the door. She almost burst out laughing when the music for her processional began.

You’re in an all-girl band, your futon is second-hand . . .

The arbor, which had been moved to Liam and Elsa’s backyard, wasn’t that far away from the basement door, and Emma was close enough already to see Killian’s wink. Emma couldn’t suppress the grin on her face, and Anna couldn’t suppress her glare.

“What kind of bridal song is this,” the redhead hissed as she smacked Killian with her bouquet.

Killian ignored her and waggled his eyebrows at Emma.

“It’s perfect actually, Anna,” Emma assured her, “let’s just say that it’s an inside joke.”

“Fine,” Anna huffed, “and we need to stop talking! This is a wedding.”

“A fake wedding with a grand total of seven people,” Killian muttered.

Anna smacked him with her bouquet again. At this rate, there wouldn’t be any petals left on the thing.

“Dearly beloved,” the officiant intoned as Emma turned to face Killian. She glanced in surprise at the elderly man, then whispered to Killian.

“Who the hell is this?”

“Can you two please take this seriously?” Anna exclaimed. “This is Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie.”

“Is he even ordained?” Killian asked.

“I’m standing right here,” the old man said dryly, “and I suggest you let me continue. You’re getting married.”

“We’re already married.”

“Then who cares if I’m ordained?”

Killian and Emma shared a look and then shrugged. The man cleared his throat pointedly.

“Dearly beloved, we gather here today to join these two in holy matrimony. If anyone knows why these two should not be wed, speak now or forever hold your peace.”

Emma’s eyes narrowed. Had the officiant said that at the first ceremony? She didn’t think so, but then again, everything that day passed in a blur. Kristoff’s Grand Pabbie paused . . . and paused . . . and paused some more. Killian narrowed his eyes in confusion, and Emma gave a small shake of her head.

“Oh my God,” Anna exclaimed in exasperation, “no one objects! Just get on with it!”

“Well,” Grand Pabbie said slowly, his bushy eyebrows moving expressively across his forehead, “Kristoff had mentioned a concerned brother, and I just -”

“Liam,” Killian growled.

“Have I said a word?” his brother countered, both hands raised in surrender.

“You can get on with it, Grand Pabbie,” Kristoff told the elderly man, his face flaming red.

“Okay then, where was I . . . “ the old man narrowed his eyes as he shuffled the papers in his hands. Emma’s eyes met Killian’s, and they couldn’t help bursting out with laughter. Emma could hear Anna huffing in frustration behind her, and she bit the inside of her cheek to get herself back under control. Killian cleared his throat and clenched his jaw, though she could still see the merriment in his eyes.

“Ah yes, here we are . . . Marriage is a sacred union in which two hearts are joined as one. Emma and Killian, repeat after me . . . “

Emma was more aware during this second ceremony, which made sense. She wasn’t in shock like she had been the first time around. Yet she also was surprised to realize that this wedding was more suited to her personality than the one she had spent a year planning - and this wasn’t even real. There was just something about the simplicity of it and the small crowd who was there because they were emotionally invested, not so they could get free food and an open bar.

Then they were pronounced man and wife for the second time in a month, and Killian was told he could kiss his bride. He hadn’t kissed her since that day on the beach with the paparazzi. She hadn’t forgotten what a good kisser he was, but somehow it felt different. It was a simple kiss - more than a brush of lips, yet far less heated than the one he had laid on her at their first wedding. It probably had something to do with his brother glaring at them two feet away. Yet for some reason, Emma felt light headed when he pulled away, and she swayed towards him like he was a magnet she was drawn to. Or like a moth to a flame? Or being pulled out with the tide? It was some sort of romance novel cliche like that, and what made it twice as embarrassing was that she didn’t open her eyes until she almost lost her balance.

“Are you alright, Swan?” he asked as he grasped her by the shoulders to steady her.

“Yeah,” she hurriedly assured him as she gave her head a quick shake.

