#it’ll make me blow up into a million pieces if I do

[voltrixz]

I NEED TO REWATCH TSSM‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️ (<devil on my shoulder speaking to me )

[niallsgoldhoop]

Chapter Three

Wren

“Nope, not that.”

Tossing another dress onto my bed, I look up to the ceiling as if I’ll find some kind of guidance.

Standing in front of the large mirror that leans against the far wall of my bedroom, each outfit that I hold up is a big fat no.

My hair is still wrapped up in a towel just like my body after taking an everything shower this morning. For whatever reason just knowing that I’d spent the extra time made me feel a little more confident.

Today I needed as much confidence as possible.

Stepping into my closet and grabbing a couple more pieces, I cross my bedroom to stand in front of the mirror again. Holding the light blue sweater up and the pair of tan trousers over the bottom of my body, my head tilts from side to side as I imagine how it would look once my hair and makeup were finished.

“Mmmm, no.” Tossing it into my bed and making my way back into my closet, I tell myself that I’m only going to pick one more option.

When I hold the black and white houndstooth skirt up along with the black top, it works better than any of the other options.

As I get ready for work I go over the speech in my head at least a million times. Exactly how I’m going to ask Niall if the ballroom is available next Saturday and if it is— Can my family use it?

Asking for help or personal favors has never been something I’ve done and it really wasn’t something that I wanted to start doing either.

But, alas.

Here we are.

Pulling up the black tights under the skirt and sliding my feet into a pair of black heels, I slide a pair of golden earrings into my ears before looking at myself in the mirror for what feels like the millionth time this morning.

“You can do it.” I smile, giving myself a pep talk. “It’s just one thing to ask for. Just one night. It’ll be easy and the day will come and go, and that’s it. One and done.”

Giving myself a quick thumbs up, I plaster on a smile and grab my stuff before heading out the door.

Today will go one of two way… Good or bad.

For once, I’m hoping it’ll be good.

————-

I’m going to wear the floor out.

From pacing back and forth behind my desk trying to convince myself to go to Niall’s office and just knock on the fucking door.

Glancing at the time on the corner of my computer, I know that he should be in his office because in my usual hiding schedule this is when I would usually grab lunch and I almost never see him.

So I take advantage of the knowledge and head out of my office and finally get over my fucking nerves.

Walking down the hallway, I smile at my coworkers as I pass them and before I know it— I find myself in front of the door that scares the shit out of me. Blowing out a breath, I raise my hand and as soon as my knuckles barely touch the wooden door it flies open, making me take a step back.

Niall stands on the other side of the threshold with a smile on his face. “Wren, hi.”

“Hi.” I nervously move to push hair behind my ear that’s not even out of place. “Niall, how are you?”

“Come in— I was just going to grab something to eat.” Turning back around and making his way behind his desk, he motions to an empty chair in front of him, watching me as I take a seat. “Talk to me.”

“If you’d like for me to come back, I can—“ Motioning to the door behind me, I move to stand up. “Really, it’s not a big deal.”

“No, don’t worry.” Resting his arms across the top of his desk, his blue eyes find mine. “What brings you out of your corner of the world?”

“You know how you mentioned if I needed anything to talk to you about it?” My voice wavers from the nerves gnawing at the inside of my belly. “Well, I need to ask you something.”

“Let's hear it.” Leaning back in his desk, I try not to focus on the veins that run up and down his forearms.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes. “My sister is having a birthday next week and I wanted to know if we could possibly use the ballroom for the party? I can do all the set up and clean up myself, of course. I know that this is last minute and I swear that this is something I never do because doing things in a timely manner is important to me and—“

“Sure.”

“—I would never expect you to bend the rules for me and I understand if you say— What?” I stop in the middle of my word vomit, opening my eyes to look straight at him.

Niall shrugs. “Using the ballroom is completely fine. Don’t worry about the set up and tear down, that will all be taken care of.”

“Are you sure?” The words sound as close to a squeak as they can get. “I don’t want to impose.”

He stands behind his desk and makes his way around his desk, leaning against the side and looking down at me. “It’s not a big deal. Besides, I owe you for scaring you so bad the other day.”

“I— Thank you.” A genuine smile spreads across my lips. “I really, really appreciate this.”

“Just let me know what day and about how many people you would expect.” It’s hard to feel anything but the weight of his gaze. “If you need anything else—“

Interrupted by the sound of someone clearing their throat, we both turn towards the door to his office to see Rory standing there with his eyes moving back and forth between us.

“Thank you, again.” Smiling, I stand and awkwardly reach out to shake his hand before practically running out of the room as fast as my heels will let me.

Now the only thing left to do is the only other thing I really don’t want to do.

Plan the party.

————

I planned the party.

From each decoration all the way down to the three tiered cake.

“Oh, Wren— This is so perfect.” Wrapping her arms around me, my mom squeezes me. “It’s so nice of you to want to do all of this for your baby sister!”

Want isn’t the word I would use but she doesn’t need to know that.

“It looks great, kiddo.” Standing just to her side, my dad smiles at me before pulling me into his own hug when my mom manages to let go. “Proud of you.”

“Thank you.” Fighting behind the fake smile, I let my eyes travel over the party.

At least fifty people fill the ballroom, most of them I’ve never seen in my life. When I told Jenna that I’d been able to get the space she immediately invited the people that she knew and only after the fact did she let me know how many people were coming.

Typical.

“There she is!” My mom smiles wide as the woman of the hour finds us. “Happy Birthday, baby!”

“I’m glad you guys came!” Jenna looks between our parents. “Wren, have you checked— Oh! There he is!”

Her smile grows wide, making me turn around.

Only I really, really wish that I hadn’t.

Keeping my facial expressions under control, I watch as Lucas Green takes my sister into his arms and covers her mouth with his own.

“There you are— I was looking for you.” Placing another kiss to her lips, his hands circle her waist and pull her closer. “Did I miss anything?”

“Not yet. Come on, let’s go mingle.” Jenna threads her hand with his, tugging him towards the crowd of people. “We’ll be back.”

I swallow down the emotion in my throat as Lucas looks over his shoulder and meets my gaze, a smirk on his stupid ass lips.

Fuck him.

“I’ll be right back— I’m just going to check on something in— In the kitchen.” Not even looking at my parents, I make my way through the crowd of people and slip through the doors.

In here, everything just outside the doors is nothing but muffled chatter. Taking a few deep breaths and repeating a mantra to myself, I feel my heart rate return to normal at the idea of my ex-boyfriend being here with my sister.

Just before I accepted the job at Willow Lake six months ago we ended our relationship of a little over a year. Lucas didn’t seem to care anymore and with me starting a new job, I didn’t want to keep trying to make something work when it clearly wasn’t going to.

Jenna knows about our past and it feels impossible not to be hurt at least a little bit. Or maybe a lot, at this point it doesn’t feel like it really matters how I feel. It never does with her.

I’ll do what I always do though.

Smile and pretend like it doesn’t matter.

I’m good at that.

—————

When is this night going to be over?

I ask myself the question for the millionth time since everyone got here.

“Is it time for cake?” Jenna asks as she walks up to me, Lucas wrapping his hands around her waist and over her stomach. “Dinner is done and over with so I feel like that’s what you should do next.”

Taking a deep breath and reminding myself that it’s not nice to strangle your sibling in public, I nod. “Yeah, I’ll bring it out.”

As soon as I turn around and roll my eyes, I make my way through the crowd and back into the kitchen to grab the cake that Jenna specifically asked for and set it on the cart. If it were up to me, I’d stick my finger in the icing and go home.

But as a people pleaser it’s just not in the cards for me.

The lights are dim as I light the candles before pushing it through the gap of people and placing it in front of my sister, everyone joining in to sing Happy Birthday.

For a moment, she looks just like the starry eyed little girl who used to ask me to braid her hair or ask to tag along with me when I would go to the mall. I’m not sure when our relationship changed but I do know that I miss that closeness that used to be there.

“Make a wish, baby.” Lucas’ voice is loud over the singing, making Jenna look back at him with a smile before blowing out each and every candle.

Cheers erupt through the ballroom as she turns to kiss him, pulling him in tight to whisper something in his ear earning her an eager nod.

“I want to thank you all for coming tonight!” Smiling, she looks around the room. “It’s been so much fun sharing this day with you and I’m excited to share something with each of you… We’re pregnant!”

Pregnant.

My stomach turns over on itself as the gasps and cheers fade away around me like I’m standing on a crowded subway platform. Lucas smiles as he leans down to kiss Jenna, his hand covering the middle of her belly before turning to everyone. “There’s one more thing.”

Taking a step back from her and digging in his back pocket, he drops down to one knee in front of her.

“Jenna, this last year has been everything I could have asked for. You make me a better person and there’s not one other person on this planet I’d rather raise a family with or love for the rest of my life. Will you marry me?”

Year?!

Without waiting for her answer, I make my way through the crowd of people and push open the doors that lead out of the crowded ballroom before letting the tears fall down my face.

How could I have ever been so fucking stupid?

I don’t think twice when I pull open the nearest door and sink down to the floor, dropping my head into my hands and letting out the sob that’s been trapped in my chest.

Our whole relationship was nothing but a lie.

While there weren’t any feelings for Lucas left, learning that the man you thought you loved slept with someone else pretty much for your whole relationship hurts like hell.

Knowing that other person was your sister?

Detrimental.

Tears continue to fall no matter how much I tell myself to get over it and get back out there.

When a knock sounds out, I wipe my hands under my eyes.

“Just a minute!” Moving to stand up, I reach for the door handle at the same time it swings open, revealing the absolute last person I want to see me having a mental breakdown in the closet. “Oh, Niall—“

With a crease between his brows and his jaw clenched, he looks unlike I’ve ever seen him.

Not one time can I recall him looking so angry.

“Wren, are you okay?” He steps forward, reaching out without hesitation to brush a tear from my cheek. “I was leaving and walked by and heard someone in here. What happened— Who did this to you?”

I shake my head, looking down at my feet. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not.” Niall presses forward, stepping into the closet with me and shutting the door behind him. “Talk to me.”

“You don’t want to know so don’t worry about it—“

Enveloped in the woodsy scent of his cologne, he presses into me and my back hits the supply shelf. “I’m this close from going in there and finding out who made you cry like this if you don’t talk to me.”

If I wasn’t mistaken, it almost sounds like his voice is laced with venom— like he’s never been more mad in his entire life.

“Are you sure?” My voice is barely above a whisper and I can feel my lip tremble. “Because it’s stupid.”

“Wren, listen to me.” The supply room is just fake enough that I can barely make out his features, but I swear they soften just a little bit. “Nothing you could say is stupid. Who made you hide in this closet?”

So I do the only thing I can do.

I tell him everything.

—————

so���. tell me your thoughtsssss

-alex 🍀

[elftwink]

best out of context* taako moments found in old documents by kas elftwink

(*some context added so that the jokes will land.)

modern au where the thb get stuck in an elevator (which is honestly 98% bit by volume):

Taako takes another quick couple breaths into his hands, tuning out the dumb argument happening around him. He was actually going to cook. Lup was coming over because they hadn't cooked in the new kitchen. And there's no cell service in this stupid elevator so he can't even text her to tell her he's dead now, say goodbye to everyone for him, don't take his stuff. Taako really hopes that noise was just the building settling and not a sign that the elevator is going to actually send them plummeting to their deaths. "Did you guys hear that?" "The elevator making that horrible creaking noise?" chimes in Taako, "No, I hadn't noticed, why?" There's a couple of seconds of silence and Taako peeks through his fingers at Magnus and Merle. They still look like they're bickering, but it's a lot more physical, head jerks and small kicks and mouthing of words that Taako can't make out. Finally, Magnus takes a step towards him. “Taako, are you… okay?” “Listen, Maggie, Mango, don’t take this one the wrong way, but fuck off.” Taako drops his hands from his face and tilts his head back until it hits the wall. There’s a loud ‘thunk’ when it connects and Magnus winces, but Taako is determined not to show that it kind of stung when he did that, so he glowers some more. “You guys figure that shit out. I’m going to sit here and think about how I could have been making brownies. You guys know you could have had brownies? Huh? If we walked you could have had brownies. I hate you guys.”

literally the only text in a doc titled "uni au bits":

“Taako did you want to try one?” “Oh yeah sure, just, uh, gimme one sec—” Taako fishes around in his bag for a minute and pulls out a tube, blue on one end, orange cap in the other. “Here’s my epipen, and when I collapse after eating that you just— just jab that motherfucker right into, uh, right into my thigh, and then you can foot the ambulance bill. Sound good?”

spy au where taako is infiltrating a party & talking to magnus through an ear piece:

“Are y— are you fucking eating right now?” “Wha— no,” says Magnus, clearly through a mouthful of food. Taako hopes his glare is self-evident even if it’s not visible. “I can guide through a bite of ramen.” “You fu— you have fucking soup? Are you kidding me? Soup? Tha— you know that setup is easily half a million in tech, right?” “So I won’t spill.” “Unbelievable. Fuck you. Where am I going?”

star trek au:

“Lieutenant Commander— we need you in engineering.” “Can it wait like, an hour?” “Not really, Taako.” Davenport’s voice is strained in that way he gets when something is about to explode but he’s supposed to remain professional, so Taako just sighs. “Can I bring a plus one?” “Not really, Taako!” “Alright, alright, be there in a minute.” Taako taps the communicator again before looking to Kravitz. “Do you want a tour of engineering?” “It sounded like you weren’t supposed to bring a plus one.” Taako waves his hand. “Don’t worry about it. He’ll forgive me eventually.” Truth be told, he doesn’t want to leave Kravitz wandering the halls of the Starblaster by himself. Plus, if something is in crisis in Engineering, maybe it’ll help his case that the crew constantly has to make snap decisions to keep the ship running and prevent the crisis from reaching the ship’s civilians. “Come on, I have to help stop the ship from blowing up,” he says, and then adds, “Just kidding. It’ll be fine,” at Kravitz’s raised eyebrows. The trip to Engineering is quick, although Taako takes the opportunity to waffle about the Starblaster and the work they do as much as he can, and answers Kravitz’s questions about the ship as he goes. “Anyway, the lower section of the Starblaster, the o— where we are right now, uh, mostly…” Taako trails off as they turn the corner into Engineering, eyes widening. “Holy shi— what the fuck is that?” The warp core is sealed off, but that’s not the major problem— the major problem is the crystals coating the surface of one of the wall displays. The place is noticeably empty of engineers, except Davenport, standing next to science officer Bluejeans, both of them pouring over a tricorder. “Pink tourmaline, apparently,” says Davenport, looking up from the tricorder and immediately sighing. “Why did I know you weren’t really asking about the plus one thing?” “We’re in the middle of a very important diplomatic discussion,” says Taako. “That’s why you’re still holding a glass of wine?” “With all due respect, Lieutenant Bluejeans, sh—” “Can we focus, please?” cuts in Davenport, and Taako silently offers his wine glass to Kravitz, who has no problem taking it off his hands.

star trek au slightly to the left:

The planet doesn’t look like anything special when Magnus and the twins beam down. Of course, it isn’t really— they’re reminded often that every planet is different or whatever and space travel is amazing isn’t the universe great blah blah blah, whatever, but… the last few missions have been mostly just talks. Ferrying ambassadors, representing the Federation, whatever. Taako’s sure it’d be hard work if he was doing anything other than wearing a slightly fancier uniform and looking pretty. As it is, he’s just bored, and he’s not the only one. Half the crew is bored and half is stressed beyond belief. He suspects that’s why Davenport gave them the okay to beam down in the first place, seeing as he, Lup, and Magnus were definitely the most… vocal about their boredom. Well, Taako was vocal. Lup and Magnus damn near blew a hole in one of the shuttle bay doors.

text convo between taako and lup after taako tells her about finding a dog and lup is pretty sure she knows who's looking for it:

Lup: whats the verdict Taako: yah thats the dog Taako: ur friends cute Lup: hes married Taako: oh what im not allowed to have eyes now??? im not allowed to compliment men w/o u assuming im trying to fuck??? Lup: do u want his number Taako: no hes not my type Taako: wait u just said he was married Lup: so u can call him about the DOG idiot Taako: oh right Taako: yah

+1 bonus magnus bit:

Magnus throws a punch. It’s a plan that has to happen quickly, but he finds time in the split second to run down what he’s trying to do and what the options are. Goal: stop Taako from putting on the sash. Ways to do that: 1. Punch him in the head. Magnus actually stopped listing after that.

thinking about getting into a relisten of taz balance because the other day i was going through my old unfinished fic documents and not only do i still have a gazillion taz ones laying around 80% finished but also my taako is literally so funny it feels cruel for all these extremely good bits to rot in my hard drive forevermore

[hajimine]

perennial destiny — fushiguro megumi x gn!reader

synopsis: megumi does not like the concept of soulmates. he wants to be able to choose who he loves—and he chooses you.

word count: 1.2k

genre: fluff, soulmate!au but not really, established relationship, soft!megumi (this is so cheesy fr)

soundtrack: on a clear day by joe hisaishi

a/n: i’m ngl i actually like this lol so i hope you guys do too! tysm @rintaroll​​ for being my beta and for the song rec mwah ily (ew) <3

A light smattering of clouds paint the blue sky in splashes of white, providing you with a little bit of shade from the otherwise bright afternoon sun.

You gaze at the little ducks waddling around on the pond, following their mother’s path. Unconsciously, you feel your lips curl up into a smile.

“What are you looking at?” Megumi murmurs, face turned towards you as he uses his hand to block out the sun from his eyes.

Humming, you give him a cheeky smile. “Nothing.”

He scrunches his face slightly, biting back a smile. He's used to your antics at this point.

Using his forearm to cover his eyes, Megumi sighs contently, shifting the position of his head on your lap to make himself more comfortable. The added weight on your thighs feel comforting, almost. Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The two of you stay in silence for a while as you bask in each other’s presence, enjoying the moment. The dark-haired boy plucks a stray dandelion beside him, inspecting it closely.

“Do you,” he starts, hesitating. You hum, urging him to continue. “Do you believe in soulmates?”

You stay quiet for a while, pondering his question. “I think I do, actually,” you admit. “It’s kinda sweet—the idea of it all. I’d like to think that there’s someone out there who’s meant for me, y’know?”

Megumi closes his eyes, his eyelashes fluttering as he considers your answer. He's really pretty, you think to yourself.

“Don’t you think it’s a little bit dumb?” He asks finally.

The bluntness of his words takes you by surprise. You laugh, gazing down at him with a fond look in your eyes. There’s a small frown on his lips; the crease between his brows a little more pronounced than usual.

Carding your fingers through his hair, you watch as he relaxes under your touch, the tension leaving his shoulders bit by bit.

You settle on a simple question. “What makes you say that?”

Megumi sighs, “The whole ‘fate and destiny’ thing. I think not being able to live your life the way you want to is a little depressing.” He purses his lips. “What if you don’t like your soulmate?”

You turn to look at the ducks again, but they were nowhere to be found. Now, the pond was silent, and there were no ripples in sight.

The pleasant smell of earth seeps into your lungs as you breathe in. Never in a million years would you have expected to have this kind of conversation with him.

You didn’t exactly peg him as someone who would be interested in the concept of soulmates at all. A soft smile graces your lips.

“Well, I suppose there should be a system to prevent that,” you squint, “maybe they would make it so that it’s impossible for you to hate your soulmate.”

Megumi clicks his tongue. “That just makes us robots then.”

This makes you grin. “Robots?”

“Yeah,” he mumbles, now shy. “If that's the case, you really have no choice in your thoughts and feelings, it simply strips your humanity away from you.”

You stop running your fingers through his hair for a moment and Megumi shifts, nudging your hand with his head to get you to continue. Cute.

Amused, you ask him, “Well, what if soulmates are real, and I’m not your soulmate, what would you do?”

He plucks another dandelion from the ground and inspects it before holding it close to his chest.

“It won’t change anything.” He says, not an ounce of hesitation in his words.

“Wouldn’t you wanna find your real soulmate?” You inquire, the flames of curiosity dancing in your eyes.

Without wasting a second, he sits up, turning around to face you. He studies your face for a second, eyes traveling down the curve of your nose and down to the slight upturn of your lips before returning to hold your gaze. 

Megumi speaks, eyebrows furrowed. “No. the fates or the heavens or whatever the hell is controlling our destiny won’t have any effects on my choices. I’m not about to be another pawn in the gods’ game of love. It’s the least I can do.”

And you laugh, light and bubbly; ignoring the fact that your chest feels abundantly lighter after his statement.

“You’re really serious about this, huh?”

His cheeks flare up, the headstrong confidence from a minute ago now gone, replaced by the charming bashfulness only a few have had the privilege to see. 

“Well,” he mumbles, “I’m not gonna leave you just ‘cause some prophecy tells me to. I like you. A lot.” Maybe a little too much, but he doesn’t tell you this.

The breeze tickles your face. “Yeah?”

Megumi refuses to meet your eyes, but he continues. “I want to spend the rest of my life with someone I chose myself. Soulmate or not.”

It is not his words that make your heart flutter—it’s the quiet blossoms in his cheeks, the sureness in his voice. If fate was a human, you’re sure that he’d fight her with no hesitation. Heck, even if she was a god, knowing Megumi, he would fight her too, even if it’ll cost him his life.

You watch him twirl the stem of dandelion between his fingertips. He doesn’t blow on it, nor does he make a wish like anyone else would in the presence of the perennial, he simply observes the flutters of white falling from its head. 

“So you would defy destiny if you had to?” You ask, knowing exactly what his answer would be even before he utters another word.

“Yes.” his dark eyes are steady, not a drop of uncertainty swimming in its depths. 

The soft breeze suddenly feels a little too warm for comfort. “That’s awfully romantic, don’t you think?”

And he blinks at you, but he does not yield. “Well, I just think soulmates are awfully unromantic.” He says, the corner of his lips twitching slightly.

A genuine laugh bubbles out from your chest. “You’re a curious one, Fushiguro Megumi.”

The smile on his lips is a fond one. “What about you?” He props his chin on the palm of his hand. “What would you do if soulmates are real?”

“Ah,” you pretend to think, “you’d be my soulmate then.”

He rolls his eyes at you, but the tips of his ears are dipped in vermillion. “But what if I’m not your soulmate?”

You spare him nothing but a glance, rising to your feet before brushing the dirt off your pants. As you squint at the setting sun, a contented sigh escapes your lips. On days like these, you could fully take in the beauty of the afternoon sky as you observe the shades of reds and golds dancing in the heavens.

“Then I’m afraid I’ll have to leave you to find my one true love.” You hum, biting back a laugh.

The dark-haired boy scoffs and stands up, walking towards you with his hands in his pockets. Half a smile graces his lips as he reaches for your waist, pulling you close. With the sort of tenderness he reserves just for you, Megumi rests his forehead against yours. He feels warm.

Megumi smells faintly of the earth—a product of the hours he spent sitting under the sun with you—along with a hint of the cool menthol shampoo he uses to wash his hair. And together, they create a blanket of comfort and familiarity, one that you’ve grown to call home. You breathe in.

“I won’t let you leave.” He mumbles, eyes fluttering shut. His palms feel comfortably warm on your waist; gentle and light, yet sure and heavy at the same time.

There’s a playful sparkle in your eyes as your lips curl up into a smile. “I know you won’t.”

per·en·ni·al /pəˈrenēəl/

(n.) a perennial plant

(adj.) lasting or existing for a long or apparently infinite time; enduring or continually recurring.

a/n: as always, reblogs are highly appreciated! please let me know what you think of this fic, i always love hearing from you all! also: yes, there’s another flower symbolism in this piece lol <3

-> writing masterlist  |  taglist is in the comments

[angelfishofthelord]

A is for Angst

in what seems to be a now annual tradition here are the angst fics i wrote in the week leading up to my birthday! you can read them all on a03 or in the tumblr post below:

don't make me do this (435 words)

“No!” Castiel wrestles with the boy, trying to keep him from running forward. “You can’t, Jack–Dean, don’t, wait please, Dean–” Jack squirms violently and pulls an arm free, reaching toward this execution like he’s welcoming the sun. Castiel throws an arm over him and swallows him back to safety. “No, no, Dean–please, don’t make me do this.”

what do you think you deserve (652 words)

“What do you think you deserve.” Naomi says it mildly, an afterthought. He sees her wings humming as she cleans off the needle and picks up another weapon from the tray. It’s made from angel grace. It will puncture right through the five craniums of his true form.

you know im not real (583 words)

At the bottom of the plastic drink cups Castiel finds the one billion fourteen million two thousand five hundred fifty-first planet. He holds it between his thumb and forefinger for Hannah to see.

