#it’s no longer worth trying to hold off a caffeine addiction

[chatdomestique]

Even though I enjoy being high more than I enjoy getting drunk, I’ve decided that getting drunk is better being I’m not left feeling fucked up the day after drinking.

[wastelandcth]

We’re Going Home - cth

part of nation of two

summary: Petra reminisces on Calum’s first date mistake and how the safety of a car changed her world. Calum thinks of a place to runaway to. 

author’s notes: This was a lot of fluff and me looking out the window while it rained. Enjoy!

warnings: Not much, just two lovestruck fools missing one another.

masterlist || request || previous part || next part

Calum had never been a fan of the rain. It reminded him of early mornings when he'd wake up to the rainstorms outside his window and how the ache in his bones practically begged him to stay in bed and drift off to sleep for a little while longer. The rain was just another disturbance in his life. If it rained, his soccer practice would get canceled and he'd have to walk back home, the rain soaking his clothes and weighing down his backpack. Once the band had taken off, the occasional rainstorm put another sour mood on Calum. Outdoor shows would get canceled or delayed, leaving Calum to stare out of the tour bus window as rain droplets raced to the bottom of the windows. If the rainstorm was severe enough, planes he needed to take would get grounded until the storm passed and he wouldn't catch his connecting flight. The rain also meant that sometimes plans he had that included Calum being outside would end with him soaked and left shivering, his bones aching for warmth and dryness the rain usually scared away. The rain outside of Calum's hotel window filled him with a sadness he couldn't quite explain. Maybe it was the fact that the tour had been taking a toll on his body and that he missed his bed and his mug he always used in the mornings while at home.

Or maybe it was the fact that Petra was showing him the view from whatever restaurant she'd been eating at.

"I'm telling you, the second you've settled back in here at home, I'm taking you here and you're going to eat the best french toast you've ever had," Petra said, her camera showing the Pacific Ocean in all it's vastness.

Calum had never been one for jealousy. But as he watched the blue sky and blue ocean on his screen, his body ached with a want to be there next to the woman he loved. He'd do anything to be sitting next to Petra at a cafe, eating amazing french toast and watching the ocean waves. He would do anything to be next to her, holding her hand and listening to her laugh about the way the birds seem to hover above their table in order to steal a french fry or two. So yes, Calum was jealous.

As Petra looked out at the ocean, from where she'd been sat enjoying a glass of ice tea, she couldn't help but chuckle at herself. She'd been trying to get out more and more these days. With Calum gone, she wouldn't have to worry much about having to stop whenever Calum was spotted by fans and waiting for them to chat for a bit before continuing their errands. She'd gotten used to the dates she'd go on with herself, eventually timing them out so that she'd be able to talk to Calum for at least a few minutes before he'd be whisked off to his next engagement with the band. Their first date had also been close to disastrous, according to Calum who told Petra later on, because of his band's engagements. But Petra had just laughed and assured Calum second chances were worth giving.

Petra had arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early, wanting to save a secluded table for both her and Calum. She knew who he was, of course, she knew who Calum Hood was, and she assumed he'd want privacy when it came to things like first dates. so arriving a few minutes early to get the table near the back of the coffee shop was just something she'd wanted to do for him. The coffee shop had been one that Petra had only been to once when she'd gotten lost after a wrong turn and had ended up in the neighborhood. The outside of the building was a white brick, reminding Petra a lot of those old western stores in the movies.

The inside of the coffee shop, which had smelled of fresh coffee and pastries, had large lamps overhead, giving the already bright building an even brighter indoors. The dark green tiles and dark wood accents around the inside were calming, feeling like a place where Petra could sit down for hours and read a book. Usually, she'd bring a book with her wherever she went, but she had left her most recent read in the backseat of her car, not expecting to have much time to read while out on a date. She'd be too busy getting to know the man with pretty brown eyes who she knew was talented enough to get anyone he wanted, and yet he still chose to invite her out to coffee.

"So, Petra, what do you think about coffee?" he'd asked over the phone one day.

They'd been doing this for a while now, talking over the phone during the slow moments of the day where each other's company was comfortable. Petra had learned a lot about Calum during the soft voices exchanged over phone calls. She'd learned that his favorite snack at the moment was fruit gummies even if it made him sound childish, which it didn't. She'd learned that he'd been busy writing a new album with his band and that usually meant he'd disappear off the face of the earth for a couple of days when inspiration hit, but he'd always try and send her a picture or funny meme to let her know he was still very much alive. Petra had learned that Calum, although usually quiet and reserved according to himself, could talk for hours about anything that crossed his mind during those moments in their calls.