He tilted his head, and his lips parted on a breath. Before he could question her further, Anna clapped her hands and made an announcement.

“Now the bride and groom will have their first dance!”

“What?” Kristoff blurted out. “I thought we were eating!”

“Not until after their first dance; that’s how it’s done.”

“But I’m hungry!”

Anna leveled her husband with a look that could melt ice. “You don’t think the pregnant woman is hungry? We won’t starve while they dance!”

“Fine!” Kristoff muttered, throwing up his hands. Then he grumbled under his breath, “Isn’t even their first dance since it isn’t their first wedding.”

Killian shrugged at Emma, and she laughed. Elsa pulled up the song they had selected on her phone which was hooked up to the outdoor speakers. Killian set his hands at Emma’s waist as Paul McCartney began to sing, and Emma slid her arms around his neck.

“Are you sure you were alright a minute ago?”

His face looked so concerned that Emma told him the truth. “It just felt different kissing you this time, that’s all.” Her face burned as Killian’s eyes widened. “I mean - not like that or anything. It’s just that we . . . I mean, I . . . I know what pickles you like now.”

A slow smile spread across his face. “Pickles.”

“Yeah, pickles.”

He tilted his head and studied her. “I see. I wasn’t aware pickle preferences were such a sign of growing intimacy.”

The way his accent rolled over the words made the whole thing sound far more serious than Emma intended. She let out an indelicate snort. “You know what I mean. I know you better now. Like . . . like the pickles -”

“So we’ve established.”

“And . . . what you watch on Netflix . . . and . . . I’ve seen you . . . sweaty.”

Killian arched one brow and quirked his lips into an absolutely sinful, crooked smile. She swore she could see his eyes darken slowly under those stupid thick eyelashes of his.

“Don’t say it!” she warned him.

“Whatever do you mean?” His tongue darted out to wet his lips, and she swore he must have worked for some sex phone line thing to be able to make syllables drip like that.

“Whatever dirty innuendo you were about to make,” she told him through gritted teeth. “Just. Don’t.”

He nodded but gave her a smug look. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

Killian leaned closer, his nose in her hair and his lips brushing against the shell of her ear. He whispered in that low timbre of his, “I don’t need to say it, love, because you’re already thinking it.”

******************************************************

Emma watched the flames in the backyard fire pit lick at the marshmallow on the end of her stick. It caught and was engulfed, and Emma smiled as it charred.

“You burned it,” Anna observed as Emma pulled it out and blew on it.

“Nope,” Emma said, spinning it and admiring its black crust, “it’s perfect.” She gestured to the slightly browned marshmallow Anna had just slid onto a slab of chocolate. “Yours is still raw.”

Anna sandwiched the treat between two graham crackers, then replied around a messy bite. “I guess everyone makes their s’mores differently.”

Emma watched her catch a glob of marshmallow with her pinkie, and was relieved to see that her table manners didn’t matter with this crowd. Walsh had elegant tastes and took her places where you had to know which fork to use with what course. It had been exhausting.

Emma’s gaze flitted to Killian, who was laughing over beers with Kristoff. Behind them, Elsa was talking to Liam with a bundle of sparklers in one hand and a lighter in the other. Her brow was furrowed as she asked her husband something, and Liam looked intense with his arms crossed over his chest. Emma thought about her agreement with Killian and thought now was as good a time as any to do a little recon about his brother’s marriage.

“So . . . “ she said slowly and casually to Anna, “is Liam just as bossy with your sister as he is to everyone else?”

Anna literally snorted and almost choked on her s’more. “Are you kidding? Liam would walk on broken glass for Elsa if he had to.”

“Really?” Emma asked incredulously. Her gaze landed back on the couple. A gentle smile broke across Liam’s face as his hand closed over Elsa’s where she grasped the lighter. Elsa laughed, her eyes sparkling, as Liam pulled her to his chest and kissed her tenderly. Emma’s eyes narrowed.