“What should we name this one?”

Hannah smiles lightly. “You know I’m not real.”

is it getting bad again (810 words)

“Hey, are you oka–” the last syllable evaporates from his tongue when he sees Cas crumpled in a heap over the threshold of the bathroom. His cheek is pressed to the bathroom floor tile and he gasps faintly, like he’s trying to draw all the coolness from the tile piece into his body.

“Hey, hey, hey.” Sam’s heels skid to a stop in front of his folded legs and he bends down. “Is it getting bad again? Hold on, let me help you into the tub.”

just play along please (872 words)

That’s how it’s supposed to go. Dean plays his part perfectly; he and Castiel get past the front desk, and he drags Castiel down the hall with a fist in his collar. “Just play along,” he whispers as the secretary shows them into the meeting. “Two minutes top and it’ll be raining soap suds.”

i know you aren't coming back (678 words)

He knows. Castiel doesn’t bother to ask how. “Sam,” he says, so low he can barely hear himself.

“I know you’re not coming back.” Sam blows hard through his lips and tilts his head back, trying to keep the tears from spilling out. “Just–just say that you’re going to be here tomorrow.”

i didn't mean that (596 words)

“Mean what?” he asks.

Claire bites her lower lip and twists her index finger around the longer bracelet string. “When I–when I said you were a monster.”

[fruitcoops]

Ok so what sbout remus/sirius being too sick to go to an away game so the other one has to go alone, and then tons of facetime conversations and "get well soon" videos from the team?

This is related to this fic about Remus and Finn bonding over terrible reporters--hope you enjoy! SW credit goes to @lumosinlove, and the Loops/ Talker bonding is for @lee-1012!

TW for illness

“You don’t look so good.” Remus frowned as he held the inside of his wrist against Sirius’ forehead. “And you definitely have a fever.”

“Non.” Sirius sat up on his elbows with a groan, then almost immediately flopped back down.

“Yes.” He leaned back on his heels and checked the clock—they had two hours before they had to be at the airport. “Baby, I don’t think you should—”

“ ‘m going.”

“It’s not a good—”

“Gotta go. Games.” Sirius cracked one glassy eye open. “Two weeks away. I’ll take the first couple days off.”

Remus sighed through his nose and brushed his sweaty hair out of his eyes. “You shouldn’t go on the plane if you’re sick. Not just for your sake, but for the rest of us. We don’t need everyone to come down with this.”

He received a halfhearted glare in response, but Sirius finally huffed and curled on his side to nuzzle against his thigh. “I’m gonna miss you.”

“I’ll miss you, too, baby,” Remus said quietly, bending to kiss his temple. They hadn’t been apart for that long since before he was a player, nearly a year prior. Hell, he had never played a game without Sirius, let alone two weeks’ worth. “Lily will check on you, okay?”

Sirius mumbled an incoherent response and cuddled closer when he began combing his fingers through his hair. The second alarm beeped, loud against the quiet of their bedroom; time to go, he thought ruefully. Sirius touched his knee as he started to stand. “Love you. Be safe.”

“Love you more.”

“Love you most.”

“Go back to sleep,” Remus said as his heart clenched. “I’ll let Coach know what happened, but you’ve got to rest and take care of yourself. Hydrate or die-drate, yeah?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

“Sleep,” he repeated, kissing his forehead once more before hauling himself out of bed and tucking the covers around Sirius’ shoulders. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

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

The clouds were a soft, pastel pink around them as the sun rose—Sirius’ favorite. If his phone was correct, Lily would be there soon to let Hattie out and make sure Sirius wasn’t pushing himself too hard. The thought brought Remus a bit of relief, but not enough to quell his concern.

Talker poked his forearm, snapping him from his reverie. “What’s going on?”

“Just worrying.”

“About Cap?”

Remus waved a hand vaguely. “And Hattie, and Lily, and whether he’s got a cold or something worse. Feels weird being here without him.”

Talker hummed his agreement and offered one of his earbuds. “Want to listen to half of Bohemian Rhapsody with me? It’ll give you five minutes and 55 seconds of relative peace.”

“It’s too quiet,” James groaned just before he pressed ‘play’.

Across the aisle, Remus saw Kasey roll his eyes. “Your husband is sick, dude, not dead. He doesn’t talk to you on planes anyway.”

“It’s the principle of the thing, Bliz.”

“Oh my god,” Kasey muttered under his breath, securing his headphones tightly over his ears.

James let his head flop to the side with a baleful look. “Loops, you’re on my side, right?”

“I’ve got you, buddy,” he assured him. Talker stifled a laugh, and the opening chords began as more clouds rolled past. Remus let himself drift with them, taking deep breaths to soothe his worries; Sirius would be fine. He had the sniffles, or at worst the flu, and he would be join them for the second week in top form. There was nothing to worry about.

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

“He’s got pneumonia,” Lily sighed.

“He what?”

“A mild case, but the doctor said it would take a week of antibiotics and rest before he’s close to a hundred percent. No hockey for about a month, too.”

Remus stared at the wall of his empty hotel room, lost for words. “Well, fuck.”

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Pretty m—absolutely not, go lay down.” There was a rustling noise and two grumbling voices. “Sorry about that.”

“Will you put me on speaker real quick?” Remus asked, pinching the bridge of his nose until he heard a faint click. “Sirius? You there?”

“Yes! I miss you, and I was just going to tell you that it’s really not that—”

“Please sit your ass down. Lily, if he tries to fuck around and find out exactly how nasty pneumonia is, you have full permission to sit on him. I miss you too, love,” he added after a short pause.

“He’s blowing you a kiss,” Lily informed him. “Oh, and he’s giving me the puppy eyes.”

“Resist if you can. Love you both. Give Hattie lots of cuddles from me.”

“We will,” she promised.

The second the call ended, Remus groaned aloud and thumped his head against the wall before padding down the hall. Just my fucking luck. The door swung open after the second knock; Arthur’s face fell. “How bad is it?”

“Mild pneumonia.”

“Fuck.”

“Yep. Doctor said he’d be out for a month.”

Arthur rubbed his eyes and nodded, motioning Remus back towards his own room. “Get some rest, then. I’ll let everyone know in the morning. Any idea how he got it?”

“Not a clue.”

“Thanks for the update, Loops. Sleep tight.”

“I will,” Remus lied as he headed back for a sleepless night between cold sheets.

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

Lily sent updates every few hours; most reported that Sirius was sleeping well and looking better with each passing day, but Remus couldn’t help but feel overwhelmingly guilty. If something happened while he was hundreds of miles away, he would never forgive himself. He had sworn in front of their closest friends and family to be there in sickness and in health—what kind of husband ditches their partner for one of a million roadies?

This one. He stabbed a piece of broccoli and shoved it in his mouth. And then he goes and makes an idiot of himself for the world to see.

The interview was supposed to be easy, but he couldn’t let it roll off anymore. Not when he couldn’t answer their questions even when he wanted to, not when he was states away from the love of his life while he was sick, not when he felt helpless and shoved aside in every current aspect of his life.

“So.” The chair next to him creaked as Talker planted his full weight in it and set his plate decisively on the table.

“What.”

“Oh, pissy Loops. Haven’t seen you in a while. Talked to Cap yet?”

“Yeah.” Another piece of broccoli fell victim to his frustration.

“How’s he sound?”

“Better.”

“Sweet.” Talker continued to munch away on his dinner. “Anyone ever told you that you have the general disposition of a wet cat when you’re upset?”

Remus tried and failed to keep down a smile. “I seem to recall you bringing it up on occasion, yes.”

His dark eyes softened and he bumped their elbows together. “He’ll be okay.”

“I know.”

“Really, Loops. Cap’s going to be just fine. Lily doesn’t sugar-coat this kind of stuff, and he’s a tough guy. Mild pneumonia doesn’t stand a chance. Besides, we’ve only got four days left and we need you to kick some ass out there.”

If Remus was a little more emotionally vulnerable, he would’ve burst into tears. Instead, he settled for leaning his temple against Talker’s with a quiet ‘thanks’ and allowed himself to be pulled into a side hug. Across the dining hall, Finn shot him a thumbs-up and a wink. “Love you, man.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Talker teased. “The internet is already coming to your aid, you know.”

“About…?”

“Not only have those asshole reporters become a new meme, you’ve also got a shit ton of people bringing up past mistreatment of athletes in the press room. You’re the face of a revolution, Loops.”

“I’ve been the face of too many revolutions for one person,” he groused, not even bothering to duck out of the way when Talker ruffled his hair.

“Well, one more won’t kill you.”

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

Remus’ heart raced as he stepped off the plane. The logical part of him knew that Sirius would be waiting outside the security gate, but everything else screamed to see him now, now, right now so he could be sure he was alright. At least he had sounded healthier on the phone the night before—Remus wasn’t sure what he would do otherwise.

“Deep breaths,” James reminded him as they walked toward the baggage claim. “I’m sure he’s—”

An excited shout broke through the thick crowds. Remus’ heart skipped a beat, and then he was running, racing through the people that parted for him as his vision tunneled. His carry-on hit the ground with a low thud that he hardly heard as Sirius lifted him straight off the ground and held him tight.

“I love you,” Remus said immediately, locking his ankles around Sirius’ lower back and squeezing his eyes shut. “Are you okay?”

In lieu of a response, Sirius pulled back and kissed him, cradling one side of his face in his warm, warm hand. Two weeks may as well have been an eternity. He broke away after a moment, searching his face for any signs of illness or pain. “I’m fine,” Sirius said softly, as if he could read his mind. “I promise. A little tired and sore, but there’s no lasting damage.”

“Don’t do that again,” Remus said into the side of his neck as he hugged him close. He smelled like home. “Not when I have to leave.”

Sirius’ arms were steady around his back. “I won’t.”

“I’m going to grill you on everything as soon as we get home.”

“I know.”

“But right now, I’m just going to hug you because I missed you and I worried myself into a hole, like, every night.”

He could feel Sirius’ smile against his shoulder. “I know.”

[xmalfoyweasleyx]

No future with a boy like this - F.W

Summary: Fred disappoints you more than once, giving you no other choice, you had to let him go.

Warnings: ANGSTY, cursing, implied sex very briefly, FLUFF AT THE END

A/N: my firsts time writing angst and I really don’t know if i was overdramatic or not enough dramatic lol please give feedback

April- 1996 - Hogwarts

Y/n was waiting on the tribune next to the quidditch field. It was already getting darker now. An orange glow spreading over the field. The sun was going down already. She was sitting there for two hours now.

She promised herself she would stop waiting after an hour but here she was, still hoping he would show up.

It was her birthday, it was her fucking birthday. And this wasn't the first time. It started with little dates, he forgot them sometimes but y/n didn't mind, he made it up every time.

He hurt her by forgetting those things all the time. But it was Fred Weasley after all. You knew this was coming when he became your boyfriend. You even got used to it. He was always busy. That's just how Fred is.

And here she was again. Trying to not let the tears of disappointment fall down on her cheeks. She felt miserable and decided to finally call it a night, going back to her dorm. She was exhausted.

Walking down the corridors, she saw Fred. He was just sitting there, laughing with George. That's when it was clear, he wasn't even late, he just forgot.

He saw her and smiled, walking her way, but she turned on her heals immediately. "Y/n!" he screamed confused. He followed her and his long legs made it easy to catch up.

She didn't answer, finding it much harder to hold back her tears now. "Y/n? Hey? What's wrong?" he asked.

Y/n stopped abruptly. "You really don't know?" she hissed.

A confused look formed on his face. "What do you mean"? he stammered. A tear fell down her cheek and his face was full of guilt now, without even knowing what he did.

"You forgot", you snapped, "again!"

He was thinking for one minute. It really took him one minute. What was wrong with that boy?!

Suddenly a wave of realization hit him. "Fuck." he squealed.

Y/n didn't need this shit right now, and ran away before he could say something. Making him run after her. "NO y/n wait! I'm so sorry, I won't forget next time, I promise, I'm so sorry" he begged while grabbing her arm, pulling her closer to him.

"You say that every time Fred" she sighed, another tear fell down.

It broke Fred's heart. It really did. He didn't mean to forget this things, he didn't want to hurt you. His mind was just so full all the time. So many things were going on in those brains of his.

"I mean it, I'm sorry, I love you y/n" he assured.

And she fell for it, like she always did. It happened every time. Fred said things that made her melt, and she forgave him. It was nothing new. Because how could she not? The sweet boy didn't mean to hurt her, she knew that, everyone knew that.

But still, her friends warned her. There was no future with a boy like this. It couldn't stay like this. So she swore to herself this was the last time. She made that clear to Fred too.

Because what if he's the love of her life? Her future? This was her last year after all, y/n’s future was right in front of her. What if Fred was her future? You both couldn't give that up.

May- 1996 - Hogwarts

Everything was alright.

They were okay.

And Fred hasn’t been late for a whole month, sounds like nothing special but to him and her it was.

This weekend y/n was going home, and not just home, but with Fred.

After a year it was time for him to meet her parents. Fred claimed he was the perfect son in law, so he didn’t hesitate to agree. Y/n was nervous and excited at the same time.

Ready in her dorm, with a portkey, she had her favourite sundress on. She was waiting for Fred but he didn’t show up. Okay it was only 15 minutes now, but with their little history it made her nervous. She was absolutely sure Fred wouldn’t forget this. He can’t forget this.

20 minutes later she was still waiting.

No. This couldn’t be true. It just couldn’t be.

And then, she found a note under her potionsbook. After reading only one word, she was already furious, a growing heat filling her cheeks.

Dear y/n, love

I remembered. I swear. But I just won’t make it. I’m not feeling okay and I think I might have a fever or something. I don’t want to make you or your parents sick, so I’m staying in my dorm.

I love you, kisses Fred x

She didn’t really know what to think. She was so disappointed, again.

But she could’t blame her boyfriend for feeling sick. Although she had her doubts, what if this wasn’t true, maybe he lied because he did forget it?

No, no, she had to trust him. Fred wouldn’t lie to her. So she grabbed the portkey and went to visit her parents.

Alone.

-

When she traveled back to Hogwarts it was late already, past midnight. Y/n hoped Umbridge wouldn’t catch her.

The corridors were empty, completely silent. This was not unusual. Most of the students were already asleep this late on a Sunday.

Unexpectedly, she heard gigles and laughs coming from around the corner. Did it come from the library? It couldn’t be. Not at almost 1 am.

She went closer to listen. Y/n placed her ear on the door. Was it... Was it...? No. No.

Did she hear Fred’s voice?

She really hoped she was just imagining this. Maybe she should trust Fred more.

But just checking won’t hurt right?

So she tried to open the door. It was locked.

“Alohamora” she whispered.

What she saw broke her heart into a million pieces.

Angelina sat on a table, with Fred extremely close to her, giggling. George and Lee were there too.

She couldn’t believe her own eyes. Looking silently in Fred’s shocked ones.

“Fuck” he sighed. “Y/n-“ he tried.

But she cut him off before he could say anything. “No, I don’t wanna hear another silly explanation from you, it’s enough, I don’t want to see you ever again” she screamed with tears in her eyes, making her vision blurry.

Y/n ran away, faster than ever so Fred couldn’t catch up this time.

“Stop!! Stop!” she heard him scream behind her.

She ran and ran, not even knowing were to.

“Let me explain” another scream followed.

That’s when she ended up in a corridor she didn’t know. A dead end. Ofcourse.

She gave up and stopped. Fred ended in front of her, breathing loudly, trying to catch his breath.

“Baby I-“ he tried

“Don’t call me baby, this is over” y/n cut him off.

Fred was speachless, for the first time in history. He didn’t realise this truly happened. He knew what he did wasn’t okay, but he never expected her to actually broke up with him. It just didn’t occur in his mind this was a possibility.

“But.. but...” he stuttered. “I swear, I can explain, what you’ve just seen, it wasn’t what you think it is. I’ve told you about the shoppe George and I want to open, right? It’s actually going to happen. We’re leaving hogwarts. That’s what we were doing, we were planning things. Tomorrow we’re going to blow up Umbridge, no not literally blow up, but with lots of firework! And then we’re going to open the shoppe together. It’s my dream y/n!” he rambled excited.

Y/n sighed. Understanding why he did this, but it didn’t change a thing.

“That actually makes things worse Fred. I’m happy your dream will come true. But you’re leaving and I’m finishing my year. When are you going to have time for me if you run a shop? You didn’t even have time for me now.” she cried.

Both of them were crying now. Knowing the break up was really going to happen. Fred wanted to keep fighting. But he knew she might be right.

A little sob left his mouth, something he never did before. She was right. He truly loved her but he couldn’t give her the happy future she deserved. He wasn’t right for her, he didn’t treat her the way she should’ve been treated. And the idea broke him. And that’s when she walked away.

They didn’t see each other again afterwards.

The next day, y/n laid in her bed when she heard fireworks, knowing what happened. She couldn’t go outside and watch...

Happy screams and laughs filled the castle. And that’s when she realised Fred and George were gone now. It was reality now. They won’t come back. Although a little part of her hoped they would stay. A little part of her thought Fred would come to her, begging her to stay with him. But she guessed he just didn’t love her enough.

After all the times Fred broke her heart, she was kind off used to it. But those heartbreaks couldn’t ever overcome this one.

August - 1996 - Diagon Alley

The summer was almost over, y/n graduated two months ago. The heartbreak still hurted but she was better now. She still didn’t know what to do now that she’s graduated.

Hermione decided you two had to go shopping. “It’ll make you happier” she stated like it was an actual fact. Y/n couldn’t say no of course.

Y/n’s breath hitched. A big clone of Fred’s face right in front of her (or George). This had to be their joke shoppe. God, it was more impressive than she expected. Guess you should never underestimate the twins.

“Let’s go inside y/n!” Hermione announced excited, grabbing her arm trying to puch her inside.

“Oh no no no no no, I don’t think that’s a great idea” she hesitated.

“Don’t worry, it’s so busy, Fred won’t see you” she promised her. Y/n sighed. She really didn’t want to go inside. She’d love to see the shoppe, but seeing Fred...

Whatever, it was true. It was so busy so Fred won’t ever notice her.

They entered, y/n was surprised, it was wonderful. Fred and George must have worked so hard to get to this point. God, she loved the place.

It brought back memories. All those joke products, most of them were used on her, she remembered. Fred thought it was hilarious to prank her literally all the time, being proud because it was something he invented himself. She couldn’t be mad about it, it made him so happy.

The place even smelled like him.

Y/n took a deep breath trying to gather all of the smell, in hope it would stay in her nose, so she could remember it back home.

She closed her eyes and imagined how it could be, if they didn’t broke up. How she would probably come here everyday to say hi, how she would watch Fred all day doing his job.

And then... she saw him. In his uniform, he stood there proudly on the stairs above her. Smiling happily, seeing all those laughing people because if his work.

He was happy. Fred missed y/n but he was happy. He thought a lot of all the things he did wrong. Although he didn’t really have time to worry.

Y/n sighed, it’s been months. Her heart was glowing inside her chest. She didn’t even feel sad any more. This was what her boyfriend always dreamt of. Her ex-boyfriend.

She turned around deciding it was not smart to look at the beautiful boy, the boy who still made her knees go weak.

Fred’s smell was more vibrant than before now. Almost like he was right in front of me.

Ow, love potions, of course.

Of course she still smelled Fred in it.

“I smell honey, flowers and vanilla soap” she heard a familiar voice whispering in her ear, almost making her jump.

“F-fred, hey” she stuttered, in shock by the fact he’s standing right in front of her.

“You look great, changed your hair” he smiled. It was true, y/n cut her hair a little shorter and decided to give it a lighter colour for the summer. The typical breakup haircut.

“Fred do you want to... talk... please?” she asked, knowing it wasn’t a great idea. She wanted to just run away after she realized what she said.

“We could go upstairs, talk in my appartment”

October- 1996 - Diagon Alley

“Come on darling, George opened up already!” Fred screamed running through his kitchen while jumping, trying to get his pants on. He grabbed an apple as breakfast.

Y/n ran to the kitchen too. “I thought you changed the being late thing” y/n joked, yes they joked about it now.

“You were the one holding me up this time” he smiled adding a wink. “You just can’t resist me in the bedroom” y/n answered daring.

She grabbed him by his collar, pressing a kiss on his lips. “I have no choice with the sexiest girlfriend in the word” Fred grinned, pressing kisses all over your face, making you giggle.

“Baby, you’re wearing your uniform backwards” he laughed.

Y/n worked at the shoppe now too.

When she asked Fred to talk, they actually talked for hours. They talked about what went wrong in their relationship, about what they had been doing in those months they broke up, talked about how they still had feelings,...

And after two hours they made up. Both being happier than ever, deciding they learned from their break up.

Fred asked her to come live in his apartment and work in their shop too. Y/n didn’t hesitate for a moment. She designed their boxes or packages and talked to costumers. But most of all she distracted Fred by rolling her uniforme skirt up and bowing down to ‘grab’ something. Sometimes he took her back to the appartment because he couldn’t hold back anymore.

Y/n now knew, the breakup was necessary. You both learned. And now you’re happier than ever.

Because after all, Fred was your future.

***

[mightbewriting]

b u b b l e g u m  b i t c h

wheel-of-doom prompt breaks with @ambpersand are the only thing motivating me to actually get any work done today. this afternoon’s was veritaserum x pansy/ginny. 1,000 words, one hour of nonsense.

The worst part of Draco falling head over heels for Gryffindor’s best, brightest, and bushiest is Pansy’s sudden involuntary association with all sorts of ancillary Gryffindors whenever she’s invited to socialize with Draco. 

Meet up for a drink at the Leaky? Harry fucking Potter is there too. Want to watch a pick up game of Quidditch? The entire Weasley hoard is present. Engagement party at Draco and Granger’s nauseatingly quaint cottage in the countryside? Admittedly, Pansy shouldn’t be surprised by the Gryffindor contingent at this one.

Which is why she came prepared. Life is more fun, and intolerable people more tolerable, under the influence. Her drug of choice on this fine and sunny Saturday afternoon? Veritaserum-laced bubblegum imported from one of her father’s less-than-reputable foreign contacts. She’s not sure if it’s intended as gag gift or interrogation tool, but she intends to let it add a little spice to her afternoon.

As a rule, Pansy is ruthlessly honest anyway. It helps her avoid misunderstandings and weed out the weak souls in her life who can’t bear the honest truth, even when it hurts. But not having the choice but to be anything but completely honest, that’s a thrill sure to keep her entertained through a million “so when’s the date” and “when are you planning on kids?” questions Draco and Granger are sure to get while their friends and family fawn over the gods-awful ethically sourced stone sitting on Granger’s ring finger. 

Pansy leans against a blooming trellis in the gardens, blowing a lazy bubble in her neon pink gum. So far all she’s done is begrudgingly admit she’s happy for Draco and told Looney Lovegood her exceedingly long blonde hair looked perfect for pulling.

Lovegood took it as a compliment, which wasn’t not the ideal response, but still. 

“Got a piece to spare?”

“Yes.” Her answer is automatic, driven by a compulsion towards truth. She doesn’t actually intend to do any sharing “But you don’t want any. It’s got Veritaserum in it.” 

Pansy turns to find a Weasley—the most tolerable one, Ginny—sitting on a stone bench and swinging her bare toes through the overgrown grasses and wildflowers making a run on what is probably intended to be a manicured garden. Pansy suspects neither Draco or Granger has much of a green thumb. And yet, the garden thrives regardless. 

A bright, wicked kind of smile spreads across Ginny’s face. “No there isn’t.”