"I don't think I'm well versed in coffee if I'm honest," Petra had admitted, "I never know what to order whenever I do end up at a coffee shop."

"Well, how about we go out and find your drink? I know a great spot where we can start," Calum said happily, "You up for it?"

"Yeah, that sounds fun, as long as I don't develop a caffeine addiction," she teased and looked over at her calendar, "How about Wednesday?"

"It's a date."

And it was almost a date, except for the fact that Petra had sat at the coffee shop for almost an hour and had yet to see Calum. Sure, LA was known for having horrible traffic and Petra herself had gotten stuck in it while on her way to the shop, but an hour with no text or calls from Calum had just made her cranky and annoyed. She'd ordered a coffee by herself, regretting her choice as soon as the bitter liquid hit her tongue, and had forced herself to finish it before she eventually decided to call the date done and over with. The walk back to her car had been quick, her head throbbing with annoyance and a hint of embarrassment. She'd been halfway home when her phone rang, Calum's name played across the screen.

"Petra, I'm so sorry!" Calum breathed out, "I know I said I'd been there almost two hours ago but things got crazy at the studio and I know that sounds shitty but I hope you can forgive me and maybe I can make it up to you!"

If Petra had known Calum at least a little less than she did, she would've never picked up the call, she would've let him go to voicemail and maybe not even call him back ever. But she knew Calum wouldn't have stood her up on purpose and she knew that if they really were going to make something more of their phone calls and occasional flirting over text, she'd have to understand what his job entailed sometimes. She was an adult, she knew dating meant sometimes people make mistakes and that working around them was what would make it worth it in the end. 

"Calum, it's...I'm not going to say it's fine because I would've appreciated even just a text saying what was happening,' she sighed, "But maybe we can try again soon, yeah? I had a pretty shitty coffee again, which I am blaming on you," she said with a teasing tone, hoping that Calum caught on to it.

"How about tonight?" Calum asked, his voice hesitant as if he was expecting rejection, "I could pick you up and we can just drive around, maybe pick up some of those burgers you were telling me about? I promise to be on time."

Petra had ended up agreeing to his second first date proposal because he sounded genuine and she couldn't help the flutter in her heart at the mention of the burgers. She'd told Calum about them almost a month ago and knowing he'd remember such a small detail made her a little more hopeful about this working out after all.

"I'll text you my address," Petra chuckled out, "Drive safe, okay?"

Calum's car, which would become a haven for them both at different times in the future, was quiet as they both looked out at the city lights. Their stomachs were full, the burgers and french fries they'd shared making their silence a comfortable one. Calum had profusely apologized the second that Petra's door had opened, the bouquet of flowers in his arms a peace treaty as both of them rode off into the evening.

"The flowers, they're from the same flower shop?" Petra asked as she glanced over at Calum. who'd been focusing on the road.

"Oh, um, yeah," Calum chuckled, "Apparently the cashier and manager were taking bets to see if we'd gather the nerves to go on a date or not," he mumbled, his cheeks flushing as he turned his head to look at her, "Had to tell them about tonight."

"Bets?" Petra laughed and shook her head, "Cherly and Carly, right? The one with the curly hair? She practically bullied me into telling her what had happened when we met," she teased.

The date, which had gone off without another problem or disastrous time issue, had been the most fun Petra had ever had since she'd joined the dating scene in LA. She hadn't expected such a relaxing way to spend her evening to be with an international rock star like Calum. She'd laughed so hard her ribs hurt and had sung out loud in the car with him until her throat was sore. By the end of the night, when the safety of Calum's car had come to an end and the driveway to Petra's house was in view, they both sat in comfortable silence. The engine of the car, which hummed quietly between them, the only noise around as they both glanced at each other.

"I had a lot of fun tonight, I'm glad we did this," Petra said softly, breaking the silence and smiling as she saw the relieved look that washed over Calum's face.

"I'm glad we did too. Again, sorry about earlier today," Calum mumbled and sighed, shaking his head.

"Oh, it's fine, really. Just make sure I get to hear whatever masterpiece you came up with first, yeah?" she teased, leaning over the center console to press a kiss onto his cheek, "Text me when you get home, okay? Drive safe!"

Calum listened to the familiar ring playing from the speaker of his phone, waiting for Petra to pick up. His eyes were busy, focused on the mirror in front of him as he tried to deal with the unruly curls he’d let grow out after Petra insisted on seeing how long they could get. He was halfway across the world, in a hotel he couldn’t pronounce the name of, but it was his last morning there and Petra had no idea that by this time tomorrow he’d be back in her arms. After weeks and weeks of being away, promoting an album that would change the band’s sound and image, Calum was going home to be with his girlfriend. He’d be leaving gloomy Europe, with rainstorms that never seemed to end and accents that he had trouble understanding at times, for the endless sunshine and love that LA had recently shown him. 