“But they’re both opinionated.”

“Well yeah,” Anna said with a shrug, “but so are you and Killian, right?”

“Uh . . . yeah.”

Anna gave Emma a little nudge with her elbow. “Paul McCartney was a great choice. Especially since The Beatles were Alice’s favorite.”

“Alice?”

“Yeah, their mom.”

“Oh, of course,” Emma replied hurriedly, her face burning, but Anna seemed more interested in the messy chocolate that was dripping down her wrist.

“God, I’m a mess,” she chuckled.

“I’m not much better,” Emma laughed, trying to lick sticky marshmallow off her thumb.

“I really have never seen anyone love someone the way Liam loves my sister,” Anna said with a smile. “I mean, not that Kristoff doesn’t love me in an amazing way, he totally does, and he’s - like, super supportive, it’s just . . . Well, Elsa was closed off for so long. She got hurt really badly when we were in high school. To say her heart was broken is a huge understatement. Anyways, I didn’t think she would trust anyone with her heart until Liam came along. Of course, you know from personal experience how Jones men are.”

“How so?” Emma asked before she could stop herself.

Anna tilted her head and looked at her like she was completely dense. “They love completely and fiercely. When they commit to something, they’re all in.”

“Oh . . . “ Emma trailed off and quickly stuffed more dessert in her mouth. She hoped the chatterbox would move on to a different topic, but for once the woman was silent. Emma swallowed and gave her a nervous smile. “Guess that’s why he’s into rom-coms, huh? When we were picking out a wedding song, he seemed to know the plot of most of them.”

Anna’s brow furrowed. “He didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Killian Jones watches sci-fi and fantasy. The only reason he knows those rom-coms is because of me. I had a horrible break up before Kristoff, and Killian asked me how he could help. I said ice cream and rom coms, not really taking him seriously. He was over within an hour with a pint of chocolate chip cookie dough and While You Were Sleeping.”

“Really,” Emma said thoughtfully, her eyes landing on Killian once again.

“Yeah, he came over every night for like a week.”

************************************************

Emma wrapped her sweater around her shoulders tighter as she made her way across the dunes. It was dark now, and almost time for the fireworks over Storybrooke harbor. They wouldn’t have the best view in town, but the privacy was worth the trade off. Killian came up next to her with unlit sparklers in his hands.

“The wedding coordinator demands our presence once again. Something about kissing with sparklers all around us. Very popular Instagram pose, apparently.”

Emma laughed as she turned to face him. “How are we supposed to kiss and hold sparklers at the same time?”

“Very carefully?”

She took the metal stick he offered her, but the jolt she felt was attraction, not electricity. She could admit it now. She was attracted to him. Honestly, who wouldn’t be? He fit the bill of tall, dark, and handsome to perfection. And then . . .

“Anna told me about the rom coms.”

He tilted his head, his brow furrowed. “The what?”

She made a circling motion with her hand. “You know. The reason you know all those cheesy rom coms is because you binge watched them with Anna. To cheer her up after a break up?”

“Oh,” he said, his hand going straight to that favored spot behind his ear, “um, yes. It was the least I could do, really. That Hans was an absolute git. No, worse, a complete and utter narcissist.”

His jaw was clenched now, his eyes narrow, and Emma’s heart flipped over how angry he still seemed on Anna’s behalf. You know from personal experience how Jones men are . . . They love completely and fiercely. Emma realized her gaze had dropped to his lips, and she shook herself out of the stupor she’d fallen into.

“Anyways,” Killian shrugged, “my heart just broke for her, and I didn’t know what else to do.”

“It was sweet, and far more than most men would do. Unless they wanted to get in a woman’s pants.”

Killian wrinkled his nose in offense. “Please don’t even hint at me and Anna’s pants. She’s like the kid sister I never had. It just sounds . . . wrong.”