“There is.”

“No way you’re walking around here without a filter.”

“I never have a filter, spiked bubblegum or no.”

Ginny snorts a laugh; silky red hair sways with her laughter. “Well, let’s have some then.” She holds out her hand.

“I don’t want to share.”

“I won’t believe you unless you do.”

“I don’t care if you believe me. Why aren’t you wearing shoes?”

“Luna convinced me to try communing with nature in the garden without them. She won’t give them back until I’ve sufficiently communed. Wasn’t expecting to find anyone else out here.”

“I got tired of the festivities.”

Ginny purses her lips and stands, approaching. She stops directly in front of Pansy, soft fabric of her frilly, ridiculous dress brushing against Pansy’s knees. 

“Let’s see,” Ginny says. “This could be fun. Tell me honestly, what do you think of my dress?” She runs her hands down the tight bodice, then over the voluminous skirt that stops just above her knees.

“You look ridiculous. You’re not a flouncy sundress person.”

Ginny laughs. “I’m not. Got cornered by my mum and didn’t feel like fighting her this morning. She thinks it’ll help me land a husband now that Harry and I are over.”

Pansy can’t help but roll her eyes. “The only advantage that dress is going to give you in suitor-hunting is easier access to your goods.” That, maybe, is something Pansy might have filtered if she had the ability. 

“Thinking about access to my goods, are you?” Ginny waggles her brows with a smirk, leaning onto the trellis beside Pansy.

“Sometimes. Definitely right now.”

Ginny blinks.

Pansy does too.

For the span of a breath, in a sunny garden all to themselves, Pansy thinks maybe she doesn’t regret it.

She’s halfway torn between trying to take it back and doubling down, when Ginny makes the decision for her. “What are you thinking about, exactly? Explicitly, please. In as much detail as possible.”

The Veritaserum reaches up and grabs Pansy by the throat, wringing her of her finer, filthier thoughts.

“Thinking about how you’re probably scorching. I bet I could get you off in this garden before any of our idiot friends figure out we’re missing. I’d like to sit you on that bench, flip up that ridiculous skirt, and eat you like my favorite meal. Better yet, I’d like to tie you to it, charm the vines to do the job, and vanish the dress entirely. I could ride your face while torturing those perky little tits of yours—gods I can see your nipples through your dress right now.”

That much compulsion feels like the drug it is: drowsy in her brainstem, a glaze in Pansy’s eyes. Without realizing it, she’s crowded Ginny against the trellis, nearly touching from head to toe. It’s a heady haze and Pansy definitely has no regrets, not as she watches a red flush backlight Ginny’s freckles. 

Ginny initiates the kiss, greedy and demanding, lips slanted to Pansy’s as she pries her mouth open with a dangerous, determined tongue. Pansy immediately pins Ginny to the trellis with enough force that is shudders, dropping tiny flowers from the vines over their heads. 

She’s got her thumb and forefinger pinching one of Ginny’s nipples when she realizes she no longer has her gum in her mouth. Ginny leans back with a grin, lips already looking raw and red. 

She chews, blows a bubble, and says, “If you get me off before our friends realize we’re gone, you can torture my tits all you want.”

[coykoii]

😭😬 ready for u 2 break my heart into a million pieces bae

😬 confessing their feelings

😭 unrequited love

ohhh you menace!!! but also the way i was writing this drabble for @miranduh1 already bc she deserved it after sending me angsty petermj edits and it fits 🤭 two for one ty!!

loving (and losing) you under the sun

Sometimes, it’s easier not knowing.

It’s easier and it’s less painful, and she thinks she would’ve done anything to prevent this.

MJ doesn’t know what’s worse. Knowing that he did love her and he has loved her for as many years as they’ve known each other, or knowing that he’s falling out of it now. Slowly but surely.

*

*

*

“Stop,” MJ says in the middle of a laugh, her eyes watering as she nearly keels over, having to grip her knees for support. But he absolutely lights up at the sight of her laughing at his joke. It wasn’t funny—he isn’t funny. And yet. “Could you please just shut up for once—”

“If I shut up, you’d miss hearing me talk. I just know you would,” Peter replies with an expression sticky with fondness, and she smiles easily at the sight, the sunlight beaming down on them. He’s wonderful, really. One of the best people she knows.

His hair blows in the wind, already ruffled from his mask, the two of them standing on top of his favorite roof. She’s felt honored ever since he told her that she was the only one he’s ever brought up here and wonders now what he’s going to do when she leaves for college.

He’ll still be here, in the city. For Spider-Man, for his responsibilities, for May.

The thought of it brings her back down to earth, her smile fading a little as she crosses her arms, the wind starting to pick up some more. Maybe too much.

“Everyone’s going to be gone soon. Gayle just got married. Ned’s leaving for college,” MJ prompts quietly. “And so am I.”

“It’ll just be me then.” He tilts his head slightly, his smile kind of sad. “That’s okay.”

“You don’t have to stay here.”

“I can’t—I can’t leave the city for just anything,” Peter says, his shoulders drooping. She knows that he’s thinking of Spider-Man, that he will always put the suit first and foremost in his life. She doesn’t want to think about it too hard because it makes him happy, and that’s all she cares about.

“There’s nothing you’d leave it for, is there?” The question is rhetorical, or it should have been because she knows the answer. But he’s always been good at proving her wrong.

When Peter looks at her in that moment, she thinks this is the most open she has ever seen him before. His eyes are full of tenderness, emotion, soft enough that she feels she could be at home if she just kept looking. It scares her.

It terrifies her, actually. Because she knows what this look means. She’s seen it before, exchanged between Gayle and her husband, between her parents. Even between Ned and Betty. But she never could have imagined seeing it with him.

“Em, you have no idea—”

“Wait, please,” she interrupts, the panic evident in her voice, knowing the worst might be coming and she hasn’t had any time to prepare for it. “Please don’t—”

“If I don’t say it now, I never will.” Peter swallows hard, wringing his mask in his hands with so much force that she fears he might break it. His voice is gentle yet firm because the answer must seem so obvious to him. “I would leave for you, MJ. I would go anywhere with you. I just…I can’t really help it.”

“Yes, you can—” He would never put her above being Spider-Man. He could never.

“I can’t,” he stresses. “I can’t because—because I love you. I’ve loved you ever since I’ve known you, Em. I thought you would notice considering how observant you are, but I’m telling you now…before you leave.”

“You’re lying—you can’t do this, Peter,” MJ says, her voice tremoring in her throat. “Your responsibility isn’t to me, it’s to the city. It deserves you more than I do, and you know this.”

“That’s not true. You’re not a responsibility to me. You’re just…you’re MJ. I love you,” he admits again, and she can see the way his eyes shine with tears and sincerity because he means it, and her heart pangs in her chest. “I love you so much.”

She can’t do this. Not with the earnestness in his eyes, not with the knowledge that he deserves far better than whatever half-assed love she can give him back. He deserves the world, and she can’t give that to him.

“You’re too good for me. I’m so grateful for you and I’m so proud of you—of everything you’ve ever done,” she says, a tear escaping her eye when she blinks. Her vision is blurry which is great because she doesn’t really want to see him clearly right now anyway. “But I can’t love you in the same way.”

“You can’t?”

“I can’t change how I feel and if I said I did love you back when I…when it’s different, it would just be worse,” MJ tells him weakly, and he takes a step back as if she slapped him across the face and she feels it too.

But she can’t love him as wholly, as unadulterated as he loves her. She knows it would be ruined if she tried, and then they would be ruined, and that’s how they end for good.

Peter looks at her, his smile fragile as he nods like he understands, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t get it because she can’t even put it into words herself.

She just knows that she has to tell the truth somehow, even if it hurts his feelings.

“I can’t love anyone else,” Peter says, looking down, a tear dripping down the angle of his nose and splashing on the concrete of the roof.

“Yes, you can. You’ll find somebody else, okay? They’ll be beautiful and accomplished and you’ll love them, and you’ll be glad that you didn’t make a mistake by choosing me.” MJ inhales sharply, wondering why it hurts so bad to say it when she knows it’s what’s right. “You’ll be happier, and that’s all I want you to be.”

“Anything else?” he asks, his voice cracking.

“Just that…I know you put Spider-Man before everything, but I don’t want that for you. I don’t want to be your only exception,” she finishes, knowing that if there has to be an exception, it should be himself. “You deserve to live and put yourself first every once in a while.”

She dries her face in the crook of her elbow and wishes that she could travel back ten minutes to when she could look him in the eyes and not see heartbreak.

“Yeah,” is all Peter says thickly before absently shaking his head, pulling his mask back on. He jumps off the roof and swings away, and she doesn’t even have a chance to say goodbye.

*

*

*

It’s worse knowing both ways.

Knowing how he was while he loved her. His smiles were fond and long-lasting, and he made every excuse in the world to touch her, hold her hand, press silly kisses to her temple for no reason. He would come over to her house and cook dinner with her, watch murder documentaries with her even though he hated them. And he would trust her to patch him up, to talk to him, to just be there if he needed her.

And knowing how he is now, in the few weeks before she leaves. Distant, barely matching the effort in that she still is. There are no silly kisses, no touching, no smiles that linger for more than a second. There’s no more patching up, no more trust, no more coming to her when he needs someone.

He’s throwing himself into Spider-Man more than ever before, the opposite of what she wanted for him, and now it just makes her heart ache.

Especially since she doesn’t know where he goes now, but she knows that it’s not home.

[im-poe-dameron]

Chapter Seven

A/N: She’s alive! It’s taken me quite awhile to get this chapter out and that’s probably due to the severe burn out I’m going through from school. But after weeks of writing and almost deleting this whole thing, I’ve finished it. It’s not what I consider my best writing, but I am quite happy with it overall.

Thanks to everyone who is sticking around to read my silly little story and lots of love for those of you who love it as much as I do.

There’s a few things I have to shout out cause two things were recently created for this story and I can’t tell you how much I utterly adore them! So apologies for this authors note that is going to take some time to get through.

So the lovely @walt-breslin​​ made Black Velvet a moodboard and I’m still FLOORED by it. Because the vibes are so accurate it makes me yearn for my own story. So thank you for that again darling! You can find that:

HERE

AND my best friend in the whole fucking world @aaliyasaurus​​​ came for my throat and gifted me an insanely gorgeous graphic for not only Black Velvet but Dazed and Confused as well. I’m literally still in shock. Babes you amaze me every fucking day. Thank you again (even though i’ve thanked you millions of times already). You can find them:

HERE

And without further ado I give you the chapter.

Summary: Things were going well, until a part of his past decides to show up again.

Word Count: 13.3k

Pairing: 1980s!Din Djarin x Fem!Reader

Warnings: settle in y’all cause it’s good. EXPLICIT AS FUCK SO SEE YOU THE FUCK LATER MINORS, cussing per usual, fluff, blow-job, cum eating/cum play, so many feelings it’ll drive you insane, angst, mentions of anxiety, violence which is surprising, alcohol consumption, mention of exhibitionism (it’s din there’s no explanation),  oral (f receiving), p in v sex. I think that’s everything but let me know if I missed something.

    There wasn’t much to be done in the mornings before the world woke up. The sun barely having risen, as the sounds of early New York traffic filtered in through the open window. It was its own kind of peace. Wandering around as the world just started their day, people rushing to jobs, others heading home from long nights. And then there was you. Clad in nothing but a black long sleeve, as you walked the apartment of the man who still continued to sleep.

    The sunlight came through the three very small windows he had, casting a warm glow on the scuffed hardwood floors as you walked them. A cup of warm coffee in your hands. Really you tried to make his coffee taste better, but there wasn’t much to be done. Not when it was bitter and nothing else, because he apparently didn’t believe in coffee creamer.

    How you managed to slip out of bed without him noticing went beyond your comprehension. He must have been exhausted from what happened yesterday, because by the time you managed to untangle yourself from his grasp, use the bathroom, and attempt to make coffee, you found him on his stomach, clutching the pillow you had used. You had to remind yourself to find a camera of sorts, because the image of him snuggling a pillow was priceless.

    The bar was not that far from the main city, but still you didn’t have time to borrow his car and pick up breakfast. So, you worked with what you had. The eggs in his fridge would do, and you silently thanked him for at least having the sense to pick that up. Maybe he did know how to cook after all. Another thing you'd have to add to the list, along with everything else you had learned about him.

    His son.

    That piece of knowledge still had your chest constricting, the feeling of anguish that wasn’t yours overwhelming you. If it wasn’t Din, if he wasn’t the man who somehow held a hold over you without you knowing, you would have run by now. Told yourself that you’d be better off not knowing him. And perhaps you would be. Perhaps all of this was just something to stave off the gut wrenching realizations about your life, about who you were as a person.

    But this was more, and that’s why you stayed. Why you cracked three eggs into a cereal bowl that was cracked slightly, and began to cook breakfast. Still listening to the sounds of the outside world. To how the birds called to one another.

    You could handle not mentioning his son, could shove it to the back of his mind and force yourself to focus on other things. Such as how you still had to ask him about the wedding. The fucking wedding. The one thing you feared he’d say no to, and then what? What would you do? Ask someone else to be your date?

    Maybe you could get Poe to agree to go with you if Din said no. Although that might end up in Din murdering Poe and you really didn’t need to be arrested...again. Why were you stressing over this again? After all, it's not like he said anything about it yet. He didn’t know about it. So, your only goal was to be the sweetheart he called you, to try and convince him to go with you.

    The eggs were scrambled to the best of your ability and you put them on a plate, the cup of bitter steaming coffee in your hand already. No one ever turned down breakfast in bed, and honestly you didn’t have the heart to wake him up. You found him just as he was; on his stomach with head buried in the pillow, snoring softly. Number one on your shopping list was most definitely going to be a camera.

    “Romeo?” you whispered, setting the coffee on his nightstand, before kneeling on the bed, the plate of eggs balanced in your hands.

    He groaned as a response. Definitely not a morning person.

    “Wake up,” you said, nudging him lightly. “I’ve got food for you.”

    Another groan, followed by him rolling over to where you had to straddle his waist in order to keep from spilling the plate. His arm was tossed across his face, another round of snoring hitting your ears and letting you know he was out. You reached over, setting the plate on the nightstand beside the coffee, before leaning back over him. If you had to wake him up nicely you would.

    “You’re stubborn.” You followed your words with a kiss to his chest, scraping your nails lightly against his skin until you felt him shudder. “I made you breakfast and you won’t even wake up to see it.”

    He grunted, hips shifting underneath you. “It’s too early.”

    Words. He was speaking. Meaning he must be semi awake, and that was enough for you. You figured it was worth a shot, and if he didn’t like it then he’d push you off the bed. That you wouldn’t put past him, but it was too tempting. Your tongue licked a trail along his tattoos, following the path of the vines until he was shuddering again underneath your palms. A word mumbled out in his language as you continued, biting lightly at the skin until small red marks began to show up.

    “Sweetheart,” he said, his morning voice nearly having you moaning yourself.

    Glancing up you met brown eyes clouded with sleep as he watched you. “You’re awake.” A kiss to his heart. “I thought I’d have to keep going until I reached your cock.”

    He jolted at the words. “I’ve been awake. Keeping an eye on you while you cooked in my kitchen.”

    A lie. The man was passed out on the mattress. Dead to the world, but you let him have this, smiling against his chest.

    “Had to make sure you didn’t burn my apartment down.” His hand cupped the back of your neck, dragging you up towards him until his lips met yours, and that was it. 

    The feeling you’d been searching for all morning. The pure rush of emotions that filled your body until you were practically lighthearted. This man knew how to make you float, all the while keeping you on the ground. You weren’t sure yet how he did it, how he left you relentlessly wanting more until you were practically ready to beg. One of these days you’d have to ask him.

    “Contrary to belief. I do know how to cook,” you mumbled.

    He breathed out a laugh, lips slotting against yours again, languidly kissing you until the breath left your lungs. You could remain like this for hours. Just you and him in this room. In the small sanctuary you’d created for yourselves. The world could end and you were sure neither one of you would notice. Not until the fire was burning around you, until the building fell apart and ruined your haven.

    “It smells-oh fuck-good.” He lifted his head when you reached his hips, biting at the skin until he jolted. “Sweetheart,” he panted out. “What are you doing?”

    You hummed, not bothering with answering just yet. You’d never done this with him. Tasted him. He had his share more times than you could count, and you didn’t mind, but fuck if you didn’t want to taste him. Tugging on the briefs he wore, you met his eyes noticing the dazed look in them. You could see he wasn’t used to this. Wasn’t used to being taken care of this way without expecting to do anything in return.

    How did he look so fucking pretty?

    He must have a gene in his body that allowed him to wake up beautiful. Of course he would. The man doesn’t even know how pretty he looks. You were on the verge of telling him, of showing him all your favorite parts and explaining why. And you’d start with those eyes of his.

    “I’m having breakfast,” you teased, seeing the flash in his eyes as he raised his hips to let you pull him out completely, the hissed out breath when you wrapped a hand around him better than you imagined. “Can I?”

    You had to ask. He always asked with you and you found that you loved it more than anything, so when you posed the question you just expected a yes. Or perhaps a nod. But his hand grasping your jaw to drag you back up to his lips, the broken sound tearing from his throat as your tongue licked into his mouth, was unexpected.

    “Yes,” he panted out, his lips pink and swollen. A sight you wanted to keep in your memory forever. You seriously needed a damn camera.

    He kept his eyes on you as you shifted down his body, the breakfast now forgotten about as you pumped him once, eager to watch as he fell apart because of you. The view was one you’d never get tired of, but seeing his eyes flutter shut, head tilted back and a sound that had you clenching around nothing, was something different. This was him losing himself in a different piece of you. Losing himself in what you were giving him.

    “So pretty,” you mumbled, tongue peeking out to taste him.

    “I’d have to-oh fucking shit-” he hissed sharply through his teeth as you wrapped your lips around the head of his cock, tongue pushing against the underside of it.

    “You’d have to what?” you asked, pulling off him and watching his eyes zero in on the spit that was smudged on your bottom lip.

    How had you not done this sooner? 

    You understood it now. Why he always wanted to reduce you to a mess of absolute pleasure. Someone who couldn’t see past the haze that he had concocted and now it finally made sense, because nothing felt better than watching his dazed eyes watch as you enjoyed his taste.

    “You’re going to be the death of me sweetheart.”

    You smiled, hand pumping him slowly and deliberately to where he was shaking from the euphoria of nothing but your touch. “Do you want me to stop?”

    “No!” He coughed, the tinge of red on his cheeks and ears prominent enough for you to tell how he felt. “I mean-please-if you want to-”

    His words shifted into a moan as you wrapped your lips around him again, hand continuing to pump him with every inch you enveloped in the wet warmth of your mouth. You wanted this to last. Every second that you got to watch him fall apart all from your mouth, but you saw the way his body began to tense. The stuttering moans turning to breathy sounds. Each one more sinful than the last.

    “Fuck baby,” he grunted out, hips jolting upwards when you began to fondle his balls. 

    You didn’t mean to gag, but the blunt tip of his cock pressing against the back of your throat forced it. Only that seemed to spur him on further, a growl tearing from his throat as he reached to place a hand on your head, guiding you through the movements. Breathing through your nose you swallowed around him, feeling your lower body practically bear down on nothing as a whine echoed off the walls. He was gone. Utterly ripped to shreds with every bob of your head.

    “Sweetheart-fucking perfect-sucking my cock and still looking beautiful-”

    He needed to shut up fast, because you were five seconds away from shoving your hand in your underwear and finishing yourself off with him. Really it didn’t seem like such a bad idea, but this wasn’t about you. The morning sun began to completely shine through the curtains letting you know what time it was and that this wouldn’t last much longer.

    You wanted to take him apart slowly, delicately. Until he couldn’t remember his own name, but you felt the way his body tightened. The rambling words having turned to nothing but low grunts and moans of your name, because he was five seconds away from breaking. Tightening your grip slightly you pumped him faster, sucking on the head of his cock until you felt it. The way his thighs shook under you, his hand on your head now digging into your shoulder as a sound you’d never heard him make echoed through the room.

    “Baby I’m going to-” He got cut off by your hum, the knowledge that you wanted this. You wanted to drink him down as he had done to you many times before. “Fuck!” he shouted, a cry of your name following soon after as the taste of him filled your mouth.

    You didn’t expect him to taste like that, especially with all the alcohol the two of you consumed, but then you realized he barely drank. In fact, he only drank with you. Moaning you continued to run your tongue over him, cleaning up what you’d missed, hand still pumping him until his shot down to still your movements. You were so focused on prolonging his pleasure you failed to notice the completely fucked out look on his face. His mouth slightly parted as he panted, cheeks tinged red along with his chest.

    Oh you fucking loved that look.

    “You’re going to suck the soul out of my body baby,” he mumbled drunkenly, the dazed look in his eyes more than you could take.

    Why hadn’t you done this before? No wonder why he was always adamant on you coming apart on his tongue first. It felt like you were floating on cloud nine with him. You moved to climb off, but his hands gripped your hips, forcing you to sit on his thighs as he slowly sat up with you.

    “I want to do that again,” you replied, lips brushing against his and if the way he shut his eyes and took in a shuddered breath told you anything. He liked what he heard.

    “Give me a few minutes. I don’t want you to actually suck the soul out of my body.”

    Reaching over you grabbed the plate of eggs and the now semi cold cup of coffee. “Death by blow job. That’ll be a new one.”

    “A story to tell our friends, that's for sure.”

    Our friends. Our. He might not have realized what he said, because he was half dazed from the orgasm or too focused on the plate of eggs, but you heard him loud and clear. It may not be a big deal. Except it was to you. The fact that he didn’t call them his friends, or merely customers at the bar, but that he considered them a part of both of your lives.

    “I’m sure Poe would get a kick out of it.” You pushed the hair that was stuck to his forehead away from his face, smiling at the look he gave you.

    He set the half empty plate back on his nightstand. “Poe is already traumatized by us. I don’t think he needs to know that fact.”

    That’s true. Poe knew more about your sex life from simply being near you and Romeo than anyone should actually know. Although you had to blame that on the fact that the both of you were insatiable for one another. That and Romeo seemed to be completely content with having you anywhere at any time. You knew that you had become as bad as he was, but you blamed that on hormones and the irresistible charm of the man in front of you.

    Yes. His charm. That’s what did it.

    “Want to tell me what I did to deserve breakfast in bed with a blowjob?” he asked, hands sliding up your back to press you closer to him.

    You sighed, hands tangling in his slightly messy hair. “Can’t a girl make her…”

    Well shit. The morning had been calm, without any bothers, and yet there were those words. The ones that felt strange to say but in every other way felt completely right. What were you? The conversation both of you seemed to ignore for as long as this started happening. Was he your boyfriend? Were you his girlfriend? Had things progressed this much to where you could now finally admit those feelings to one another? So many unanswered questions and it seemed he was as nervous as you when it came to searching for those answers.

    But maybe...he wasn’t.

    “Her boyfriend?”

    The air caught in your lungs, an unknown feeling beginning to spread from your chest to what felt like the very tips of your fingers and toes. He had said it. The one thing you wanted, but was too afraid to say so, and maybe it was a mistake to admit it. To finally say you wanted this man who drove you insane in all the best ways possible to be with you. For as long as either of you wanted.

    “Are you sure?” you asked, the hesitancy clear in your voice. Was he sure about this? Were you?

    “Poe called you my girlfriend the other day.” His hands ran along your back, almost as if he was trying to reassure you of this situation, of the decision you were both about to make.

    You nodded, hands cupping his face. “He did.”

    “And I couldn’t figure out why it wasn’t true yet.”

    He was really going to say it. Tell you that he wanted you as more than whatever this happened to be. So, why were you terrified? Why did you feel as though everything would fall apart after this? Perhaps you were being irrational. The fear of jumping into something new was clouding your vision of what this could be, but even you knew that it was more than that. Him. You. This relationship, friendship, whatever you called it. It was more.

    “Romeo, are you asking me what I think you’re asking me?” you asked, unable to stop the smile from forming on your lips.

    “Give me a chance to say it sweetheart.”

    “Well I don’t know I might have to say it for you-” You yelped as he tossed you on your back, practically crushing you as he lay on top of you. Expecting his signature glare you were surprised to see him smiling, his eyes no longer dazed or riddled with exhaustion.

    To say he had grabbed your attention was an understatement. “Will you let me say it?”

    You nodded, keeping your mouth shut as you tried to ignore the way your heart hammered in your chest. Fuck could he feel it? The way that your stomach twisted when he brushed his lips against yours. You’d think that after weeks of this, of having him long for you with every passing minute, you’d be used to having him this close. But it still felt like the first time. And maybe that was a good thing.

    “Sweetheart,” he murmured, nose brushing against yours, smiling when you took a shuddered breath. “Will you be mine?”

    His. He wanted you to be his. You could recall the first time he said it. The reaction was almost involuntary. As if he said it before he could think about the words that spilled out of his mouth. Except this wasn’t that.

    “I’ve always been yours Din.” Kissing him didn’t feel like enough, didn’t feel like it would show the emotion you’ve been holding inside you for weeks on end.

    “Say it again,” he said, his voice cracking at the end.

    “I’m yours.”

    It felt easier than breathing to whisper those two words over and over again. Repeating it for as long as he needed to hear it. Because this felt right. Felt like you finally found a missing piece that you didn’t know you were searching for. And maybe Din had been it all along. Maybe you had to survive the hurdles, the pain, every agonizing minute in order to find your way to him. To find your way here.

    His lips met yours and you knew that leaving the room wasn’t an option anymore. But it was okay, because if given the choice between being anywhere else and being here in bed with him. You’d choose Din, every time.

    “Five fucking dollars! I bet you five dollars you can’t drink all of it.” Poe stood on a chair, shouting across the bar at Paz who was currently in the middle of pouring his sixth shot of whiskey. How he was still standing you didn’t know, but you had to hand it to him. He knew how to handle his drinks.

    “Five dollars? That’s it Dameron?” he shouted, downing yet another shot. “You’re a cheap ass!”

    “Twenty.” You turned at the sound of Din placing his bet. 

    Normally he didn’t condone people placing bets in his bar, let alone the chaos that was happening now. But you wanted to wager that the two extra hours you spent in bed nearly coming apart at the seams from his tongue had something to do with it. You were his girlfriend. Din Djarin’s girlfriend. Romeo’s girl. You couldn’t fathom how it happened. Didn’t understand it fully, because you were pretty sure you’d left this realm and entered another one the second it happened. You still had yet to tell anyone else, but that didn’t seem to matter. Not when it felt this intense between the two of you.

    “Fifty,” you said, eyebrow raising as you bit your lip to stifle the smile.

    “Shit Djarin your girl’s going to top your wager.”

    He tossed the towel on the bar, his eyes never leaving yours. “One hundred.”

    Was it wrong to admit that you wanted him at that moment? Probably. Get it together. You were about to have your wager topped, and while you didn’t much care about that, you were adamant on keeping whatever was happening between you and him going. Only to keep it going meant to prolong the tension between the both of you and he’d already dragged you to the storage room once. His hand was down your jeans faster than you could ask him what was wrong.

    One hundred dollars. You’d say that was a fair wager.

    “You win Romeo,” you said, leaning closer to him, your hand brushing against his thigh. “Go for it Paz.”

    The cheers echoed in the background, but you weren’t focused on the fact that Paz was downing shots like water. Or that Poe had taken another step upward and was now standing on a table, a bottle of vodka in his hand. No, you were focused solely on the man who had cupped your chin, tilting your head back to kiss you slowly. The chaos of the bar now an afterthought, because you were burying your hands in his hair to drag him closer, as you sucked on his tongue.

    “Storeroom?” he asked through a broken kiss, his hands grasping at your ass to drag you closer.

    “You want people to hear us Romeo?”

    He laughed, forehead resting against yours. “I have no problem with it. Let the man sitting at the bar who’s been eyeing you know that you’re my girl.”

    Why the fuck did that make your whole lower body tighten up? The warm rush of heat at the base of your spine now spreading through your body the longer you contemplated his words. Was it simply the act of him being possessive of you that had you ready to bend over the bar? You had it bad for him.

    “I didn’t see a guy.”

    Din glanced over your head to see that Paz had finished his shots and was doing a victory lap around the bar. You laughed, noticing that sometime in the night he had changed from his usual black t-shirt to a light blue crop top. Whoever that belonged to wasn’t going to want that back. Not after he most likely spilled half a bottle of whiskey on it.

    “He must have left.”

    You hummed, turning back to him. “How much do you want to bet the kiss was the reason he left.”

    “If I keep making bets with you sweetheart I’m going to end up broke.”

    The single shot of vodka you had earlier must have been why you let the next few words slip, but it’s not like you weren’t thinking about it the whole time. Din might be willing to take risks, but he had yet to learn about how far you’d be willing to go. Fucking in the bar in front of people had become the least of your worries.

    “One more bet,” you said, no longer bothering with the noise of the bar and wishing that it was just you and him and a bottle. He sighed, the smile on his face giving away everything. “Fifty bucks says that I can get you off right here without a single person noticing.”

    He visibly choked on air, his eyes widening as he coughed. “Sweetheart-”

    “You up for it Romeo?” If he was willing you’d do your best to win the bet, but even you knew this was meant to be nothing more than a tease. Except then his eyes narrowed, lips curling upwards as he dragged your hand closer to the zipper on his jeans.

    “Someone has to keep them distracted.”

    Oh fuck.

    Turning you faced Paz who was practically swaying on his feet. “I bet that Poe can’t do the same amount of shots!”

    He spun to Poe who was sitting on the table that had five people in chairs around it. You’d seen them here before and guessed they were friends of his. One of these days you would have to say hi. Poe glanced towards you, a bottle of vodka placed in between his legs and an empty shot glass in his hand. He didn’t have to take the bet. Didn’t have to give you a stroke of luck, but he must have been pretty gone already because he smiled, nodding his head in agreement.

    “Same amount,” Din said, already dragging you to the very corner behind the bar that was thankfully blocked by people who were beginning to crowd around Poe.

    You were really about to do this. You were about to get your boyfriend off in the middle of his bar, and you were going to love every second of it. What had this man done to you? Your hand tugged at his belt, arm slinging around his neck to look like you and him were doing nothing but embracing. Another round of cheers went through the bar, causing you to smile, because you finally understood.

    Why he chose a bar out of all places to make his home.

    “What are you smiling at?” he asked, his lips curling up slightly in a smile that he looked to be fighting.

    “I just-” Another cheer followed by Poe shouting he was a champion. “I get it now. Why you wanted to make this place your home.”

    You thought you saw something come across his eyes, something akin to pain. But it was gone within a moment. Only a flash of the man that truly lay underneath the armor. The man you continued to attempt to bring out into the modern world; to convince that you refused to go anywhere. Not after what’s happened.

    “Sweetheart-” The rest of his sentence was drowned out by the cheers turning to screams, a bang echoing in the air as people began to sprint towards the door.

    Din shoved you behind him, his eyes already searching the crowd for something gone wrong, and you figured it was Poe. Maybe he fell on accident. Maybe they all saw a wild animal. Yeah that had to be it. A wild animal somehow got into the place. You ran around the bar to find Din amidst the chaos but stopped at the sight of a silver weapon heading in your direction.

    “Shit!” You acted quickly, dropping to the ground. The unmistakable sound of metal hitting wood echoing behind you. What the fuck was going on? “Romeo?”

    “Y/N!”

    Din.

    Grabbing onto the person’s hand you got ready to throw yourself into Din’s arms but was met with the brown eyes of Poe instead. The drunk look in his eyes now faded, shadowed by something else. Something darker. Fear buried itself in your gut, your heart going haywire and you tried to find him. Find the man who you couldn’t lose, and just as you saw him helping someone up from under a table that was nearly knocked over, you heard it. The cold, spine chilling voice of her.

    “She’s pretty Mando!”

    Din’s eyes met yours, his fear replaced by a look you hadn’t seen him wear since they came to the bar. Fury. Enough to have you turning away. He was utterly furious that they had come back, that they dared to cross the threshold of his home. And you could feel it come off of him in waves. They were dead. Poe tugged you behind the bar, taking a stance in front of you, his knife already in his hand. You didn’t even know he carried one.

    “Get to him,” you said softly, nodding your head in Din’s direction.

    “Paz is with him.”

    There’d be no way Paz could help with this. Not after the amount of alcohol he drank, but that’s what you thought about Poe and here he was ready to fight. What was it about bikers and being able to hold their liquor? You would have to ask them later, but right now you were watching as two unknown men stalked towards Din. It wasn’t until you saw the guns in their hands did you realize that this wasn’t a simple sit down and talk like before.

    “Get out of my bar,” Din said, his voice sharper than the blade on Poe’s knife.

    Ten seconds. That’s all you had. Ten seconds before someone pulled a trigger, and in that miniscule amount of time you did your best to come up with something. Anything to stop shit from turning sideways. You’d never been in this situation before; didn’t know what would work, but Din had a gun being held to his face and you could feel a different whirlwind of emotions begin to surface. He was in danger.

    Din was in danger.

    “There’s no need to make a mess now is there Mando.” The man’s voice sounded irritating already. But that might have been the anger. “I’ve heard about what you can do. Is it true? You’re the best bounty hunter they had?”

    Bounty-

    You froze, listening to the words being tossed around as if they were nothing. Bounty hunter. And it felt like every puzzle piece had fallen into place, all the times you speculated on his past but never truly came up with a solid answer. One that would define the man he used to be. He couldn’t possibly be a bounty hunter. Except maybe that’s why he never found your joking speculations to be funny, because...they were true.

    His eyes were on you before you could turn in his direction, and the cloud of fear had returned. But for a different reason. Din was afraid you would leave him after this. After figuring out his past, and that’s why he never told you. The tightening of your gut began to lighten up. This was him. The Din Djarin before the bar, before he tried to make himself better. The bounty hunter Mandalorian, and you knew that after tonight things would be different. Knew he’d be waiting for you to walk out the door and never return, but you couldn’t.

    Not when he was so tied to you that it would physically pain you to leave.

    Turning away you didn’t hear the rest of the conversation, because only one thing mattered. The woman Xi’an stood on the other side of the bar, her gaze focused on you and you alone. Because she wanted to kill you. Already the understanding had come over you. What you didn’t know is why would she bring two other men not even Din knew to finish the job.

    “Going somewhere sweetheart,” she called out, her voice the equivalent to cat claws sinking into your skin.

    Ignore her.

    Ignore her.

    You chanted it in your head, continuing to contemplate your rather stupid plan. Get into the storeroom. That’s all you needed and from there you’d be in the clear. Well not exactly, but getting into the storeroom was the only part of the plan you had worked out. You could rip out the woman’s purple hair later.

    “Tell me. Does he fuck you the way he used to fuck me?”

    Or now.

    Now seemed like the perfect time. You caught sight of Din turning in your direction through your peripheral vision, but that didn’t seem to trouble you. Not when you were happily picturing what it would be like to have the bitch in front of you begging on her knees. She could insult you all she wanted, but going for that part of your life was off limits. Not to mention it left you with a bad taste in your mouth.

    “Xi’an! We’re not here for petty fighting. Boss gave us a job to do.”

    They were here on a job. Did that make Din the job? She turned to the man who currently held a gun at Paz, beginning to yell in a language you didn’t understand. But it gave you enough time to slip away from where you stood. Ten seconds were up, which means someone would shoot. Worst case scenario they kill the man you know you were falling for, and well the best case would be they underestimate that same man and watch as he loses his shit. You could bet that Romeo was five seconds away from killing them.

    Which is why you had to work fast.

    “Where the fuck is it,” you muttered, skidding to a halt in the center of the storeroom. And against the wall, sat the prettiest sight you’d seen in ages.

    Sure you were against them, and nearly made Romeo toss it out, but in situations like this the gun leaning propped up against the wall practically made you sing. The box of bullets was on the shelf above it, and you thankfully knew enough to load it. Messily, and you almost dropped half the box, but you did it. Taking a breath you began to understand what you were about to do. The stupidest decision in your life, but it had to be done.

    Shouting had erupted once more back in the bar and when you walked in you found Din on his knees, hands behind his head as he glared daggers at the man in front of him. Fury didn’t even begin to describe what emotions waged war within your body. Enough anger to kill. They say hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and these assholes were about to find out if the statement held up.

    “Hey dipshits.” The sound of the gun being loaded caught their attention and had them quickly turning to face in your direction. “Get the fuck out of my boyfriend’s bar.”

    You counted the seconds in the silence as everyone stared at the one they underestimated the most as a threat. And you got to exactly twenty before a different kind of chaos began. Din lunged at the man, grappling for his gun as Poe leaped over the bar, taking on man number two. Which left you with the purple haired menace herself. It seemed she liked this option more than you did, and you knew she could sense your inexperience with fighting.

    It was true. You had never held a gun before this night. Never got into a fight, and now you were doing both simultaneously. To say you needed a drink after this was an understatement. She moved in your direction, knife flipping delicately in her hands, and you were suddenly glad for one thing. Playing baseball for those few months in college may have sucked, but if there was one thing they said you were good enough at, it was pitching. For one simple reason.

    Aim.

    The shot went off before she could blink and the shout she let out as her knife clattered to the floor left you satisfied. Din was afraid of letting you in on his past, because he thought you would run for the hills. When in fact you were jumping into the action, doing whatever you could to help him.

    “You bitch!” She moved to fling her second knife, but it landed behind the bar shattering a bottle on it’s way there. You didn’t shoot that time. Except you had an idea who it was responsible and sure enough there stood Romeo, gun covering half his face as he held it in her direction. The look in his eyes, enough to have you stepping back.

    “Step away from my girlfriend.”

    She sneered, moving closer instead of farther away. “You know Mando. You used to be a lot more fun before you fell in love.”

    “You used to be a lot less of a bitch. Before you tried to kill my girl.”

    Cursing at your heart for flipping in your chest, you focused on the woman who looked like she would lunge at Din. And while he had his finger on the trigger, you knew he wouldn’t kill her. Wouldn’t harm anyone unless needed, because while they called him a bounty hunter you knew that he left that behind. He said he wanted to start over for a reason.

    So, you did the only logical thing you could do.

    You turned the gun, raised it and whistled in Xi’an’s direction, forcing her to turn towards you. Din looked like he nearly dropped the gun he was holding at the sight of you slamming the butt your gun into her nose. And really you wouldn’t blame him if he did. Even you were surprised at what you were doing. She collapsed instantly, her nose most likely broken; blood trailing down her face.

    Was it a mistake? Probably. But then you saw his face, and knew you’d done the right thing.

    “Sweetheart…” he whispered, eyes still wide from watching you knock someone out with a gun.

    “Are you okay?”

    You got ready for him to take the gun. To tell you that it was dangerous for you to even be within five feet of it. You certainly didn’t expect him to start laughing. His head fell back, hand clutching his stomach, as he laughed in a way that even you hadn’t seen him laugh before. One that had you joining him in a matter of moments. Neither of you cared that there were three unconscious people in his bar, or the fact that you were in danger merely a few minutes ago. You just cared that he was alive; he was safe.

    “You just knocked out someone and you’re asking me if I’m okay.”

    You shrugged, setting the gun down carefully on the bar. “Are you?”

    “Y/N.” Your name falling from his lips startled you. It wasn’t sweetheart, or baby, or even cyar’ika. It was your name and you couldn’t recall him having ever called you by your first name. “Come here.”

    He didn’t need to tell you twice. The urge to fall into him was there the second the danger began; even more so now. Had your heart been racing this fast the entire time? How were you not shaky in that situation? For fucks sake you held a gun. You held a...gun. Your mind couldn’t wrap around that fact even for a moment, because it seemed too ridiculous to comprehend. How did things get to that point?

    “I held a gun,” you said against his chest, trying to count the beats of his steady heart. Hoping that it would calm you down.

    “Thank you.” He whispered it against your hair, his breath hitting your skin as he let out one that he must have been holding.

    He was thanking you…

    What did he have to thank you for? If the roles were reversed and you were in his position, he would have done the exact same thing. After all you do stupid things when you’re in love. Holy. Shit. You nearly fell back out of his arms as the one word you seemed to be terrified of crossed your mind. Love. Love? How the fuck could you already be in love. You’d only known the man for a short time.

    It had to be a fluke. The adrenaline of the fight talking, because you could have very well lost your life tonight. No, you absolutely weren’t in love, you just held strong feelings for the man. And thought about him all the time...and about the future you could have with him. Well fuck.

    “Need help cleaning up?” you asked, trying to get your mind off everything that just transpired. Even if it took you wiping down glasses for hours.

    He huffed out a laugh. The sound familiar and warm. “Sure cyar’ika. I’d love some.”

    “Djarin, you owe me one hundred dollars.” Paz managed to walk straight in your direction, his eyes still dazed and words slightly slurred. He must have had more than one bottle to drink tonight. “I’ll be on my way after that.”

    You snorted. “Paz you can barely walk.”

    “Says you.”

    Yeah he was gone.

    “Can one of you take this drunk bastard home?” Din asked, handing you a towel with a small pat to your ass that had you jumping away with a laugh. “I’ll pay you.”

    The grumble of agreements was reluctant to say the least, but what could you expect. Getting Paz to go home meant they’d have to somehow get him on their bike. But you were pretty sure you saw a car parked outside that didn’t belong to Din or Poe. One guy slung Paz’s arm over he shoulder, the slurred question of what the fuck they were doing spilling from his lips as he was practically dragged away.

    “That’s the last time I let him drink that much.” Din shook his head, another laugh leaving his lips. For someone who had multiple guns held to his head on the same night, he seemed pretty calm.

    You wondered if it was just a front for the guys here. Or if he truly felt okay with what happened. And if so...why?

    It took three guys and Poe holding Paz’s winning cash within seeing distance, but eventually they got him into the backseat of the car. All the while he continued to shout about how much he loved Din and how much he wanted to come back and do this again. You had to grip Din’s hands in your own to stop him from flipping off his friend. But eventually it came down to just you and him as always. The chaos of the night now a stark silence.

    Neither of you had bothered with the jukebox, and honestly the thought of music gave you a headache on its own. Because you couldn’t stop thinking about what happened. Couldn’t get the image of Din on his knees, hands behind his head, out of your mind. It was burned behind your eyelids. The anxiety of the moment, of the night, still coursing through your veins, and you didn’t see it wearing off anytime soon.

    Which is probably why you had already cleaned nearly every table and began to stock inventory for tomorrow night.

    “Are you okay?” His voice coming from directly behind you had you nearly dropping the bottle you were holding.

    “Shit don’t scare me like that.” Except him sneaking up on you hadn’t scared you this much before.

    His hands covered yours, taking the bottle and setting it lightly near the sink. “I’m sorry.”

    “You don’t have to apologize for that. My heart is just all over-”

    “No. I’m sorry for what happened tonight.” His words caught you off guard, the weight of them heavy in the air as you finally watched his armor fall to the ground. It only happened for you, when the both of you were alone, and you were grateful that it did, because now you could see him. See your Din rather than the one the others knew.

    He was apologizing for putting you in danger, for being the cause of all of this, and for nearly losing you. Except even you knew there was no need for an apology. Not when he didn’t do anything but try to protect the people here, protect you. All before he even bothered to protect himself.

    “Din-”

    His thumb covering your lips cut you off. “Yes I have to apologize sweetheart. They were here because of me.”

    “But you didn’t know they would come.”

    Silence.

    Did he know they would come? Is that why he was beating himself up about this? Ready to beg for your forgiveness over it.

    “I figured it would happen sooner or later. I just didn’t expect you to be here when it did.”

    “So you planned to face them alone. With no help.”

    He nodded, eyes looking at your hands rather than at your face, because he knew it was stupid. Knew that to await them alone meant his death, or even worse. He wanted to be here alone when it happened, and you couldn’t understand why. Couldn’t come up with a reason as to why he felt the need to face this threat alone. When he had an entire family of people to help him when he most needed it.

    “You’re an idiot Din Djarin.” He looked up, startled by your words. “I know you like to think you’re alone in this. Like to believe you have no one, but that’s bullshit and you know it. You have a family and whether you want them or not, they’re here for you...I’m here for you.”

    Maybe it was stupid to admit it, but he had to hear it. Had to understand that everyone here tonight was ready to put their lives at risk for this man. Because they cared for him.

    “I mean fuck even Poe protected you, which means he must really like you after what-” He yanked you closer, hand wrapping around the back of your neck as he slotted his lips over yours in a kiss that had your knees turning weak.

    He waited long enough for this.

    Or maybe that was you.

    “I’m going to tell you why they were here,” he mumbled against your lips. “What I was. I think...that it’s time.”

    Pulling away before you could even get a word in, he grabbed a bottle of the half finished whiskey you were working on and headed towards a table. This was really happening. He was going to divulge a part of himself to you, and all you could do was stand there. Why were you just standing there? Move, you shouted to yourself, forcing your legs to head in his direction, before you plopped in a chair opposite to him.

    “I was a bounty hunter,” he said, pouring you a glass and pushing it your way.

    “What does that mean exactly?”

    He smiled, downing his glass quickly. “I used to bring in people who owed my boss money.”

    “Alive?”

    Hesitation is all it took to give you the answer. Sometimes they weren’t always alive. Which means the man across from you had in fact killed people. Why weren’t you running for the hills right now? Usually if someone says they have committed murder, you run. Sprint for the door. This is why he took so long to tell you, because he was afraid you’d leave. But instead you met his eyes, calculated the fear in them, and reached for the bottle. Pouring him another glass.

     Letting him know that whatever he told you tonight, you were still all in.

    “Who was your boss?”

    He coughed. “For your safety and mine...let’s call him Moff.”

    “Moff...strange name. Is that his first or last name?”

    “It’s more of a title.”

    “It’s still strange.”

    “Sweetheart-”

    You held up your hands in surrender. “Alright sorry. Continue please.”

    “He wasn’t by all means good. Actually he wasn’t good at all. But that’s besides the point. I made some stupid mistakes when I was younger...got a few people in trouble including myself and it ended badly. Which is how I became a bounty hunter for him.” He took a sip, allowing you to digest the information. “The crew I ran with at the time, that were bikers, ended up being dragged in with me.”

    “Is that why they were here? To bring you back to that man?”

    He shook his head. “No, no as far as I know they got out when I did. Managed to buy their freedom while I worked for it until I couldn’t anymore.”     “Couldn’t anymore?” Not the time. You saw his expression and immediately backtracked, because that was a story for a different time. One you’d wait to hear. “So why were they here tonight?”

    “They’re probably pissed I dragged them into that situation. Wanted to get their revenge somehow. And that job they offered...it’s bullshit. I called someone last night to find out what it was. Nothing but a way to get me out of here.”

    “So they showed up tonight expecting you to be…”

    “Alone.” He took a sharp breath in, already knowing you knew what he would say next. “But then they met you sweetheart. And knew that well you were...you were important to me.”

    They came here for you. To hurt him. That’s what you couldn’t wrap your head around, because it seemed insane for that to be real. For him to find you important in his life. Vital enough to fight for. But there it was, staring you in the face. Din cared for you, more than he had told you and suddenly, your nerves were on fire for a different reason.

    He cared for you. A lot. Maybe even enough to utter that fateful word that changed lives. But not tonight.

    Not when that had happened.

    “Thank you,” you said.

    “For what?”

    “For telling me.” You glanced at your barely touched glass of whiskey. “I know it’s not easy talking about your past. So, thanks for letting me in on some part of it.”

    Getting up, you downed the glass and set it down gently. What you really needed was some food and a shower to clean off the dirt and grime of the night. But you still had to finish stocking bottles. So, you pressed a kiss to his lips and headed towards the jukebox to play a song to hopefully lighten the mood. To let him know that life could go back to normal, because you were okay. You weren’t upset, or scared of him, you were just happy you were both alive.

    “I’m going to make a snack. You want anything?” you asked.