Emma smiled up at him, tapping his chest with the tip of her sparkler. “Exactly. That’s what makes it so wonderful.”

“Hey, lovebirds!” Anna shouted from the edge of the yard. “Get over here and act romantic for the camera!”

It turned out the Instagram shots consisted first of Emma and Killian holding the sparklers out in front of them while they kissed, then Killian dipping her and kissing her while his family held up sparklers behind them.

They were starting to get really good at this kissing thing. Emma was getting a little bolder in her response, and tonight she could taste the mixture of sweet and smoky from the s’mores on his tongue.

When he righted her, his brows were lifted, and she braced herself for a quip about her new enthusiasm when he kissed her. Instead, he merely smiled that crooked grin of his. She narrowed her eyes and leaned in to whisper in his ear.

“It has to look real for Instagram.”

He moved his lips to her ear so he could whisper back, “Who said I was complaining, love?”

#cs ff #cs modern au #cs marriage of convenience #slow burn #humor #and some angst #for spartanguard

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camillemontespan · 5 years ago

Text

ten years from now [AU. drake walker x camille montespan] [part eighteen: mojitos and sunrises]

@ibldw-main @pug-bitch @jovialyouthmusic @katedrakeohd @rainbowsinthestorm @emichelle @dcbbw @sirbeepsalot @notoriouscs @burnsoslow @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @gardeningourmet @pedudley @marshmallowsandfire @princessleac1 @simplymissjulia @kingliam2019

'So let me get this straight,' Riley said, her blue eyes boring into Liam's. 'You were engaged to this girl Camille, about to get married in a few months at the Met, and you both visited her hometown in Texas to invite her old friends and see her grandmother. While there, she was reunited with her ex-best friend who turned out to also be her ex boyfriend who she lost her virginity to, and she fucked him. You were oblivious. Then you both come back to New York, she meets up with the ex boyfriend across town and fucks him again. Then her grandmother has a fall and Camille goes back to Texas to see her in hospital. When she comes back to New York, you are making her favourite dinner in a bid to apologise for not being able to leave work to go to Texas when she bursts into tears and tells you that she fucked the ex boyfriend twice and kissed him in some sort of maze.. You walk out and now the wedding is off. Have I got all that right?'

Liam nodded. 'That's it.'

Riley stared at him. 'What a fucking bitch.'

Liam let out a surprised laugh. 'Wow, don't hold back.'

'But she is!' Riley cried, indignation flooding her face. 'You're a nice guy and from what you've told me, you did everything to keep her happy. You sent her grandma roses! Like, you are the ideal husband! But she gave that up to have dirty hotel room sex with her redneck cowboy ex boyfriend who she dated ten years ago!'

Liam sipped his scotch and shrugged. ‘Pretty much,’ he said. ‘Though he wasn’t a redneck-’

‘He slept with your fiancee, trust me, he is a redneck,’ Riley interrupted, her nose flaring. She shook her head. ‘What an asshole.’

Liam raised an eyebrow. ‘You’re quite opinionated, aren’t you?’

Riley sipped her drink and regarded Liam with a cool expression. They were the only ones left out of their colleagues; everyone else had gone home. But Liam and Riley had gotten more drinks and Riley had listened as Liam told her about his recent woes.

‘What you see is what you get with me,’ Riley told him. ‘I don’t sugarcoat anything. I’m 100% honest. It scares some people..’

‘I think it’s refreshing,’ Liam assured her. ‘I like it.’

Riley’s cheeks turned pink as she cast her eyes down to study her glass. Liam smiled and gestured to the waitress for another two drinks.

‘So you’ve heard my story,’ Liam said. ‘What’s yours?’

Riley squared her shoulders and looked at him straight on. ‘What do you want to know?’

‘Just tell me about you. Where you’re from, family, dating history, college?’