    He shook his head, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “No, I'm okay.” The leftover pasta Poe brought earlier sounded delicious and you had half a mind to run upstairs, but Din’s arm around your waist stopped you. “Thank you for staying,” he said.

    The same words as last night, the same ones that solidified everything about this situation. Why you didn’t run out the door. Why you continued to come back day after day. Because Din meant more than you liked to believe. Had your heart in his hands, just as you had his; a blind trust that you placed in one another the day you met. Stupid enough to say you’re the one I choose to give you this important piece of myself to, in hopes that he’d keep it safe.

    “I’m not going anywhere Din.”

    And you meant it.

    Because he’d kept that part of you safe. Ever since you walked drunkenly into his bar.

    Three in the morning is always an odd time to be awake. You supposed it wasn’t too odd for Din, seeing as how he was a bartender and four in the morning is usually when he closed down the bar. Yet everyone had left two hours ago, and you were still awake. Listening to him shuffle around downstairs as he got things ready for the next night. A familiar routine that you knew by heart now, that you welcomed every night, because while he was nocturnal, Din certainly was interesting at night.

    It seemed that all his worries, stress, and well even his moral compass vanished around two in the morning. Which left a relaxed version of him by three.

    Hearing his voice calling your name, you headed out of the storeroom where you were busy counting bottles, to see him wiping down the bar. Rather thoroughly. You figured it had spilled alcohol and maybe even a bit of blood from earlier on it, so you didn’t see anything odd about this sight.

    “Can you grab the trash?” he asked, shifting to the right.

    “Sure.”

    You were certain he had tossed it earlier, but again it didn’t seem like anything odd. After all, you did recall saying you were the best at taking out the trash at one point. You had to hold up that title.

    You didn’t catch his grin when you passed, didn’t see how he stopped wiping down the bar, and certainly didn’t see the way his eyes latched onto your ass when you bent over. Instead, you went about your business. The music drowned out any sounds he made and you focused on that, instead of the man behind you currently running a thumb over his bottom lip. Moving something out of the way, you reached for the-

    The bag was empty. 

    So, what the hell did he need you to come take out the trash for? Turning to face him, you were met with dark eyes roaming your figure shamelessly, a hunger in them eyes that you’d grown accustomed to seeing. It seemed that the more time you spent around each other, the more that happened between the two of you, he grew more insatiable. Or it might have been this night in particular. The anxiety of nearly losing one another, turning into something else.

    Relief you were alive.

    “Din?” you asked.

    His eyes locked on yours, and you knew you’d hit the nail on the head. What the hell were you supposed to do now? He had you stuck in place, apparently right where he wanted you, and you were willing to do what he asked. You’d get on your knees if he so wished it, because the things he could do to you still played in your mind. But he chose to just continue watching you. Seemingly happy with the sight of you slowly losing your mind as you waited for him to do something. 

    Should you do something? Is that what he wanted? For you to do something to him.

    The music continued to play in the background, a noise you’d grown used to tuning out by now. Except now you could barely hear it, because he shifted his eyes away from you, turning back to whatever he was doing. You stood dumbstruck wondering if you’d done something wrong. Did he just assume that you had meant to ask what was wrong? Maybe that was it. You knew you were wrong instantly when he slid a hand up his shirt, his palm coming up towards his chest and lightly rubbing the skin. 

    Maybe he hurt himself earlier during the fight or-

    You watched, trying not to salivate at the sight of the inky black lines across his skin. The skull tattoo peeking out happily at you, the happy trail you’d licked and nipped down to this morning, on full display. He wasn’t hurt. Din Djarin was fucking with you. He was trying to do whatever he could to get you to snap in half and beg for him like before. Something to take the edge off the night of chaos.

    And you relished in it. Loved that was initiating this game once more.

    He turned back towards you, his hand coming out from under his shirt and hiding his skin, hiding the tattoos again, and returned to his place of watching you. Now was your chance to do something, anything.

    You just needed him to touch you. Needed to feel him and know that he was okay, because the images from earlier still refused to leave your mind. Still stuck to you like a scar you didn’t wish to bear.

    Taking in a deep breath, that he obviously noticed, if the way his eyes shot down to your chest told you anything, you took a step closer. You knew his game by now, knew how he’d drive you to the very edge only to pull back. It made you want to scream, but then the memory of him losing at his own game not too long ago came back to you. 

    “What do you want to do with me?” you asked. The question that sparked memories from that night and you hoped he remembered how it felt to be on the edge of something earth-shattering. 

    His eyes narrowed, tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip. 

    He remembered. 

    “Sweetheart,” he practically cooed at you, his voice dripping with a tease that you could hear clearly.

    Was it possible for you to be a mess already? One fucking word. He always did it in one word. Tore you to shreds, made you weak for him, and read you like a damn book. All of it had you heaving in another breath, desperate for anything other than the agonizingly passionate look in his eyes. The tension of the night gave way to this. To a playful three in the morning Din, that had no qualms about teasing you until you were puddy in his hands.

    He took another step closer to you. A game of taunting, of waiting for the other to break. It’s what he excelled in, what you willingly played into, and you got off on it. You could feel yourself practically dripping for him, waiting for him to do something other than watch you. The predatory look in his eyes told you that you weren’t going anywhere for a while, but with the way he barely moved, you weren’t sure. 

    “You like to mess with me, don’t you?” A simple question that didn’t mean anything, but it had his lips curling into another grin.

    “Me? Mess with you? I would never.” Another step closer and you were practically panting for him.

    His nose was practically brushing your cheek, eyes staring into yours, and his hands clenched at his sides as he resisted the urge to touch you. You knew that he was hesitating for a reason. Knew that he still thought you would run after everything he told you; after part of his past came out. But you also knew he wanted this, wanted you. So, you took the last step. You stood close enough to him that his nose brushed yours, and your lips nearly pressed against his when you spoke. 

    Molton brown eyes flashed down to your lips and back up, the tenderness showing through. A small bit of what he didn’t let the rest of the world see. 

    “Liar,” you breathed out.

    Your very own tease this time, and it worked. His hands shot out to grip at you, yanking you closer as his lips slotted against yours. This would not be a gentle kiss like he usually did. Not another light press of his lips to yours to just feel them. No, he was devouring you. His tongue breaking open your mouth, delving in and taking no chance for you to have control. You understood why; understood that he needed to know you were okay, that you were safe after what happened.

    His hands dug into your ass, pushing you against him until you were unconsciously grinding against him, desperate for friction, because you were in the same place he was. You gripped at his hair, keeping his lips against yours, but it wasn’t like he wanted to move. His teeth bit down on your bottom lip a little too hard, drawing out a gasp from you, before he swallowed it down. This wasn’t Din kissing you. This was him driving you back to the precipice, right to the very edge of ecstasy.

    This was him assuring himself.

    You needed to breathe and he seemed to know it before you did, moving his attack onto the skin of your neck, till he hit your chest. Was it possible to be dizzy just from his lips? Just from the teeth that sunk into the skin of your breast? Perhaps it was. He was just that good at driving you crazy and he had barely touched you completely yet. 

    “Fuck-” You tugged on his shirt. “-please I need you.” The words came out as a gasp when his hand reached back and cupped your ass again, fingers digging into you from behind. 

    A growl tore from his mouth before he was tearing his shirt off, yanking yours up as well and throwing it to the side. The expanse of skin giving him more room to dig his teeth into you, more of a chance to worship as much of you as he could. Except he didn’t want to do it standing up. You knew he’d get on his knees for you, having seen him do it before, but this was different.

    He remained in charge this time and you were perfectly content in letting it happen.

    “Jump,” he muttered, hands on your waist and turning you towards the bar. 

    “What?”

    He squeezed your waist. “I said jump.”

    “I could fall off Din. I can’t sit up there while you-”

    “You’re not going to be sitting, sweetheart.” His words were low and dark, but his eyes still held the lightness of a tease, of wanting to play. Yeah, three in the morning Din continued to remain interesting.

    So, you jumped and swung a leg over each side of the bar till you were practically straddling it. He followed, crouching in front of you, his tattoos on display for you to trace with your gaze, but soon he was pushing you back until you were lying along the bar. The ratty torn old blue jeans you wore were pulled off as well as your shoes, leaving you in only your underwear and bra. You’d think you would feel exposed this way. Lying on his bar as he watched you, but the only thing you felt was the exhilaration of the act.

    Sinful in all the right ways, and suddenly you couldn’t remember what happened mere hours ago. Couldn’t find it in you to relive the moments, because you were there allowing yourself to be free.

    Din sat on the bar, straddling it as well, his hands on your bare thighs, as he took in the sight. You could feel his eyes. Feel the way they traced along every curve, every inch of skin, until they met yours again. He’d stay this way until you were begging him for more, you knew it, because that’s how he liked you. Begging him for more.

    “You going to come closer?” you asked, hoping that spurred him on a bit.

    You couldn’t get the moment that the body shot happened out of your head. How his tongue licked along your torso until you were dripping into your underwear. His eyes flashed to yours again and you saw it. The will he had to just admire hanging on by a very thin thread; and it was snapping. Except you didn’t want him to watch you without doing anything, you wanted him to give into the want he had, give into the desire.

    Din’s eyes widened slightly when your hands came up to cup your own breasts, pinching the nipple through your bra, and causing your stomach to twist. He wanted to watch, then you’d give him a show to enjoy. You’d won the game once, and you’d do it again. One hand remained where it was, while your other slid down your stomach, and slipped into your underwear. Got you. His eyes narrowed at the sight of you dipping your finger into your wet folds, spreading the slick, as his tongue came out again to run across his bottom lip.

    You were the one pressing him, because you knew how much he could hold out. Knew how much he would hold out to watch you be the one to break first. A moan left your lips when you put pressure on your clit, the aching relief a delight to finally feel after he’d done nothing. You figured this would be enough. Him watching you try to get yourself off would be enough to break him, but instead he continued to watch.

    As if you were the best damn film he’d ever seen. 

    “Din,” you whined. 

    He didn’t say anything, his eyes continuing to watch as you pushed a finger into your entrance, your other hand slipping down to push aside your underwear so she could get a glimpse as to how wet you were. You were sure he saw it, because a groan echoed around the now quiet bar. The music had apparently stopped a while ago, but you hadn’t noticed, because you were too busy trying to stay sane. 

    “Sweetheart,” he murmured, brushing his hand up higher on your thigh and making your hips jolt upwards. “How does it feel?”

    Fuck he wanted you to answer a question at this time?

    You were pushing a second finger in to gain more friction, to find the spot inside yourself that would break you. Except none of it was enough. Not when he continued to stare, continued to watch you go crazy, and not do a damn thing about it. You needed him to do something, because your hands alone wouldn’t cut it.

    “I need more.” 

    His hand shifted higher, fingers digging into the flesh of your thigh. “More huh?”

    “Yes.” You were panting; your fingers pumping into you fast enough to have the sound of your wetness echo around the bar. 

    “You want it, but do you deserve it,” he whispered, leaning down to bite at your thigh.

    You cried out, moving to run a hand through his hair, but he pulled away again. He wanted to know if you deserved it? If you deserved to have him break you over and over again? Any other time you’d be mad, you would scream at him for this, but now with your fingers finally brushing against that spot you needed, and the look in his eyes that almost exhibited pain, you were in heaven. He wanted to be stubborn and hold out; make you break for him, then you’d give him exactly that.

    You’d fall apart for him. Except not in the way he expected.

    Keeping the pace of your fingers steady, you spread your slick on your other fingers, bringing them up to your mouth. You could see him breathing heavily for you, his eyes zeroing in on the fingers you were licking, dipping in and out of your mouth to match the speed of your other hand. A few more thrusts were all you needed, your thumb pressing on your clit before you were falling apart.

    Before you were breaking for him. 

    A sound was torn from his chest as your hand was ripped away leaving you to cry out in anger this time. You were inches away from an orgasm, one more thrust from completely shattering and he’d taken it away from you. Din really wanted to make you hit him, and you were about to. Except your underwear was torn from your body, legs being pulled until they were draped over his shoulders.

    You didn’t expect him to yank you forward, didn’t expect him to push your hips into the bar, and you certainly weren’t prepared for when he latched onto your clit. A scream tore from your throat, hand coming to dig into his hair as he spread your slick with his tongue, until he lashed at your clit. The orgasm from mere moments ago, rushed back up into your veins until you were bucking against his mouth, crying out his name.

    He practically folded you in half as he continued to lick at you as if you were the best damn thing he’d tasted. Maybe you were, you wouldn’t have known either way. But the overstimulation was driving you crazy. He dug his fingers into you tighter, pulling your clit into his mouth and sucking on it just to hear you scream again. Better than any music he’s heard before, better than any whiskey he’s had, and better than any dream he had about you.

    “Din!” you screaming. “Fuck-I’m-” The words died on your throat when he slipped two fingers into you, curling them exactly where you needed them.

    Another sound echoed through the bar, a feral sound of pleasure that apparently came from you, as your second orgasm of the night crashed over you. It tore through you, shattering you into pieces, and caused you to thrash in his hold as he continued to suck at your clit. Whines fell from your lips, the aftershocks of him licking at you were causing your body to jolt with each movement of his tongue.

    It wasn’t until you shoved at his head did he actually stop, leaving you feeling boneless and dazed. The thought that you were nearly completely naked on top of his bar, spread out like a meal didn’t occur to you anymore. None of it occurred to you, except the fact that he was rubbing small circles into your hips, trying to sooth his harsh hold on you. The skin would be tender, you knew that, but you would enjoy it either way.

    He scooted back, resting your legs back on either side of the bar, before leaning forward to press kisses to your skin. Hot open-mouthed kisses against the skin of your thigh, your hip bone, your stomach, everywhere he could reach. You continued to run a hand through his hair, tugging on the locks whenever he bit into you, but the calm feeling of just being there with him was returning. The relief of the night settling in your bones. You knew for a fact that you were dripping onto the bar, but what you didn’t know was how much he wanted to taste you again.

    “Did I deserve it?” you asked, smiling at him when he brought you into a sitting position.

    Din laughed lightly; his palms splayed across your back. “You deserve more than that. Especially after what you did tonight.”

    A pang of dread returned; the memory of you holding a gun up to someone more terrifying than you remembered it to be. And he began to kiss your skin as he rubbed at your back, to appease the pain. To try and help you forget again. Just as he wanted to.

    Shifting you, he slid you into his lap, your knees pressing into the bar as he sat straddling it. You had to admit this position was comfortable, but you could feel him hard and ready under you through his jeans. The friction of them rubbing against your already sensitive clit. His lips found yours again, kissing you softly this time, but still holding control over you.

    “So, Romeo,” you whispered, biting into his bottom lip. “You going to fuck me on your bar or what?”

    “No,” he replied. You reared back, staring at him and feeling a bit of shock fill your body, before the annoyance came back at the sight of his grin.

    “You’re an asshole.”

    He laughed, pulling you tighter to him. “You’re going to fuck me sweetheart.”

    Now that sounded appealing. He was going to give you complete control yet again. It wouldn’t last, you knew that. He liked to have you bending to his will, but when you were given control like this, in a position like this, you felt a power rush through you. Slipping your hands off his shoulders, you began to pull at his belt, dipping a hand in to palm him through his underwear. He groaned, head falling onto your shoulder, and teeth sinking into your skin. 

    “Do you like that?” you asked, trying to make your voice as sinfully hot as his was and it seemed to work when he shallowly bucked up into your grip. Tugging on his hair you brought his head back, ghosting your lips over his and continuing your motion. “You want me to ride your cock Din?”

    He moaned, his eyes fluttering shut before opening to reveal the brown you loved to be gone. “Yes,” he breathed out. “Yes, I want it.”

    He wanted to see you break, well you wanted the same from him. Swiping your thumb over his tip you pressed your lips to his but not before saying two words that would leave him desperate for you. Not before pulling his own play against him and causing him to do nothing but beg for you.

    “Good boy.”

    You knew he wouldn’t last long if you continued to rub at him, so you pulled him out of the confines of his jeans and lined him up with your entrance. Din let go of you to let you rise up on your knees, before you were sinking down onto him, the fullness of him having your head fall back. Every time was the same feeling, the same overwhelming soul crushing feeling, and right now you were lost in its pleasure. 

    He leaned down taking a nipple into his mouth, at the same time he bucked his hips up causing you to let out a moan. The indescribable feeling of both pain and pleasure mixed together to create what he was eliciting from you. All of it kept you from both staying on the edge and falling off at the same time. How he managed it you’d never know, but there would be no more time to dwell on what he could do. 

    You were shifting upwards, panting at how he slid along your walls, hearing him let out his own sound when you clenched around him. It intertwined together, the sensations, the sounds of him. It all became too much and not enough at once. Rolling your hips forward you felt him hit a part in you that had stars showing behind your closed eyelids. Din seemed to have felt you tighten around him, and proceeded to help you keep him in place, continually hitting the same spot until you were a whimpering mess. 

    He had taken back the control he so willingly had given you. Now going back to the man who you begged for.

    Look at you sweetheart. Taking my cock like a good girl. You’ll drive me fucking insane one day with how pretty you are. He was talking to you in that low raspy voice that affected you more than the trail of hair that rubbed against your clit with every movement. The words practically dripping with sin, and he didn’t seem to have intention to stop. Murmuring words of how much he’d dreamed of this, of how he touched himself to the thought of this. Grunting out curse words in between whenever he hit another deep spot within you.

    He was slowly tearing you to shreds, inch by inch, with every thrust he made. All of it leaving you to do nothing but just take it, allow him to control the movement of your hips as he tried his best to thrust up into you. Your mouth hung open slightly, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he began to rub his thumb against your clit. 

    Din leaned forward, biting down on your earlobe and sucking on it lightly. “I want to see you soak my cock sweetheart. Can you do that for me?”

    Was it the words that had you rushing towards another earth-shattering orgasm, or was it the sound of voice whispering them to you in your ear, as he devastatingly thrust one more time into you and pinched your clit at the same time? Either way you could do nothing but let out a scream, sinking down onto him one more time to bury him within you. The hot rush of your release triggering his own, as he bit into your shoulder to muffle the feral sound that came out of him.

    It left you truly unable to do nothing but sag into his hold, panting against his skin and feeling the aftershocks roll through your body with every shallow thrust he made. Your mind felt foggy and dizzy afterwards, trying to focus on him, because now he was saying something else.

    He trailed his fingers lightly up and down your back, pressing kisses to your shoulder. You could still feel him inside you, softening but still causing you to feel full. The comfortable warmth of his embrace let the dizzy sensation build up into a drowsy one and his caresses and kisses weren’t helping in keeping you awake.

    “Romeo,” you mumbled, trying to fight through the pleasurable haze in your mind, because there was still something you had to ask him. He nudged your neck, letting you know he was listening. “Will you be my date to Liv’s wedding?”

    He froze and you figured you just ruined this moment, sent it crumbling with only a few words. “Do I have to dance?”

    You smiled, feeling a different type of pleasure wash over you. “Well I’d like to dance at least once with my boyfriend.”

    Boyfriend. That word held its own kind of power and he shuddered at the sensation. You took his hidden smile and the light nip at your skin to be his answer. Yes. I’ll dance with you. A confirmation that had you soaring and nearly ready to go again, but the shallow thrust he made had you shaking from the aftershocks.

    “So beautiful,” he whispered against your skin. “You’re the prettiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.”

    Heat rushed to your face at his compliments and you smiled into his shoulder. “I could say the same about you Romeo.”

    He laughed. “I’m definitely not the prettiest thing here.”

    “So, you admit that you’re pretty.” You had him there and you knew it when he paused, before nipping at your neck in retaliation. 

    “Always keeping me on my toes sweetheart.”

    “Mm someone has to.” You pressed a kiss to his jaw, before settling further against his shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut again. “Don’t want you killing yourself on accident while I’m not here.”

    Din’s breath stuttered. When you’re not here. Those words brought out the ache in his heart he pushed down to survive the days. After what happened tonight, after having to watch you nearly get hurt, he couldn’t bear that thought for a moment. They were the same words he never wanted you to say again, because he’d done the one thing he promised himself he wouldn’t do. Din Djarin had allowed himself to care. He’d opened his heart to you and made space, because you forced him to without knowing. And the thought of you no longer being here, in his bar, with his arms wrapped around you, terrified him to his core.

    Din Djarin had done the one thing he wouldn’t allow himself to do. Something even more terrifying than watching you hold a gun. More terrifying than being helpless as you fought to help him.

    He fell in love. He just had yet to realize it yet.

Black Velvet Masterlist

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[alastaircarstairsdefenselawyer]

champagne problems (part 1)

here's my first part of my modern no magic "champagne problems" singer-songwriter quarantine thomastair AU! happy birthday to @foxglove-airmid even though I don't think it's your birthday where you live anymore (and I still haven't posted zia's birthday fic, it'll happen I swear)!

no content warnings for this part (besides maybe quarantine), but future parts will include discussions of mental illness, substance abuse, and a suicide attempt

obviously, the song alastair "wrote" in the fic is not mine, it's by taylor swift! and a few of the lyrics have been changed!

Masterlist | AO3

Thomas breathed out a sigh of relief as he lugged his suitcase up onto the fifth floor landing.

“‘Ere we are,” Piers announced as he unlocked the door.

Thomas was utterly exhausted, such was the result of taking a redeye flight across the Atlantic during a global pandemic, but any idea of rest that he’d had was interrupted when he heard the sound of piano flood the apartment.

“Ah, sorry about that,” Piers nodded, “One of my flatmates, the walls are paper thin. He can’t record at the studio right now, but he’s trying to finish his EP, so it’s been a bit noisier around here. He’ll take a break soon, hopefully.”

Thomas shook his head. “It’s no problem. Thank you, again, for allowing me to stay here. I’ll be looking for my own place as soon as the quarantine is up.”

“Of course. You’ve got the couch as long as you need it. Couldn’t just hang you out to dry, could I? Although, you did pick a god awful time to move to the city, if I do say so myself.”

Thomas sat down on the couch and tried to make himself comfortable. It was more comfortable than the flight or the airport, at least. “I know… I considered postponing the move, but the visa was so difficult to get, I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity. They say this will all blow over in a couple of weeks, but borders are closing and I heard talk of them suspending all pending visa applications. I didn't know how long it would be if I waited, if the job was even still here for me at all.” Although at first entrance, the music had seemed to be a nuisance, it now comforted him. It wasn’t bad at all, in fact, it quite reminded him of the days Alastair’s playing had filled their flat…

“Where did you say you were working again? At a record company?”

“Yeah. I’m just doing pretty basic stuff for now, but if I ever do want to record my own music, I’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Hm,” Piers said, gesturing to the room the music was coming from. “Perhaps you’ll get on with him well, then. Would you like some tea?”

Thomas nodded and Piers went to start the teapot. Piers continued, “Though I suppose he's more of the tortured artist type. Very reserved, quite prickly. I didn't even meet him until a couple weeks after I moved in here because he was off in some psychiatric hospital.” Thomas shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He was never one for gossip. “My other roommate’s nice, though, I think you’ll like him. He-”

“How did you end up in New York, again? I don’t think I ever asked.”

Piers dove into the subject change quite readily, explaining his uni - or college - years in New York City and his decision to stay afterwards. Thomas had tuned most of it out, truthfully. It wasn’t that he was trying to be rude, but he was rather exhausted, and Piers was wearing thin on his patience.

As the kettle started to whine, Thomas heard the musician begin to sing, and he froze. It sounded so much like Alastair. But it couldn't be, could it? With over 8 million people living in the city, he would not end up in Alastair's apartment by accident. His Alastair was certainly reserved and prickly, but it wasn't possible. It must be like all those times he thought he saw him on a street he'd never walked or heard his laugh in a café he'd never been to. Just his mind, tricking him. Even if he knew that voice so well, despite not hearing it in so long.

“It’s quite good, isn’t it? His first single just dropped.” Piers asked, bringing over his cup of tea. He hadn’t realized it, but he’d been staring intently at the door.

Thomas took the cup. “Hm? Yeah, I guess. Thanks.”

“You should look it up. It’s called “champagne problems” by Simurgh. That’s spelled- Well, it should come up.”

The name Simurgh sounded familiar, but Thomas couldn’t put his finger on where he knew it from. At Piers’ insistence, he pulled out his phone and brought up the song. As he skimmed through the first few lines, a cold feeling settled in his stomach.

“You booked the night train for a reason So you could sit there in this hurt Bustling crowds or silent sleepers You're not sure which is worse”

“Simurgh,” Thomas realized.

“Yeah, I think it’s Arabic or something.”

It took Thomas a moment to process that Piers was responding to him. “It’s Persian.” He was certain that Alastair would have some very stern words to say if he heard Piers confusing the two, actually. Thomas had admittedly let his Farsi skills deteriorate quite a bit since the breakup, but he was fairly certain the name came from the Shahnameh. There was no doubt in Thomas’ mind now: he was staying in Alastair’s apartment, and Alastair’s first single was about one of the most painful days in Thomas’ life. “I, er, I used to study it.”

“Oh, yes, that’s right!” Piers launched into a tangent that Thomas tuned out as he read through the rest of the page.

“Because I dropped your hand while dancing Left you out there standing Crestfallen on the landing Champagne problems”

“Thomas? Are you alright?”

He realized then that his hand was trembling so badly that his tea nearly spilled. He used his other hand to steady it. “Oh, uh, yes, I’m just tired.”

“Perhaps you should rest. I can ask Alastair to quiet down for a while-”

“No!” he exclaimed rather too forcefully. “No, that’s not necessary. I’d just rather not talk, if that’s alright.”

Piers nodded.

Thomas kept reading.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket My picture in your wallet Your heart was glass, I dropped it Champagne problems”

Of all the songs, why did he release the one about him? Why was it about a memory still so painful in Thomas’ heart, all of these years later? He remembered it so well, standing there, alone, shattered into a million pieces.

“You told your family for a reason You couldn't keep it in Your sister splashed out on the bottle Now no one's celebrating”

He was fairly certain that Barbara had been more excited than even he was, confident that Alastair would accept, and so very proud of her baby brother, all grown up. She’d been furious when it fell apart, but it was her who stood with him during the aftermath, who boarded him onto a train to Edinburgh to visit Eugenia when he couldn’t stand to be in the same city as him any longer, who went through his phone, blocking all of Alastair’s accounts so that he could obsess over him no longer, who comforted him as he wept and held him as he picked the pieces of himself back up again.

And all the more sour was the memory in light of her death.

“Dom Pérignon, you brought it No crowd of friends applauded Your hometown skeptics called it Champagne problems”

He looked up at Piers, who had fortunately become enthralled with something on his phone and was no longer paying Thomas any mind. He lifted the teacup gingerly to his lips, but he felt far too sick to take a drink.

“You had a speech, you're speechless Love slipped beyond your reaches And I couldn't give a reason Champagne problems”

A reason, that’s all Thomas had wanted. Just any explanation. He understood if they were moving too fast, or perhaps he’d misread something, but he just didn’t understand it.

Why? Why can’t you tell me why? I deserve an explanation, Alastair. Please, anything.

I… I’m sorry, Thomas.

Stop it! Stop apologizing! We can just go home and pretend this never happened, please, forget about all of it, it was a stupid idea-

Thomas, stop. I shouldn’t’ve… This was a mistake. I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner.

That was the moment Thomas felt his heart stop beating.

“Your Midas touch on the Chevy door November flush and your flannel cure "This dorm was once a madhouse" I made a joke, "Well, it's made for me" How evergreen, our group of friends Don't think we'll say that word again And soon they'll have the nerve to deck the halls That we once walked through”

Despite the nearly two decades Thomas had spent in London before Alastair, it was never the same without him. He saw him everywhere he went, despite knowing he was thousands of miles away. After graduating uni that May, he accepted a spot at a graduate program in Spain and didn’t look back.

“One for the money, two for the show I never was ready so I watch you go Sometimes you just don't know the answer 'Til someone's on their knees and asks you "You’re the only one I want by my side, What a shame you’re fucked in the head," you said”

Those were the words that haunted Thomas’ nightmares, even now.

It’s you! It’s only you for me! It was always going to be you! But I can see now that I was never going to be enough for you, you and your secrets and walls and your lies. It’s a shame… it’s a shame you’re so fucked in the head, Alastair. You’ll never truly love anyone, will you? You’re not physically capable of it.

Alastair hadn’t responded. Thomas had wanted a rise out of him, any reaction at all, despite knowing how lethal and volatile Alastair could become when provoked. But there was nothing. Not a flicker of anything in his steeled expression. He’d simply looked down, apologized again for any pain that he’d caused, and left.

That was the last time they’d spoken.

Thomas and his sister left for Edinburgh that night, and when he’d returned to London, Alastair was gone.

“Well, you'll find the real thing instead Who'll patch up your tapestry that I shred And hold your hand while dancing Never leave you standing Crestfallen on the landing With champagne problems”

Thomas couldn’t imagine giving his heart to anyone again, not now and certainly not then. He’d dated in Madrid, but it had always stayed casual. He’d made sure of it. He could see now that he and Alastair had gotten together quickly, moved in together quickly, done all of it very quickly. After all, he’d fallen hard and fast. He gave all of himself to Alastair, and he’d nearly lost all of himself in the process.

“Your mom's ring in your pocket New picture in your wallet You won't remember all my Champagne problems

“You won't remember all my Champagne problems”

Now, he wondered what the rest of the story was. He’d convinced himself that Alastair had never loved him, that he was heartless and cruel, though he’d known that wasn’t true. Could Alastair have written this song if he’d never truly loved him? Perhaps he was a sociopath.

Thomas felt like he should run. Like he should pick up his bag and dart out of the apartment before Alastair could notice him, find some hotel somewhere with undoubtedly extraordinary high rates and just pretend like this never happened. He could get back on a plane and go back home to his parents and delete his phone browser history and pretend like this was all just a bad dream. But he could not move.

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed before Alastair’s door opened. He looked up with a start.

“Thomas,” Alastair breathed. He stood wide eyed, flushed.

“Do you two already know each other then?” Piers asked.

There was a moment of silence before Thomas cleared his throat. “We used to,” he said, looking down.

“I, er, I forgot that your friend was coming today,” Alastair told Piers. “It’s quite a long journey from London, you should have told me, I would have been quieter.”

Thomas considered correcting him for a moment, but decided not to. “Don’t worry about it. I heard you had your first big release. Congratulations.”

Alastair gave an awkward nod. “Thank you. Right, well, I’ll just…” He rushed over to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of water from the fridge. “I’ll try to be a bit quieter.”

“Don’t- It’s fine, really. In fact, I’m sure there’s some hotel in the area I can stay at for now, actually-”

“Well, don’t leave on my account,” Alastair interrupted. “We agreed to let you stay here, and the city’s a bloody mess right now. I’ll stay out of your hair, Thomas.”

Thomas only nodded as Alastair disappeared back behind his bedroom door.

Thanks for reading! Taglist (ask to be +/-): @stxr-thxif @chaos-and-starlight @zosiaenrique @lifewouldbebetteronmars @littlx-songbxrd @dianasarrow @eugeniaslongsword @bookswitchcraftandcats @jamesherondaleofficial @thomas-gaypanic-lightwood @livingformyself @anarmorofwords @foxglove-airmid @writeforjordelia @sapphic-in @jem-nasium @fortheloveofthecarstairs @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @shadowrunner2000 @thewarthatsavedmylife @fair-childd @itsjusta-j-really

[cdroloisms]

more of the mutually assured destruction duo, post-prison this time! this one was really fun, thinking about what this dynamic might be like in the future gives me SO much brainrot, im so excited. this one’s also a little dark, so make sure to read the warnings + tags !! :D 

tw: implied prison abuse, starvation, toxic relationship, touch starvation, manipulation, panic attack, trauma, blood, injury

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison.

And it's ironic, because Wilbur hasn't even been around, has been in hell for fuck's sake playing Competitive Solitaire for nine-odd years, but even he could've seen the self-destruction hanging like a cloud around the other's head from a million miles (and several months? years?) away. Perhaps, he thinks wryly, you can only see the signs when you've lived them, or maybe red flags don't raise alarm when you’ve painted the entire figure in blood, but it doesn't really matter, in the end, because the final result is the same.

Still, it's just a little funny when he's stopped in the middle of his journey through the Nether, not a piece of armor on him per usual and an unused netherite sword slung over his hip.

"Hello, Sapnap." The kid is standing in front of him, eyes gleaming in badly-hidden anger and desperation, smoke rising from the mottled red-black skin on his hands. "Fancy seeing you around."

"You-" Sapnap sputters, unable to speak as his face flushes red in frustration, and Wilbur smiles at him condescendingly. The expression on the other's face is one he's seen before - one Tommy had been particularly inclined to give him in the past, when his emotions raged so heavily that there was nothing for the pressure to do but build, too thick and heavy to force themselves out of his throat. "You're monsters," Sapnap manages, finally, and Wilbur quirks an eyebrow.

At least we're self-aware, he thinks, the all-too-familiar twinge of irritation at Tommy's - and apparently, Sapnap's particular brand of reckless naivety pulsing at the base of his skull. He lets none of these thoughts show on his face as he cocks his head to the side, smiles wider - and Sapnap, just like Tommy, takes the bait.

'Why are you smiling?" He looks achingly young - they all do, really, their expressions and reactions dripping with a sort of innocence and sincerity that dissolved from Wilbur's own face somewhere around the fifteen-hundreth game of poker, and it really does feel ironic, how quickly the outside world can fall apart compared to the unending constancy of the void - but he digresses.

He didn't know Sapnap well before his whole death thing, and as much as he wants to use his partner to get information on the other members of the server, he doesn't really think Dream is really even lucid enough for that - the man clearly hasn't been thinking clearly, not for a long time. It doesn't matter, though, because you learn to read people when your life becomes nothing but running the same broken-edged memories over and over again in your mind and smiling jaggedly over the same few card games - Wilbur had always been a people watcher, and Sapnap's feelings are stamped on every corner of his face.

"Monster, huh," he says, saying the word slowly, rolling it over his tongue like he's tasting it for the first time, watching from the corner of his eye as Sapnap squirms, "Interesting word you've got here. You use it often?"

Sapnap bristles, smoke curling from his nostrils - "It's what you are, dickhead."

Rolling his eyes internally, Wilbur keeps up the act, humming as he fiddles idly with his cufflink. "I mean, if you really believe that," he rocks forward on his right foot, stifling a smile at the way the younger draws back, "But really, it's all a matter of perspective." He twists himself around, pivoting around his heel, beginning to walk in an arc around Sapnap's left side, watching as he spins around, shoulders drawn up to his ears. "What do you think?"

"I think that you're full of shit," he says, voice flat, and Wilbur laughs. It's genuine, really, because well - Sapnap's different. He's fun; the entire server is, after so long in the void. You can only spend so much time with the same two people before they drive you a little up the metaphorical wall, but Sapnap's reactions are fresh and new and different, still saturated with vitality that hasn’t been leached out by the same deck of cards in the same scarred hands shuffled and reshuffled for eternity. He's interesting, and new, and most of all, predictable.

"Say, Sapnap," he continues, blowing over the other's anger, knowing that it'll only make the frustration build more. He lets his hair flop lazily over one eye, lets his smile grow wider, lips pressed together in amusement, turns his face so that it's lit eerily by the lava lake beneath them. "If we're monsters for, I don't know, setting off a few stacks of TNT," he waves his hand flippantly, watching the muscle of the other's jaw jump in poorly-hidden rage, "What does that make you for what you did to Dream?"

Sapnap's eyes go wide, and Wilbur knows he's struck the jackpot. He lets his lips part to reveal bared teeth, jagged and glinting in the light. "I'm sorry, did that hit a nerve?"

The kid's mouth opens- closes- emotions warring on his face, fists curling and uncurling at his sides, lip trembling. "We- we had to-" his hands come to his face, palms digging into his eyes, and while he's not looking, Wilbur draws his expression back a bit, becoming softer, more welcoming. When Sapnap looks back up, his eyes are shining, hands shaking still; he steps forward, then rocks back on his back foot like he doesn't know where to go. "What do you mean?" he throws the words like they're meant to be a threat, but by the end his voice has devolved into something high-pitched and keening, overflowing with desperate grief that Wilbur latches onto like a starving man (ha) with his last meal.

"I'm sorry, it does seem rather insensitive for me to assume," he resumes pacing around the other, voice lilting, soft, "I just mean, it seemed pretty obvious, don't you think? I don't think I've ever seen someone so skinny, really, but I guess that is what happens when you get starved,"

"Shut up-"

"Not to mention the whole panicking thing, I mean, he's like Tommy sometimes with all of the fucking shaky breathing and mumbling around like creepers, not that I'd know what all of that's about," he watches Sapnap through half-hooded eyes, darkly amused, "and pickaxes, oddly enough, but oh well. Who am I to judge?"

"Shut up-"

"And all of the scars - I thought they were from you, honestly, he told me about the whole 'taking his last life' thing, but then he jumped into lava one day - I guess there wasn't much to do in that cell, huh? He didn't even scream, it's really pretty fucking incredible - I thought I'd actually have to break him down a bit, but really, you've made my life so much easier-"

"SHUT UP-"

Wilbur watches with a too-wide grin as Sapnap finally, finally charges, a netherite sword appearing in his hand as he races blindly ahead, tears shining on his cheeks, his words more pain than thought as he brings the blade down-

A blur of purple, the sound of crumbling netherrack and metal meeting metal, flesh hitting flesh - Wilbur moves smoothly out of the way as Sapnap crashes to the ground, an armored figure bearing down an axe against the shield he's raised between them.

Dream, hair tangled and long, wearing armor that is far too heavy for his skinny frame, every inch of him shaking in panic, should hardly be a threat - but this is Sapnap, weakened by Wilbur's sharp words and crippled by the shock of seeing his former best friend's face again, eyes still unfocused from the rage and tears that had clouded over them moments before, so he can do little but raise his shield as the netherite slams into it, again and again. Not a word falls from Dream's lips, but he brings down the weapon at a ruthless pace - ever since he's been free, his attack style has changed greatly from the defensive style he used to favor, even to Wilbur's untrained eye - there's no skill, no art to the way he attacks anymore, just the fearful ferocity of a dog trapped in a cage for far, far too long.

He finally kicks Sapnap down the netherrack cliff that they're on, the other man left to nurse his wounds below them - Wilbur doesn't bother sparing him another thought; Dream's far too weak to cause any permanent damage. Instead, he approaches his partner, weapon, with a smile, watching, satisfied, when he whirls around with a manic expression.

"I'm alright, see?" he croons as Dream's shoulders move up and down with his heaving breaths, eyes fever-bright, teeth bared. He brings a hand down on the other's shoulder and watches as he flinches at the movement, breath hitching, every muscle freezing, knuckles pale on the handle of his axe, before moving again, stumbling forwards, hands reaching for Wilbur's head and stopping halfway. Wilbur tips his head forward, lets the shorter brush his face with trembling fingers, checking his unmarred skin for blood through the purpling bruises already forming on his cheek, and thinks how powerful he is to have a god at his beck and call, a perfect attack dog brought to heel, death itself obediently at his side.

Dream hasn't been the same since he escaped prison, and as Wilbur runs his hand up and down his back, feeling the way his spine arches at the touch, at the fluttering pulse under the skin-and-bone wrist under his fingers, he thinks how fortunate he is to be the first to notice.

[whentommymetalfie]

Home to you -chapter 10

-Fallout-

Prologue//1//2//3/4/5/6/7/8/9

Pairing: Tommy/Alfie

Summary: Alfie finds out what happened to Tommy. Predictably, he doesn’t take it well. 

Warnings: mental instability, hallucinations, panic attacks, disordered eating, violence.

Wordcount: 2,7 K

It takes fucking hours before Alfie finally gets some understanding of the latest ‘situation’, as Tommy  answers his questions in hushed whispers into his chest, fingers clenched around his blanket and face hidden in the fabric of his shirt.

“He pointed a fucking rifle at you?” Alfie grits out, the anger quickly building like hot pressure behind his temples. “For what, being close to- to a fucking horse?”

“It was his-“

He has to move, then, climbs off the sofa despite the way Tommy reaches for him. Paces across the floor, tries to stay calm, has to be fucking calm for Tommy’s sake, surpass the utter injustice, the fucking atrocity of it all.

“That doesn’t matter. Still doesn’t give him right to lay hand on you-“ And that, that just pushes all his buttons, doesn’t it? The fact that some absolute cunt saw Tommy, this fragile creature finding some comfort, doing something as innocent as petting a horse, and saw it fit to point a fucking gun at him and then fucking hit him- Someone put their hands on Tommy. Someone hurt him- And Alfie wasn’t there to protect him, wasn’t there to make things right (tear the rifle out of his hands and blow his head to bits).

What use is he, if he can’t keep Tommy safe? Didn’t he promise, didn’t he repeat over and over again that he’d do that. Keep him safe. It’s what he always whispers to him, ‘shh, it’s okay, you’re safe. I’ve got you’, and for what?

The small side table tips over when he kicks it. He flexes his hands, clenches them into tight fists until the knuckles crack and the nails dig into his palms. Keep him safe, that’s what he promised. And Alfie couldn’t even keep him safe from a fucking farmer. Knows just who it is too. Peter Fairfax. Lives further inland. He’s passed the farm when he’s made the occasional drive. Who the fuck does he think he is? He doesn’t deserve to walk the same fucking ground as Tommy-

A lamp follows the table on the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

Tommy looks at him from his spot on the sofa, eyes wide and lashes still wet with tears.

He thinks of Tommy coming home the other day, happy and bubbling with new life, eyes bright. And how all that light has seeped out of them.

The anger builds and builds until it feels like his skull is about to crack open.

“I’m going to fucking kill him-“ he slams his fist against the doorframe. Turns and fuck, Tommy flinches. “What fucking right does he have, eh? Putting his fucking hands on you. I hope it was worth it because it’ll be the last thing those bloody hands ever do.”

“Alfie-“

“Isn’t it fucking obvious you’re in no state to steal a bloody horse? Does he point that thing towards women and children too? I’m going to have a fucking word with him ‘bout that in a language he’ll understand-“

He storms out of the living room. All he can think of is finding this fucker, make sure he can’t talk, make sure he can never hurt Tommy again, never even lay eyes on him again-

“Alfie!” Tommy calls out as he comes up behind him. Alfie keeps moving through the hallway, only stopping when Tommy grabs his sleeve.

“Don’t. Don’t do this,” he pleads.

“I can assure you I’ve done far worse for far less.”

Tommy shakes his head and holds his arm tighter.

“No, not more. Not another. I can’t-“ he squeezes his eyes shut and presses his forehead against his shoulder. And the pain he exudes only makes his anger burn hotter. It’s that bastard’s fault Tommy is scared.

“He hurt you. No one is allowed to hurt you and get away with it,” Alfie growls. But Tommy shakes his head again, holding on so tightly to his sleeve that his knuckles whiten. He takes him by the shoulders, has to make him understand. “You fuckin’ hear me? No one is allowed to hurt you, touch you or even look at you the wrong fucking way.”

“Please, please, just stay here.“

He pushes him away non too gently, ripping his coat from its hanger and calling over the shoulder as he strides towards the door.

“Esther, look after Tommy!”

Esther appears in the doorway to the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel “Sir, what on earth are-“

Alfie is out the door before she can finish.

Tommy’s fingers are in his coat again as he stumbles after him on the gravel path, without any goddamn shoes, the stupid boy. Ignoring both that and Esther’s loud protests as she comes after them, Alfie makes it over to the car. He forces Tommy’s hands away, pushing him towards Esther who catches him and gives Alfie a withering look. Tommy squirms against her strong grip, the desperation glowing in his eyes.

“Alfie, don’t leave-“

The car engine roars to life, drowning out the awful sound, and he reverses down the driveway, tires screeching.

He doesn’t check the rear-view mirror. Mercifully doesn’t even hear Tommy’s anguished screams for much longer. The anger pulses behind his temples. This is that fucking brute’s fault. His fault Tommy is frightened, his fucking fault-

The drive does nothing to calm him, it’s all a red haze from the second he pulls away from the house, to the moment when the car screeches to a stop on the neighbour’s overgrown driveway.

Alfie bangs his fist against the door, for a split second thinking of what to do if the bastard isn’t home. But the door opens, a big, vaguely familiar man standing on the threshold.

“What’s this about?” he grunts.

“Those your horses?” Alfie points in the general direction of the field he just passed and assess the man. Big. Red beard. How many of those can there be around? And it’s the right house. He’s sure enough of that.

“Who’s asking?” Peter Fairfax narrows his eyes.

Alfie drives his fist straight into his face. A satisfying crunch fills the air and he drops like a sack of flour. Grunts out curses as he clutches his bloody nose and Alfie hoists him up by the collar, slams him against the wall, wants to look him in the eye, someone who can do something like that, put his hands on someone so innocent. Look him in the eye, the man who hurt his Tommy.

“What the fuck are-“ Fairfax blinks at him, too shocked to put up much resistance.

“Do you often go around attacking innocent, defenceless creatures, for doing something as sinister as being near one of your fucking horses. Do you, eh?”

Now he’s grasping at Alfie’s wrists, trying to wrench them away, and yeah he’s big and strong, which enrages him further, the thought of this brute of a man putting his hands on Tommy- Alfie wants to blow his fucking brains out, but he’s forgotten his fucking gun.

“Answer me!” he roars, spittle landing in the man’s face. “What gave you the fucking right to put your vile anywhere near him? I should cut them off, that’s what I should do-” Fairfax shoves him, gaining enough momentum to move him backwards and Alfie barely dodges the punch that comes after, taking a swing of his own that hits its mark and sending the man’s head back with a satisfying crack.

“Dad!”

They both freeze at the sound. A kid stands further down the hallway, watching them with big, frightened eyes, with an even smaller kid cowering behind him.

“Mathew, go upstairs, eh?” Fairfax grunts and wipes his bloody nose, his voice oddly gentle. “Take Elliot with you.”

But the kids just stand frozen on the spot. Tears roll down the little one’s cheeks.

“Boys, upstairs,” Fairfax repeats and moves to stand between them and Alfie. As if- fuck- he might be rotten all the way through but-  

Keeping his eyes on the kids to avoid changing his mind, Alfie turns on his heal and slams the door on his way out.

Peter Fairfax doesn’t follow him.

His hands are numb around the steering wheel on the way back. He stares at his bloody knuckles. They’re already turning blue in parts, aching dully. Been a while since he put them to any use. The pain feels like a welcomed distraction, keeping his thoughts from wandering.

The house is frightfully quiet when he opens the door, but the second he closes it, Esther comes out of the bedroom. He avoids her gaze, hangs up his coat and makes a move for the door, but she blocks it.  

“Leave him alone. He’s finally resting,” she whispers, jerking her head towards the kitchen and he follows. There, Esther washes her hands without a word, pours out a bread dough on the table and begins to vigorously knead it. Alfie sinks down onto a chair. He’s tired, suddenly.

“I hope it was worth it. He was… absolutely inconsolable.” Esther’s voice trembles with anger. “You realise that, don’t you? So I hope it was worth it, whatever you just did.”

“I didn’t do shit,” Alfie mutters. “Just… roughed him up a little.”

The whole table rattles with the force of Esther’s fists and her mouth is set in a tight line. She keeps her eyes firmly on the dough.

“Even though Tommy begged you not to. Even though he needed you here.”

“What the hell was I supposed to do? Should’ve just let it go, eh? Forgotten ‘bout the fact that some fucking brute put his hands on Tommy.”

“If that’s what he asked of you, then yes. You’re the one wanting revenge, not him. You have someone else in your life now, who needs to be your first priority.”

Now it’s Alfie’s turn to make the table rattle as he slams his fist against it.

“He is my first and only fucking priority!”

Esther looks up and their eyes meet, a tense silence filling the room. It shatters with a heart wrenching cry, which has them both bolting for the door.