Riley rolled her eyes. ‘Okay, so I’m from Jersey-’

Liam winced. Riley laughed. ‘Oh, I know. I know. So yeah, I’m from Jersey. I have two older brothers but we don’t speak anymore. Three ex boyfriends - I dumped them. I attended Art School and graduated with distinction.’

Liam’s eyes widened. ‘Oh wow. So why are you working on Wall Street if you’re an artist?’

The waitress dropped off their two new drinks which Riley took gratefully. She took a long sip and smacked her cherry lips together. Liam’s eyes flicked to her bottom lip; he quickly looked away.

‘Because the money is fucking good,’ she answered bluntly. ‘Why do you work on Wall Street?’

Liam blinked. A slow smile formed on his face and he chuckled. ‘Because the money is fucking good.’

Riley raised her glass and clinked it against Liam’s. ‘Let’s toast to money.’

‘To money,’ Liam said grandly. ‘Though it isn’t the be and end all.’

Riley rolled her eyes. ‘Fine. It’s not. But it does let us buy all the drinks we want and that is what matters.’

Liam laughed and tossed the scotch down his throat. Riley regarded him silently, her eyebrow quirking up; she looked quite mischievous.

‘I have a guilty pleasure,’ she said in a low voice. ‘Do you promise not to judge me if I tell you it?’

Liam smiled. ‘Tell me.’

Riley drained the last of her scotch. ‘I love karaoke bars..’

Liam threw his head back as he laughed. ‘Oh god, you’re so not cool,’ he teased.

‘I know I’m not!’ Riley cried. ‘I never try to be. I love karaoke bars. Wanna come to one with me?’

‘I don’t sing-’

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Riley interrupted. ‘It’s fun.’

‘I can’t..’

Riley sighed. She looked at Liam with a steady stare, clearly not taking any of his excuses. ‘When was the last time you did something that was fun?’ she asked. ‘That was new? That forced you to just let go?’

Liam considered her question. He couldn’t remember. His life had been a conveyor belt of early mornings, late nights in the office and trying to make Camille happy.

He sighed. ‘Fine. Let’s go to a karaoke bar..’

Riley stood up and dragged him to his feet. ‘No need to act like you’re heading for your execution,’ she quipped. ‘Come on, I know a place two blocks from here.’

Liam followed her out of the bar towards the karaoke bar that was lit up in neon. As he listened to Riley talk incessantly,he felt like he was leaving behind a life of grey and was now entering a world of colour.

*********************************************

Liam and Riley were now hammered on mojitos. They had hired a private room for an hour and Riley had squealed in excitement when she saw that there was a dressing up box for customers to rifle through. She threw a feather boa around Liam’s shoulders, telling him that he looked fabulous.

He watched her as she sang along to Total Eclipse of the Heart, badly. But she didn’t care. She belted out the ballad, closing her eyes and swaying, even raising her fist in the air like the diva she was. Liam had laughed and enjoyed watching her. He felt relaxed. He had even loosened his tie.

‘Okay, your go!’ Riley said, throwing herself down on the velvet booth next to him. ‘Entertain me!’

Liam groaned but he still stood up to look through the catalogue. He considered his options before throwing caution to the wind.

Riley’s eyes widened as she heard the opening bars. ‘Oh my god..’

Liam threw his shoulders back and adopted a haughty pose. He wrapped the feather boa around his neck and placed a bowler hat on his head, keeping his eyes to the floor as he waited for his line.

‘At first I was afraid, I was petrified...kept thinking I could never live without you by my side..’

Riley clapped her hands, laughing as she watched Liam start the song.

But then I spent so many nights thinking how you did me wrong, and I grew strong and I learned how to get along.. FROM OUTER SPACE!’

Liam twirled on his foot, the feather boa flying around him as he started to strut drunkenly across the room, swinging his hips.

‘I just walked in to find you here with that sad look upon your face, I should have changed that stupid lock, I should have made you leave your key..’

‘YEAH BABY!’ Riley shouted, pointing at him. ‘You tell her!’