In the bedroom, they find Tommy on the floor, tangled in sheets, arms wrapped around his head. Alfie kneels before him, pulling him into his lap with practiced ease and then holding him there despite his flailing limbs.

“Tommy, hey, it was just a nightmare. You’re alright, eh? I’ve got you”

“You didn’t listen,” Tommy cries. “Why doesn’t ever anyone listen-“

“Shh, love. That fucker didn’t get anything he didn’t deserve.”

“You didn’t listen to me!” Tommy slams his fists against his chest and Alfie wraps him up in a tighter embrace, trying to drown out his distraught wails with his voice, “He’s fucking fine, you hear me? A bruise or two, nothing else-“

“I wanted you to stay, and you didn’t listen!”

Tommy fights him, like a stray kitten, clawing and squirming but without any coordination or strength. Alfie keeps holding on. Tells himself it’s because Tommy can’t be trusted not to hurt himself in this state, ignoring that he’s the one who can’t be trusted if he slips away now. He might tear the whole fucking house apart. And Tommy grows tired quickly, fading desperation leaving him twitching and gasping for breaths. Still wound tightly, like a string about to snap, he strains against Alfie’s arms, but stops moving.  

“He’s fine,” Alfie repeats, softly now, “Yeah? He’s fucking fine. Just a few bruises.”

“You’re lying,” Tommy whines and jerks forward but without budging his arms an inch.

“I might be a fucking bastard, but I promise that’s all I left him with. Deserved much worse, I’d say.”

After a final attempt to get loose, Tommy has spent the last reserves and collapses into his embrace. His head comes last, falling against his shoulder, but he turns his face away, still. Rather than burying it in his chest.  Alfie pets his hair, ignoring that Tommy recoils from the touch.

“I had to do it,” he says calmly. “‘s the sort of man I am. I’ll never stand idly by and let someone put their hands on you, no matter what you fucking say. Yeah? I can do plenty of things, but never that. The rest, fine, I get it, I’ll have to listen to the doctor and to Esther and you can walk about as much as you like, all by yourself, gain all the independence you want or need. But I can’t let a thing like that pass by unpunished. Alright?”

Tommy says nothing, but he’s gone very still now. And quiet. He loosens his tight grip just slightly, but with surprising speed, Tommy takes the opportunity to slip out of his grasp, crawling back into bed and rolling himself into a tiny ball underneath the covers.

Alfie sits there on the floor staring at the small blanket pile with empty hands and a heavy heart.

He gives Tommy some space. Takes refuge in the living room, smoking and glaring at the seagulls. Half an hour passes by. One hour. And when it’s approaching dinner time (Esther is cooking soup, he can tell from the smell. And it’s the logical conclusion. Bad days are soup days) and Tommy still hasn’t appeared or made a sound, he’s just worried enough to finally leave his place on the sofa.

In the bedroom, he finds that the small lump on the mattress hasn’t moved. Alfie lays down next to it, still keeping some distance. Picks up the book, perches the glasses on his nose, and reads. A few minutes passes and Tommy still doesn’t move.

Half an hour passes.

An hour.

Alfie stays.  

Finally, there’s some movement among the blankets. At first Tommy turns over to face him, still mostly hidden underneath the blankets. Alfie keeps his eyes in the book but notices right at the edge of his vision, smidges of light blue peering at him over the edge of the blanket. He stretches an arm out, not for any particular reason of course, simply because it’s more comfortable that way, bicep resting on the pillow and hand behind his head. When Tommy lays his head on his arm, he places a hand to rest on top of his head, pulling him closer.

He reckons he’s more or less forgiven when Tommy is back where he belongs, curled into his side, fingers clenched into his shirt front.

“Alright, I went a little crazy,” he says, for good measure. But keeps his arm firmly around his waist to keep him there. “Everything isn’t always workin’ properly up there. I can admit as much. And… yeah. I’m sorry I upset you. But I’ll never be sorry for punching that bastard.”  

Tommy digs his nose into his neck and doesn’t say a word. But at least he let’s Alfie keep holding him.

Suffice to say, not much else gets done that afternoon. Tommy spends the remainder of it in bed, only half aware of his surroundings for most of the time, sleeping the other, and mute for all of it. And Alfie wasn’t lying when he said he was sorry for causing this latest upset, so he doesn’t even nag him about dinner. Lets him sleep through it and only bothers him enough to drink some broth. After which Tommy slips back under the blankets and curls around the hot water bottle. Alfie, however, requires something more solid, seeing as he’s missed all the meals due to this debacle. He leaves the door ajar and goes to the kitchen, hoping to have earned Esther’s forgiveness by now.

The bowl of soup she puts in front of him does feel like that, even if she mostly ignores him in favour of the dishes. He listens to the sound of water sloshing around in the sink for a while before daring to speak up.  

“Should probably have words with him. Our dear neighbour. Straighten a few things out. Make sure he doesn’t call the coppers.”

“Mister Fairfax isn’t the sort to do that. He doesn’t trust the police.”

“Still. Not sure we can risk it.”

Esther pulls a loaf of bread from the oven, filling the kitchen with warmth and a scent that might even persuade Tommy to eat a bite. Alfie decides to bring him a tiny piece later.

“I can go talk to him. I knew his wife. His bark is worse than his bite.” Esther sends him a wry look over her shoulder, and a wink. “But don’t you worry, I’ll make it clear that you don’t lay hand on our Tommy.”

…

[neonponders]

I have to be an adult today (whatever the hell that means) so this is short but I couldn’t help myself. Based on This Steve with This Billy post for the lovely @lovebillyhargrove 🌹 and @withoneheadlight 🌹

photographer!Steve and model!Billy - boyfriend shenanigans.

💋 💋 💋 💋 💋

Potentially Billy’s favorite thing about Steve - out of many characteristics - was how easily gob smacked he could be.

Billy knew what he looked like.

But still. Seeing Steve just kind of stare in wonder at him for a while never gets old.

He does it today, while Billy’s trying to pay attention to whatever his manager is saying. He can’t help but slide a smirk in Steve’s direction, though: the poor guy standing listlessly with one camera hanging around his neck, and another on a tall tripod next to him.

The manger notices and wraps up what he’s saying concisely. Billy understood his frustration. Billy and Steve working together had proven a 50/50 chance at making million dollar ad campaigns

Or

Just clumsy dates, really.

Billy had been Steve’s entrance into this business - a fact not lost on either of them since various managers and executives threatened reminded them of it whenever photoshoots fell through - but Billy’s second favorite thing about Steve was how he didn’t let that cause a rift between them. If anything, Steve asked for more jobs with Billy, even at the risk of being demoted to a photographer’s assistant or Billy’s personal assistant.

But it kept them together. It allowed Billy a reassurance on international flights that he’d have Steve available to climb into his first class seat whenever Billy’s fear of flying kicked in.

As much as the agencies loathed to admit it, Steve was like a walking insurance policy for one hot-headed Billy Hargrove. If a photographer said something wrong, treated the models rudely, or if he was merely having a bad day, Steve could step in, and Billy eye fucked his boyfriend for hours.

Other models requested Steve. Billy knew that was a big deal for his boyfriend and was proud of him. He could always find Steve on set, either by his brightly colored beanies, or the fluffy hair going without. That had helped Billy feel more at home in this business; he may have opened the door for Steve, but Steve furnished it with friends and loyal connections.

Today Steve yanked the head covering off, already hot under the lights. It was just Billy here, even though he raked a hand through his mane. Billy liked seeing the gleam on his hair. He also enjoyed Steve’s little self-esteem thing about needing his hair styled in the presence of models.

“Ready, pretty boy?”

Steve refocused and stepped behind the tripod. “Yeah. Whenever you are.”

Steve must’ve taken hundreds of photos just in the first half hour. He set it on a steady timer, and moved around the room, changing the lights to warm tones, and then less explosive on the brightness. Billy did his work, tilting himself appropriately to catch the fan’s breeze when Steve pointed it to blow his suit jacket open, or billow through his half-open, black dress shirt.

“Ten minute break,” Steve announced. He was good about breaks. Billy’s manager brought a chilled bottle of water and Steve went through the portfolio paperwork for the shoot. It wasn’t much of a break for him, as he moved the lights and furniture around, but Billy was ready for him.

He sat on the luxurious ottoman, already in his first stance when he peeked at the lack of camera noise. “Steve?”

His boyfriend stood with his shoulders a little contorted so he could examine something going on with the camera hanging from his neck. “Sorry. I...I need another minute.”

Billy relaxed as much as he could so the suit did not wrinkle or collapse in shape. Eventually, though, he noticed Steve crouching over one of his bags for his tools.

Oh boy.

Billy sauntered over, standing over him as he asked, “What’s wrong?”

“Can you hold this?” Steve answered instead. He blindly held the camera up, and Billy accepted, along with the explanation, “The lens is uneven and one of the pieces is askew.”

Billy silently thanked him for not wielding fancy terms at him, but upon a closer look at the device, it certainly wasn’t correct. A thin, middle section between the lens and the camera tilted wonkily. He breathed with a small amount of awe, “How did that happen?”

“I don’t know. I think it got bumped during the drive,” Steve sighed, holding a tiny screw driver as he stood up.

“Come here,” Billy nodded toward the set, and Steve came to sit on the floor while using the ottoman as a table. He removed his jacket and wiped his forehead, glancing at the lights before Billy pestered, “What’s the matter?”

“I have to expose the sensor. With the shudder, it’s fine, but with too much light, we might be stuck with the tripod.”

“Can’t we turn off some lights?”

“I need to be able to see. Maybe you could, um, just hold your hands over it? Or hold that umbrella for me?”

Billy detached the umbrella from one of the unused lights and sat on the ottoman, with the umbrella situated on his thighs. As the camera became more exposed, he added his hands for extra shade. Eventually Steve surprised him with, “Are you okay?”

“Hm? I’m fine. We do this all the time.”

“Wasting a lot of time, though,” he exhaled nervously.

“We’re going to Sydney on Friday. That’s locked in, so don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t think blowing one shoot is justified by the promise of another,” Steve managed to giggle. Then he tilted his face up and just...gazed at him. “You look really good.”

Billy smirked softly. “I know.”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Forgot who I was working with here.”

Billy laughed and saw in his periphery people moving around, other cameras working. This job always had multiple cameras. Hair and makeup stylists capturing their work from afar. His and Steve’s managers locking in behind the scenes shots for Instagram. Another perk of their success: the fanfare material behind the cameras built as much revenue as the actual scheduled photoshoots.

As Steve unscrewed something, Billy saw and heard the clatter of it falling back into place. “That’s good, right?”

Steve sighed a relieved smile up at him. Billy felt ticklish warmth in his chest. “Yeah, that’s good. The screws are probably bent, but I can get new ones before Friday. It’ll work for now.”

Steve put the damn thing back together while Billy returned the umbrella, and resumed his posture on the ottoman. A couple of people manifested around him to touch up his raiment and make sure his shirt was open to cleavage perfection.

“Steve, come here.”

The stylists retreated as his photographer trotted up -

Billy yanked him down for a kiss. And just as quickly pushed him back up to standing. “Go to work, my time is precious.”

“Don’t be a dipshit,” Steve remarked, and pointed the camera right at Billy’s face to make the lights flash in revenge.

Come Friday, Billy showed him something on his phone: the Instagram account his manager operated. Much to both of their amusement and chagrin - because a long day taking pictures was more grueling than most people realized - was a picture behind the magazine editor’s shoulder while he worked at his computer.

The caption read: Impromptu cover. Sometimes candid is better.

The image was Steve on the floor and Billy on the ottoman, the two of them gazing at each other mid-conversation in the set’s warm lighting.

Steve chewed his fruit and yogurt slowly, processing in the airport vip lounge. His hair was in glorious disarray, and Billy’s not much better underneath his ball cap.

“That’s the cover?”

“Seems so.”

“Your manager’s going to steal my job with a phone camera - why am I on the cover?”

“The theme was Warm Encounters,” Billy reminded. “It’s not a secret that we’re together.”

“I’m not styled or anything - ”

“Your hair looks good.”

“I’m wearing the t-shirt I got in Hong Kong. It says BURBUSSY.”

Billy laughed and closed the app. He pushed his leg to rest alongside Steve’s. “Good thing you were turned around. We don’t know if Burberry has a sense of humor.”

[dream-a-little-bigger-x]

Just a Thought Away | Owen Patrick Joyner

Request:  Could you do a soulmate au with Charlie or Owen, whichever you're more comfortable with, where they can hear each other's thoughts or the music they listen to?

A/N: Made it an Owen one shot since I don’t have many requests for Owen! Hope this is what you expected and you like it! :) 

Pairing: Owen Joyner x Fem!reader

Warnings: Very minor swearing 

Words: 4,175

Another note: Anything in bold and italics is a thought! 

Songs used: Pump It - Black Eyed Peas

Growing up, Y/N’s mother told her these stories about soulmates and how every person on this earth would be assigned a soulmate by their guardian angel at 16. People would be able to hear their thoughts and the songs they were listening to or singing would be playing in their head as though it was just stuck in their head.  Of course, as a child, Y/N used to believe her every word and would be clinging to those words. She’d fantasize about her soulmate and where she’d meet them or what music they’d be into. She’d keep her eyes on every person in Middle School and even High School, trying to see if she could just find them. Not like there would be any physical notabilities, but she liked fantasizing about it.  By the time Y/N turned 16, she had almost forgotten about the whole soulmate thing. Her birthday was months ago and nothing ever happened. She never heard a song play in her head she didn’t know or hadn’t had any thoughts that didn’t belong to her. She was pretty certain all of those soulmate stories her mother told her were fake.  Until July 19th 2016. That’s when she first starts noticing some things. To start off the day, the song ‘Happy Birthday’ is stuck in her mind and it’s not even her birthday or anyone else’s in the family or friend group that could’ve provided that song in her head.  During the afternoon of that day, Y/N suddenly hears a humming in her mind that quickly changes into a full-on made-up song that no one close to her would ever sing.  “Mmh, Cake, cake, I like cake Cake, cake, I like cake.” She can’t help but laugh, though. She’d been studying for many hours without taking a break, it’s starting to mess with her brain a little. Y/N’s teachers have been giving so much work lately, she’s nearly drowning in it and it’s far from done. Sophomore year is possibly one of the hardest, in her opinion, and having the need to maintain a social life really doesn’t help with that. She hasn’t been to a party for weeks. She’s starting to crave human contact and dancing and having fun with friends and not sleeping until the sun rises.  Though that last part sounds very appealing when you’re at a party, it doesn’t when you’re in bed and trying to sleep. She’s woken up by loud music thumping in her ears. It sounds almost as though the neighbors are having a party next door, but when she gets up and walks outside the house, she realizes the house next door is completely dark. There’s no movement whatsoever. She must’ve hallucinated, but then why is she still hearing this loud music?  That’s when it dawned on her that the soulmate stories her mother used to tell are real. As a matter of fact, the songs she’d been hearing all day long were the songs her soulmate was listening to or singing. It must’ve been their 16th birthday, which they are now celebrating at a party. She always thought it’d be more fun and romantic to have a soulmate and hear them sing and think, but it’s actually pretty annoying. And it’s only the first day. This is going to be fun. 

“Morning, sweetie,” Y/N’s mother greets when she stumbles into the kitchen the next morning. She hasn’t slept one bit. Her soulmate has been partying all night and only got home by 6am, which was two hours ago. “Oh, you look rough! Are you feeling okay?” “I haven’t slept all night because my stupid soulmate was out partying all night.” Her eyes widen at this, as does her smile. “They turned 16 yesterday, so I guess that’s why I never heard anything yet on my birthday.” “Oh, yeah! You both need to be 16 before the whole soulmate-thing starts to work,” she informs her daughter and hands a cup of fresh, steaming-hot coffee. “Do you know anything about them yet?” She shakes her head before taking a careful sip from the goddess liquid --as she and her siblings call it. “No, I kinda thought it was my brain hallucinating from studying so much, so I couldn’t really think of a way to converse with them.” Her head snaps up as an idea crosses her mind. “How do you converse with your soulmate, mom?” She shoots her a tender, relieved smile, happy she can finally properly inform Y/N about it instead of those folklore stories. “You just think what you wanna ask them and they hear it,” she replies. “So, if I let my inside voice just yell ‘shut up!’, they’ll hear too?” Her mother chuckles, nodding her head in response. “Good! I ought to try that whenever they’re singing about their cake again.” Her mother laughs at that before leaving her in the kitchen, so she can get ready for work. Her soulmate is seemingly still asleep, which she would’ve been too if it wasn’t for work. Y/N works at a coffee shop on the weekends, just to get some experience and earn a little bit of money for her shopping addiction. Maybe right now would be a perfect moment to avenge her soulmate for keeping her up all night last night. So, while getting ready, she puts on some music on her laptop. With the volume on maximum, she starts belting the One Direction song along at the top of her lungs. “You and me got a whole lotta history!” It takes a while before a loud ‘SHUT UP!’ echoes through her mind. A teasing smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she stops singing. “That’s what you get for keeping me up all night, sweetie” she thinks, hoping it’ll come through. For a moment, she thinks it might not work like that until a boy’s voice floats through her brain. “Who’s this?” She chuckles, pausing the music and taking a seat at her desk. “Y/N Y/L/N. Ever heard of those soulmate folklore stories?” She starts doing her make-up whilst waiting for his response. “Yea, my father used to tell me those. I thought they were fairy tales?” “So did I. Turns out they’re real!” This feels so weird. “You just turned 16, right?” “Yeah, yesterday! How’d you know?!” he asks, and it makes her realize he might not be the brightest tool in the shed. “Because I turned 16 in January and I didn’t hear anything until yesterday…” A silence falls over the conversation. Either it’s not working anymore or he’s digesting all this information. “You heard me singing to my cake, didn’t you?” he finally asks instead, and Y/N can even hear him chuckle. “Yep! I thought I was hallucinating because I was studying so hard,” she lets out a chuckle too. “Happy belated birthday, by the way.” “Oh, thanks! I’m Owen, by the way. Owen Joyner.” She has heard that name before, but she’s got no clue where, though. Making a mental note to Google it later, she grabs the mascara and adds the finishing touches to her makeup. “Nice to meet you, Owen. I gotta get going though. Have to be at work in about…” She glances at the clock on her wall, her eyes widening when she sees the time. “Five minutes. See ya! Or… Hear ya?!” She hears Owen chuckle in her mind. “Yeah, I’ll hear ya,” he says, then a yawn-like sound buzzes through her, giving her the urge to yawn too. “Sorry for waking you up,” she quickly adds before running out of the house. Her mind’s going over a million excuses as to why she would be late to work, but none of them sound quite plausible. Especially not the truth. “Go with ‘the neighbors had a party last night and I overslept’-excuse, Y/N,” she hears Owen’s voice again, “Now stop thinking, I wanna sleep!” She chuckles, shaking her head. “Thanks, Owen. And I wanna sleep too, but I can’t, now can I? Me awake means you awake. Deal with it.” She can even hear a disgruntled groan, meaning he’s probably getting up because her thoughts won’t stop running through his mind. That night, she figures out he's the Owen Joyner, aka Crispo Powers from “100 things to do before High School”, a TV-show she’d watched almost daily in the last two years. She asks him about that too, and he explains the whole auditioning and filming process and how much fun it was for a first acting gig. He asks about her life too, and the two of them bond over thoughts. This whole soulmate-thing is still very whack. But, to be completely honest, she kind of loves it. It’s like having an angel on your shoulder, telling you what the best option for your dilemma is. Though, most times, Owen is more likely the devil. Which is what Y/N needs most times. The most fun thing about this whole Soulmate-connection thing, have to be the dance parties the two of them hold at night, unless she has to get to work the following day and Owen won’t stop singing at the top of his lungs. One night, he was singing Pump It by the Black Eyed Piece at 3am. She’d groaned at first, hoping that’ll subtly tell him to shut up, but it didn’t work at all. He just kept rapping the verses, keeping Y/N awake and annoyed. “Come on, baby, do it” She decides to finally give in, knowing he’s not going to stop until she starts singing along. So, she sits up straight in her bed, and belts the lyrics at the very top of her lungs, not even caring about anyone in the house hearing. “La-da-di-dup-dup die dy On the stereo Let those speakers blow your mind” “Blow my mind, baby” She chuckles at his interruption. “To let it go, let it go Here we go La-da-di-dup-dup die dy” “C'mon, we're there” “On the radio The system is gonna feel so fine” He stops singing then and a silence falls over the both of them. Y/N can’t lie, in the past couple of years as she’d grown closer to him, spending every waking -- and sleeping -- moment together, she’d started developing some feelings for Owen Patrick Joyner too. It’s ridiculous because she’d never seen him in real life. She knows everything about him and she knows what he looks like, but she doesn’t know what his hugs feel like, or what his cologne smells like. “You’re a great singer, Y/N,” he finally breaks the silence, “I’m gonna let you sleep now, kay? Good night, baby girl.” Of all the pet names he’d given her so far, Baby Girl, Princess and Gorgeous were her favorites. All of them with a platonic tendency, though, much to her dismay. “Good night, O-bear,” she whispers back before tucking herself into bed again. Then finally, in 2019, Owen and a couple of people from the cast and crew of Julie and The Phantoms, his latest project Y/N was most excited about, decided to make a trip to New York City, her hometown. To say she’s excited would be the understatement of the year. She’d finally be able to hug him and talk to him properly and show him around her hometown and get to know the rest of the cast she’d heard so much about. But among the excitement also hides a little bit of nerves. After years of talking to him by just thinking, she’d finally see him in real life. What if things get awkward? What if it’s not what she expects? What if he’s only so beautiful in her mind? Y/N is walking around the coffee shop, wiping down tables and jumping up every time a new customer enters, thinking it’s Owen. He knows where she works on the weekends, and promised to find her there the minute he’d gotten settled in his hotelroom. “Ooh, pretty girl over there.” Her stomach churns as she hears his thoughts. He forgets about the whole soulmate-connection thing sometimes and just lets it out unfiltered. She knows he doesn’t like her the same way she likes him, and he’s allowed to look at other girls and think they’re pretty, but that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt. “All around the world pretty girls,” he sings the famous Britney Song. “Mostly at coffee shops, yeah I’m talking about  you, pretty girl.”  A soft rap on the window next to Y/N makes her snap out of her focus on Owen’s voice. When she looks up, there’s a tall, blonde man waving at her through the glass with the biggest smile on his face. A flutter erupts in her stomach whilst her mouth involuntarily curls up into the widest smile she’d ever managed. She gestures at him to come in and hastily makes her way to the door herself. The second he walks inside, she launches herself into his arms. Wrapping her legs around his waist and her arms around his neck, she holds him tight and inhales the smell of his cologne. He smells of the most divine combination of spearmint and musk. Just as she’d imagined him smelling like. “I can’t believe this,” she hears him think, which makes her chuckle. “You know you can actually talk to me right now, right?” she tells him, pulling away slightly so she can look at his face. There’s a slight stubble growing on his cheeks and chin, and his eyes look even prettier in real life than on a phone screen. “Right, yeah,” he chuckles, Y/N’s new favorite sound in the world. “Old habits die hard.” She smiles down at him whilst the two of them just stare at each other, basking in the fact they’re finally meeting. “She’s even prettier up close.” YN/ blushes at the compliment, and combes her fingers through his hair. “Oh, fuck, you heard that. Sorry!” “It’s cool. You’re pretty up close too.” This makes him chuckle. The whole thing is still bat-shit crazy. Both of them have gotten weird commentary whenever they told friends and family how they communicate with their soulmate. Most people just start texting and calling when they find their soulmate, but they didn’t. This whole new way of conversing was way too much fun, though a little annoying at times. And especially now that they’re in the same place together, it’s even more fun because no one else knows they’re talking to each other. A soft cough behind Owen causes Y/N to snap back into reality. Peeking behind the boy’s head, there are three other guys, staring at the scene with wide smiles playing at their lips. Two of them are about the same age as them, but the other one is older. Older but very, very famous. Y/N herself is a big fan of his work. The legend, Kenny Ortega himself. “You might wanna introduce me to your friends over there,” she tells her best friend. Owen takes a quick peek behind him, realizing he’d forgotten about his friends that had come along with him to meet the infamous Y/N. He puts the girl down on her feet again before turning to the three men. “Guys, this is Y/N Y/L/N. Gorgeous, these are Jeremy, Charlie, and Kenny.” He points to each of them when their respective names are called. Y/N offers them a wave and smile, not sure if she should go straight in for the hug like she’d done with Owen. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N,” says Kenny as he opens his arms and embraces the girl. Said girl is now completely starstruck in a way she’d never been before, and she’d met a few of her favorite actors or artists. None of them made her feel this way. “You too, Kenny,” she manages to bring out when they pull apart, “Big fan of your work!” All she’s hoping right now is that she doesn’t sound too creepy. “You’re all good, Princess. Breathe.” Owen’s voice calms her down just in time for Charlie to engulf her into a hug too, and then Jeremy does the same. “Why don’t you guys take a seat, and I’ll make you some coffee before I’m off for today?” she suggests, and after hums of assent, the girl takes their orders and gets back to work. “There you go,” she mumbles as she places the coffees on the table and then distributes them correctly before sliding into the booth next to Owen. “So, what are your plans for today?” she asks. “Just some touristy bits,” Charlie replies with a shrug, “Any recommendations for us?” Y/N thinks about it for a while, knowing Owen can hear her thoughts. “Why don’t you come along?” Owen’s voice echoes through your brain. “Why don’t I take you guys around to the best spots no tourist will ever find?” she suggests, earning a thankful smile from Owen. “I think I knew a few places I could take you to?” All three other men agree to your suggestion. So, after you all finish your coffees and you’ve given them your employer’s discount, the five of you leave the coffee shop and hit the streets of New York City. “This is where I proposed to Care!” Jeremy exclaims excitedly as you’re sharing a couple stories from your childhood in Central Park. The guys have told a little more about their own lives, too, so Y/N felt comfortable enough to talk so freely and unfiltered about her own childhood, not noticing the way Owen melts at how adorable she looks being so excited about her childhood memories. “Re-enact it, Jer!” Owen exclaims excitedly as he scurries away from Y/N’s side and jumps down the small flight of stairs in one swift hop. Jeremy follows his best buddy and kneels down in front of him as if really proposing. Y/N takes her phone out of her back pocket and snaps a picture of the beautiful scene, giggling as she does, along with Kenny and Charlie. “The cutest couple!” the girl compliments, jamming her phone back into her pocket. “When’s the wedding?” Kenny adds, his laugh thundering. Owen lets out an airy laugh while Jeremy gets up again, the two of them rejoining the rest of the group. Y/N just knows this day will forever be the best day of her life. She just knows it’s going to be her favorite day ever for so many reasons; the laughs, the jokes, the friendship that’s building between all five of you, but mostly Owen. That night, Y/N goes back to the hotel with them too as Owen had asked her to hang out a little while longer and watch some movies with him. He’d asked the others too, but they were ‘too tired’. That’s an excuse Y/N could see from a mile away. They just wanted to give the two of them some quality time, which she appreciated very much. “I had the best day,Bubba,” she mumbles as she snuggles closer to him. She has her head on his chest whilst his arm is draped around her shoulders. It almost feels as though they’ve been doing this for years. “Me too, Baby Girl. Thanks for showing us around.” He presses a kiss to her hair, inhaling the luscious scent of peach, and deciding that’s his new favorite scent from now on. “Sucks we’re leaving tomorrow night,” he mumbles sadly. “Yeah… I know…” The words come out of her mouth in a whisper. “Wonder when we’ll see each other again.” She’d forgotten for a split second about him being able to hear her thoughts until he answers the half-statement with another question. “Will you come visit Norman Oklahoma soon?” She looks up at him, her nose grazing his stubbled chin, causing him to look down. “I really don’t wanna go another three years without seeing you, Gorgeous. I don’t think I can handle that, especially now that I’ve learned you’re a great cuddler.” Y/N chuckles at that before resettling on his chest properly. “I think I can make something work next month?” She starts tracing the patterns of his shirt, sending shivers down Owen’s spine at the sheer touch of her delicate fingers. “I think I can miss a few classes.” The chuckle that escapes past his lips, makes his chest vibrate and zooms into her ears, making her mouth curl up. This is the best feeling in the world; cuddling up with Owen and hearing him laugh. It’s a feeling Y/N wouldn’t trade for anything in the world. She wishes she could just stay like this forever. Or at least until the next day. Y/N has classes to get to, but promises Owen to come and say goodbye to him and the others at JFK airport around 8pm that night. And she does, though dreading it entirely. “You made it,” Owen whispers when he sees her walk up to the group. “Of course, I couldn’t just let you go back to Van City without saying goodbye, could I?” A tender smile plays at his lips as he takes her into a tight hug. “Have a safe flight, yeah? And talk to me on the plane if you’re bored.” She tells him and then turns to the three other men she’d just met yesterday. “Take good care of him and each other,” she tells them before taking each into a hug. Owen then offers her a nervous smile when she makes it back to his side. “Hey, you okay?” she asks, grabbing his hand in hers. “No,” her eyebrows furrow at his unspoken confession. “Yes, I mean yes. I’m fine. I’m okay… I just--” he cuts himself off, not knowing what to tell the girl now. “I’m just gonna miss you, is all.” “Oh…” is all she brings out, wanting something else to come out of his mouth. “I’m gonna miss you too, Big O.” She playfully punches his shoulder, smiling up at him with that smile that’s only ever reserved for Owen. It’s a tender one where her eyes sparkle as much as her smile. Owen then grabs her other hand too, pulling her a little closer as though he wants to say something serious. Y/N isn’t used to a serious Owen. He’d always be the one to pull pranks or make stupid jokes that’d make her laugh until her belly ached. He stutters and stumbles over a couple of words, then sighs frustratedly as he can’t seem to find the right words to tell her what he’s feeling. He can’t even find the right words to think. “Just kiss her, you dork!” Charlie shouts from the sidelines. Y/N turns her head to look at the boy confusedly, but Owen’s hands quickly cup her face and brings her up to press his lips on hers. She’s a little startled at first, unsure about what’s happening. But then she melts into his lips and into him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long!” his thought comes through in her mind, making her smile against his lips.   “Shut up, I’m kissing you.” He chuckles at her words, and pulls away but keeps his forehead pressed to hers. “I’ll see you in a month, Bubba,” Y/N whispers and pecks his lips once more. Though she hates to see him go, she has to let him leave. She has to let him get back to Vancouver and Oklahoma, and then she can see him again in about a month. It’s just how this must go. For now. “I’d rather stay, actually,” he tells her as he pulls away slowly. “Owen…” Y/N whispers, shaking her head, “Don’t make this harder than it already is. They need you in Vancouver…” she nods at Kenny and the guys. “I want you to stay, I do. But they need you.” A single tear rolls down her cheek. Owen reaches up and wipes it away as quickly as it came whilst shaking his head. “I’m gonna stay, Y/N. Just two more days.” He sounds too determined for her to convince him to go. “We don’t actually need him for two more days anyway, so he’s free to stay if he wants to,” Kenny chimes in. Y/N looks at the man talking, a surprised look on her face. The legend himself shoots her a smile. “Stay, Owen. Spend some more time together. You both need it.” “Thanks, Kenny,” Owen takes the guy in for a quick hug, and then turns to his buddies to give each of them one too. “I’ll see you in two days, then.” The couple watches as the three men walk away, their arms wrapped tightly around each other. “You really had to be dramatic, did you?” Y/N jokes once they’re out of earshot, which earns her an eye roll from Owen, though he can’t hide a smile either. “You know me, Baby Girl,” he winks before grabbing his bag. “Yes, I do,” she says, “And I’m glad I do.” “Me too, Gorgeous, me too.”

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[voiceless-terror]

And Many Happy Returns

part 2 of my sequel to Inseparable, my childhood friends au. part one here.

Tuesday dawns quicker than Jon imagined it would. 

It’s not one of his best days. First of all, tomorrow is Martin’s birthday, which already has him antsy and distracted. Second, he keeps losing his train of thought whenever he talks to Martin and he’s definitely starting to think something’s up. Third, he’s gotta tell him he can’t play today.

“I’m going to the store with Nan tonight, she wants me to help pick out the groceries,” he says, tearing his sandwich into bits and trying to maintain eye contact with Martin. Nan always thinks he’s lying when he doesn’t meet her eyes. “She says I’m too picky cause I won’t eat anything she gives me.” That’s true, though she wouldn’t remedy it by letting him pick out his own food. She’d just let him go hungry.

“You should eat it anyway,” Martin says, his brow furrowing in concern. “You’ll never grow tall if you don’t eat dinner.” He sounds like one of those TV adverts on the kid channels. Jon has to stop himself from rolling his eyes.

“It’s fine.” He shoves a bit of sandwich in his mouth. Martin worries too much, and not about the right things. He’s going to make sure Martin has a worry-free birthday. Even if it means making him worry extra today, which kind of cancels it out. He tries to remind himself that feelings aren’t math, though it sure would make things a lot easier if they were. Emotions are messy and Jon doesn’t always understand them.

At the end of the day Martin parts from him reluctantly, and Jon tries not to let it bother him. I’ll make him very happy tomorrow. It’ll be worth it. He drags his feet a bit on the walk, taking twice the normal amount of time to get home. By the time he opens the door, his nan’s already there, putting her purse over her shoulder.

“C’mon then, child,” she says, not sparing him a glance as she slips into her shoes. “Don’t dawdle.” Jon follows suit, throwing his backpack haphazardly on a pile of shoes and bounding out towards the car. He’s usually not a fan of car rides with his Nan; she doesn’t like to play music and she isn’t a fan of Jon’s ‘incessant chattering,’ so they can get pretty boring. This time, however, he’s too distracted to let it bother him, and before he knows it, they’re pulling into the car park. 

Nan insists on doing her shopping first, so Jon has a lot of time to stew. What if they don’t have what he wants? What if they’re all out of cupcakes and Jon has to get him some sort of cookie? What if he has to get him an oatmeal raisin cookie? That would be a disaster. Martin likes them, but they’re just so boring. 

Jon almost breaks out into a sprint when they finally reach the bakery section, but a sharp tug on his arm stops him. He takes exaggeratedly slow steps to the far right counter, where he can spot the birthday cakes and a small selection of cupcakes. Jon’s eyes scan over the rather limited options until he finds it. The perfect one.

He taps on the glass emphatically. “That one. The one with the orange icing.”

His grandmother leans down beside him, her mouth drawn in a disapproving frown. He hopes she hasn’t changed her mind- usually if he behaves, she’ll follow through on her promises. And Jon’s been very good, except for the whole almost-running thing. 

“Are you sure?” She points to a different one to the right, with boring blue icing and dumb baby sprinkles. “The blue one’s much nicer. Orange, it’s such an odd color for-”

Jon stamps his foot in outrage, a move that’s sure to get him in trouble later. “Martin’s hair is orange and it's fantastic! It has to be this one.” He pauses, well aware of the consequences of a tantrum and tacks on an insistent “please.” 

It gets the job down. She gives him one last exasperated sigh before motioning to one of the people behind the counter, pointing at Jon’s choice. He bounces on his feet as they wrap it in a nice little box and Nan carefully puts it in the seat of the cart. “Thank you thank you thank-”

“Alright, that’s enough.” But she’s giving him a little smile, and doesn’t even flinch when he throws his arms around her waist. “You’re welcome.” He gives her an extra good squeeze.

Almost there!

________

And finally it’s Wednesday. The big day. Martin’s day.

He’s spent all of last night fixing up his present, looking at it with a critical eye. He thinks Martin will like it. He hopes he will. Nan had given him the cupcake and told him to make sure he handled it very carefully, lest he get icing all over everything.

Jon’s not stupid. He can handle one cupcake.

“Jon!”

At the sound of Martin’s voice, Jon shoves the box into his backpack.

“Happy Birthday!” he shouts, throwing his arms around Martin and squeezing him tight. Martin’s wonderful at hugs, but Jon can give very good ones if he puts his mind to it. Martin pauses and it takes a few moments before he eagerly returns it.

“Y-You remembered!” Jon looks up from his spot in Martin’s sweater (it’s very soft) and resists the urge to scowl. There’s no scowling on people’s birthdays. 

“Of course. You only told me a few days ago.” He reluctantly parts from him and gives him a lookover- Martin’s not wearing anything special (besides the sweater, a nice light blue), he doesn’t look any different. Jon expected him to carry himself with a different air, like he’s seen older kids do. But eight year old Martin looks the same as seven year old him. Unless he grew a centimeter or two overnight, as children are wont to do.

“I figured we could go to the park after school to celebrate.” Jon resists the urge to dance on his feet as Martin gives him a shy smile. “Well, not the park but the little clearing behind it- you know, the one where we found the headless doll-”

There’s a little path in the sparse woods nearby, where Martin and Jon like to go when the weather is nice. It’s as warm as it could be, and Jon made sure to clear the twigs from the area beforehand so it wasn’t so messy. He’s got a picnic blanket and everything.

“You don’t have to go through the trouble, not if you don’t want-”

“Martin,” Jon sighs, giving him a level look. “It’s not trouble if it’s you.”

His friend’s face immediately goes red at Jon’s words, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before he manages to speak. Martin gets like that when he’s flustered, though Jon has no idea what he said to cause it. 

“I-I would like that, I think.”

“Good.”

Martin keeps shooting him shy smiles all day and Jon can’t keep still, he’s too excited! He’s almost tempted to give Martin the cupcake at lunch (he checks his bag- still good!), but he also brought a little surprise with that, and he’ll definitely get in trouble if they see him at school with it. Still, it takes everything in him not to just celebrate now. By the time the bell rings, Jon’s already out of his seat, tugging at Martin’s hand. 

“I’m sorry I couldn’t throw you a party,” he says as he practically skips his way to the playground, Martin huffing alongside him. “But you know how Nan is, and I don’t really know who we’d invite. Better it’s just us.”  They bypass the playground and the few children on it until they make their way to the clearing. Some new twigs must have fallen since his visit on the weekend, and Jon impatiently kicks them aside and throws his backpack to the ground, rummaging through it. Martin stands patiently beside him, watching as he pulls out a ratty blanket and spreads it out on the grass with a flourish. He plops to the ground and pats the spot next to him, gesturing for Martin to sit.

“And for the last bit…” he digs around in his bag, pulling out the small container. The cupcakes gone all crooked and some of the icing’s smeared, so Jon turns that edge towards him. “Tada!””

And Martin just stares.

He’s starting to get nervous. Jon’s gotten good at figuring out Martin’s expressions, but this one is just plain weird. It’s just a lumpy cupcake and Martin’s staring at it like he’s liable to break into a million pieces. Jon’s starting to think he’s done something horribly wrong.

“You don’t like it?” he asks tentatively, starting to pull back. “Should I have gone with the blue one? I thought you liked orange-”

“I do.” Oh no. Martin’s voice has gone all squeaky and breaky, like when they read that book where the dog died at the end. “It’s just- It’s very nice of you. You didn’t have to-”

“Of course I did.” Jon says as soon as he realizes where this is going. “But here, hold this- I’m not done.”

“Not done?”

He digs around in his backpack again and pulls out the small box of matches he’d stolen from the cabinet and a tiny, single candle from some ancient cake pack. Nan had plenty of them, to light the cigarettes Jon’s not supposed to know she smokes. He’s seen her light them with ease, so it shouldn’t be that hard.

He turns and opens the container, still in Martin’s hands, and sticks the candle right in the middle. He takes the matches and tries to strike them against the black bit, fast and quick like his Nan does, but it only succeeds in breaking the match in half.

“Oops. Hold on.” He tries again to no avail, this time flinging the bent match to the side. Three. Four. Five more tries, and he’s starting to get real frustrated and embarrassed. He’s almost eight, for crying out loud. He should be able to light a match.

“Um, here. Let me.” Martin gestures for the pack and Jon reluctantly hands it over, taking the cupcake instead. With one smooth, easy motion, Martin strikes the match against the stripe and Jon watches in awe as it easily lights.

“Wow!”

“It’s not that hard.” He places it against the candle and shakes it out in his hand. He pauses for a moment, staring at the lit candle like he doesn’t know what to do.

“Well? Make a wish!”

“O-Oh! Right.” Martin closes his eyes, clearly concentrating real hard. So hard, in fact, that the wax is starting to melt a bit and Jon worries he’s forgotten to make a wish. A few more seconds pass and Martin blows it out gently. Jon would clap if his hands weren’t full. 

“Eat it!” he demands, and Martin complies, a smile on his face as he takes a hesitant nibble and nods in appreciation. “But I would like one bite, please. I want to know how orange tastes.”

Orange ends up tasting mostly like white and pink and all the other colors do. How boring. Martin seems to enjoy it, though, judging by the icing smeared across his face. He should’ve brought napkins.

“I, um, I also got you this,” Jon reaches into his backpack to pull out his actual present- it’s a bit crumpled, bent at the corners, but it’s managed to stand up pretty well in his backpack. Doesn’t even have any pencil marks on it! Martin seems to like his pictures, always keeping even the silliest of doodles, so he decided he’d give him a whole bunch at once, that way he can get a bunch of smiles from Martin. He threw away his more amateur attempts- he’d tried to draw just Martin, but the arms kept coming out real wonky so he decided to go with his busier drawings, so Martin wouldn’t be able to see how bad he was at proportions.

“It’s got a book cover and everything,” he explains excitedly, holding it out to Martin but not exactly letting him touch it yet. He’s not going to understand everything unless Jon walks him through it, obviously. Martin hovers near his shoulder looking weirdly nervous, so Jon sidles up to him.

“Here’s us at school, at our tree, in the library- oh! This is just a page of dinosaurs. I used that book from the library as reference. It’s got really good pictures. I think they turned out pretty well, don’t you?” He points to his favorite one, a purple brontosaurus (he’s never seen any purple ones in the books, but it’s a very nice color). 

“Y-Yeah,” Martin replies, leaning further into his side. Jon likes when he does that. He can be pretty hesitant about touches, but he doesn’t need to be. Not with him. “It looks really nice, Jon.”

“Thank you.” Of course Martin would like it. He was so silly to worry. “And here’s that time you kicked that ball at Marcus- and here’s that dog I hate- and here’s our house-”

“Our house?”

Jon blinks, turning to look up at Martin. “Yeah. For when we’re big.” Martin continues to stare at him with big, bright eyes, like Jon’s an alien or something. Weird.

“A-Are we married?”

“Um, maybe.” Jon hadn’t really put much thought into that. He just supposes that when they grow up, they’ll get their own house. Well, first a flat in London, but then they’d get a big place when they were rich. Jon’s going to work with dinosaurs at a museum, there’s definitely money in that. They have to pay you a lot because the bones are so big. And Martin...what will Martin do? Firefighter, probably, on account of his height and his arms. Or maybe a doctor, since he’s so good at putting on plasters. 

I suppose we could be married. He’s not sure he ever wants to give Martin a kiss or have babies or anything like that, but it would be nice to have someone to hug on a permanent basis. He doesn’t want to get married in a church, though. The last time he’d been in one was during his mum’s funeral, and he thinks he’ll cry if he has to see a cross.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he decides; he doesn’t want to dash Martin’s dreams, since there’s still a distinct possibility it’ll happen. It just makes sense. “But you would have to get me a very shiny ring with lots of colors. None of those boring clear ones. Okay?”

Martin gives him a very good smile. “Okay.”

They spend a little bit more time going through the rest of the pictures- Jon explaining each one, and Martin nodding as if it's the most interesting thing in the world. Martin’s very good at giving people his undivided attention. When they’re done, Martin hugs it to his chest like it’s something precious and beams.

“Thanks, Jon. I- I really like it.”

“Oh, good.” Jon tries not to let it show how much this pleases him, looking away from Martin’s beaming face even as he bounces a little on his knees. “I’m glad. I can make you one next year. And the year after that. All the years, really. I can’t wait for us to grow up and do lots of things together.” Now that Martin’s seen all his pictures and predictions, they need to start doing some planning, the two of them. They’ve got a good ten years before they graduate, and he wants to do some stuff in between.

“I can’t wait to drive everywhere like my mum does,” Martin says. Martin has a preoccupation with that, Jon noticed. Most kids are fine with bikes but Martin wants a car, he wants to go far places. Like Scotland, even. And you need a car for that. The thought of being behind the wheel fills Jon with anxiety.

“I don’t think I’m going to drive, ever,” he announces, plopping down beside Martin. “Cars are so big. I don’t know how I’d control them.”

“Mum says it's not that hard,” Martin says. “And once, Dad let me drive in his lap. Only a little bit, though. I think I can handle it.” Jon can very easily picture Martin behind the seat of a car. It’s just something he looks like he can do. 

“And don’t worry,” he continues. “I’ll drive you wherever you need to go. It’ll be fun.” It’ll definitely be an improvement over car rides with Nan. But anything with Martin is an improvement, he makes things fun just by being there.

“I guess. But I want to go on adventures,” Jon says emphatically.  “I want to go on a train ride around Europe. Visit all the museums and gardens and castles. We can do that together.”

“Go out and see the world, then?”

“Yeah.” He looks over to Martin, sitting there on Jon’s dirty little blanket with his present tucked against his chest and a far off look in his eyes, smiling at Jon like he’s hung the moon and suddenly they’re not in this stupid little clearing in stupid little Bournemouth, but somewhere else- a grand forest in Germany, or a field in France, or a cottage in the country. The world out there is large and scary and full of things he doesn’t understand, but he’s not alone anymore, fantasizing about adventures he’ll never have and places he’ll never go. He’s got Martin, now, and he makes the world a little more familiar, a little more safe.  His fantasies don’t seem so far away anymore. 

This is why people have friends, Jon thinks. It’s one thing to have a home and a family. Or a Nan, like Jon has. But when you have a friend, it’s like having a whole nother family. And when you see them it’s like coming home, even if you’re not at your house. And you’re not lonely or homesick cause even a dingy little clearing or a forest or a castle can be home, as long as you’re with them. 

“Jon,” Martin says, his voice interrupting Jon’s musings. “This is...really nice. Thank you.”

“I’m glad.” Jon beams, nudging Martin’s leg with his foot. “I wanted you to have a good birthday. You’re my best friend!”

“I’m your only friend,” Martin corrects, though his face blanches as soon as the words come out. “I mean, you’re my only friend too, so I don’t have much room to talk.”

“Well, I’ve got you. I don’t need anyone else.” Jon rolls his eyes. He likes this whole friend business, but he doesn’t think he can handle another one right now. He’s got enough on his plate as is. 

“Yeah,” Martin says, nudging Jon back with a smile. “Neither do I.”

________

They spend the rest of daylight there, talking. Jon even offers to go on the tire swing, though the last time he threw up in his mouth a little. Martin declines with a knowing smile, and says he’s just fine sitting here. Jon thought he’d want a bit more excitement, but he’s willing to go along. It’s Martin’s birthday, after all. And the talking isn’t so bad. By the time they leave, they’ve got enough plans for the next twenty years. Martin’s hesitant about university, though, so Jon’s going to have to sell him on that one. He’s not going to share a dorm with some stranger when he’s got a perfectly good, perfectly smart friend who ought to be in school. 

On the walk back to Martin’s, they’re mostly silent. Jon knows Martin isn’t going home to a celebration, or a mum that’ll wish him a happy birthday, but he hopes today more than made up for it. He stares ahead for a few moments before he takes Martin’s hand.

“Did you have a good birthday?” Jon asks. He hates needing constant reassurance like this, but sometimes it’s better to just come out and ask instead of worrying all night.  “I haven’t planned a birthday before, and I’m not as good as a mum or dad at it, but I-”

“Jon,” Martin says, turning to him with that very good smile, one that Jon will try and fail to recreate in a hundred more doodles. “This was the best birthday I’ve ever had.” He sounds like he means it, like today was enough and Jon did a good job. He beams in response.

He thinks his mum would be proud.

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30599192/chapters/76194152