Liam continued to sing. He became more extravagant as the song went on; he twirled; he spun; he pointed at Riley; he tossed his hat in the air and caught it. For some reason, he had abandoned his usual quiet persona and was now this ridiculous, camp performer. But he didn’t care. He was enjoying himself. He felt alive.

He looked at Riley, who was watching him in wonder, and gave her a wink. She blushed.

Liam grinned and continued to dance and sing, his voice growing in confidence and volume. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he had unlocked the old Liam. The Liam who used to go out and have fun. The Liam who enjoyed life. The Liam before he became a Wall Street minion. The Liam before he got cheated on. The Liam before he met Camille.

He felt happy.

*********************************

Drake opened his eyes. As his vision adjusted, he realised he was lying on the couch with Camille curled up against him. For a moment, he smiled, his heart flipped and he felt content. Until he realised that he had accidently fallen asleep and was in Camille’s grandmother’s house.

He glanced at the clock on the wall. 6am.

‘Shit!’ he hissed, bolting up. Camille jumped, her eyes opening as he disturbed her slumber. Yawning, she looked up and visibly reeled back when she saw that she had been sleeping beside him.

‘Drake!’

‘We fell asleep,’ Drake told her. ‘Fuck, I should go. It’s 6am..’

Camille jumped to her feet. Her dark hair was tousled and she had sleep in her eyes; she looked perfectly imperfect. Drake’s heart flipped again but he pushed it down as he stood up and arranged the cushions on the couch so Gisele wouldn’t have to tidy up after them.

‘Sorry,’ Camille whispered. ‘I didn’t realise we had fallen asleep. Must have been the whiskey.’

Drake sighed. ‘It’s alright, my fault too. Heh. Anyway, I should go..’

Camille followed him silently out of the living room, wrapping her arms around her body. She unlocked the front door; the sun was beginning to rise, casting a golden glow. She smiled up at Drake. ‘Thank you for tending to the roses,’ she said. ‘I really appreciate it.’

Drake smiled bashfully. ‘Happy to help,’ he told her. He moved to leave the house but stopped short when he looked up at the morning sky. He cast a look back at Camille who was leaning against the threshold, looking slightly embarrassed.

‘Do you want to watch the sunrise with me?’ he asked without thinking. ‘The lake will look gorgeous right now.’

Camille tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled down at the floor. ‘I’d like that,’ she murmured. ‘That sounds.. Perfect.’

Drake grinned and held out his hand for her to take. Camille took his hand, her hands soft and small in his, and together they wandered up the road towards the ranch. Drake smiled to himself as he kept repeating the mantra ‘baby steps’ in his mind. Baby steps. Baby steps.

**************************************

The water was glimmering gold. Camille let out a gasp as she took in the sunrise and how beautiful it was. She sat down on the jetty with Drake beside her and they watched the sun slowly come up, greeting the day.

‘This is beautiful,’ Camille whispered. She cast a look at Drake and reached out to take his hand. ‘Thanks for inviting me to see it.’

Drake blushed. The sunrise had cast his face in a golden glow; his brown eyes changed colour in the light, turning green, which meant his eyes were always a surprise. Camille loved Drake’s eyes. He was smiling as if he couldn’t believe his luck, the kind of smile that made the butterflies in Camille’s stomach start fluttering wildly, and a strand of his dark hair fell over his left eye, making him look shy and awkward. He looked like the boy she had known all those years ago. But when he turned to look at her, Camille could now see the man he had grown into and she couldn’t help but feel the butterflies flutter even more.

‘I love watching the sunrise,’ he told her. ‘It’s peaceful. If you want.. We could do this again?’

Camille smiled. ‘I’d love that.’

Drake gently wrapped his arm around her shoulder and brought her in close to him; Camille inhaled his scent. He smelled of whiskey and the forest. He smelled like home.

#drake x camille

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