“Hi gorgeous,” Petra chuckled as she picked up the phone, “You’re calling quite early for someone who went to bed four hours ago,” she teased. 

“Hi Pebble,” Calum teased, the nickname earning him a groan from across an ocean, “I missed my girlfriend, couldn’t sleep without your snores.” 

“I’ll hang up if you’re just going to tease me,” she threatened with a light laugh, “I miss you too, bub, only a few more days though!” 

“Yeah, you better be ready for me to be stuck to your side for weeks,” he mumbled and chuckled, zipping up his toiletries bag and picking his phone up off the counter, “I’m expecting an amazing brunch spot reservation.” 

“Oh you know me, I’ve got all the connections,” she laughed quietly, “Do you have a busy day today?”

“Mhm, a lot of interviews,” Calum mumbled, his shoulder holding his phone up against his ear as he finished packing the rest of his thumb up, “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call you again until tomorrow.” 

“That’s fine,” Petra said, the smile evident in the way her voice rose, “You know I’ll still send you an endless amount of pictures and memes.” 

“And I love you for it,” Calum chuckled, “I’ve got to go now, but I’ll talk to you soon?” 

“Of course, have a nice day! Blow them away, bub!” she said happily, her voice warming Calum’s body at the thought that he’d be with her so soon. 

“Will do, Pebbles,” he smirked, laughing quietly as Petra kept her word and hung up the call. 

The ride from the airport back home had been a blur to Calum. All he recalled was stuffing his bags into the back and buckling up, the bright skies and warm weather making him regret the hoodie and thick beanie he’d worn to try and hide from the prying eyes. If he wanted his surprise to truly work, he would need to remain unseen in public. But by the time the car had turned onto the familiar street of his neighborhood, Calum began to squirm in his seat, the excitement of being so close to Petra overcoming him. The car had barely stopped before Calum was unbuckled and out, his bags dragging behind him as he threw out a thank you to his driver as he ran to the front door. The light, which was usually off by the time morning came, was still on; acting as a guiding light for Calum to know that he was truly home.

His key unlocked the front door, leading him into the house he’d begun to call home soon after Petra had come into it, and he was met by the familiar bark of his old dog. Setting his bags down by the entrance, Calum toed off his shoes and pulled off the hoodie that had kept his warmth contained within him. His back ached from the long flight and he was starving, his tummy rumbling at the thought of food, but that wouldn’t stop him from crouching down and petting his dog as he waddled over to him. Duke’s tail wagged from side to side so quickly it was a blur of black and white, his paws landing on Calum’s thighs as he sniffed Calum making sure it was really him. Calum had been so busy greeting his best friend and kissing his stinky head that he hadn’t heard the footsteps coming from the hallways. 

“Duke, I’m sure it was just the mail person again, or the neighbor walking their pup,” Petra mumbled, her eyes widening as she was met with the sight of her boyfriend standing in front of her, “C-Calum?” 

“Hi baby,” Calum grinned, straightening his back out and looking at her with wide eyes, “Surprise!” 

Calum hadn’t had the chance to say much else, the force of Petra running into his arms and hugging him had knocked the breath out of him. His arms wrapped themselves around her waist and pulled her even closer, if that was possible, and Calum’s nose nuzzled against the top of her head. They stayed like that for a few minutes, breathing one another in, making sure that they were both truly in the same room again and this wasn’t some cruel dream they’d both wake up from alone in a bed oceans apart. Petra had been the first one to pull away, her eyes meeting Calum’s before she’d cupped his face in her hands and pulled him in for a kiss. 

“I missed you so much,” she mumbled, leaving kisses in between her words, “What’re you doing here? I thought you still had a few days?” 

“I missed you too,” Calum chuckled and smiled, “A few interviews were canceled and they sent us home early. I just got in about an hour ago.” 

“Oh my gosh, I’m so glad to have you back,” she whispered and nodded, pulling him into another kiss that left Calum giggling against her. 

“I am too.” 

Something Calum loved about the ocean was the vastness of it. Sure, he was absolutely terrified of the secrets it held and the fact that much of it was unexplored, but sitting on the hood of his car with Petra by his side as they both stared out at the waves made of all worth it. After a shower and a much needed snack, Petra and Calum had made their way over to the brunch spot that overlooked the ocean. After a lot of french fries and kisses shared between the two of them, the drive to the ocean was peaceful, both of them taking each other in. By the time they had made it onto the beach, the sunny skies were covered in a fog of clouds. It would be Calum’s luck, after all, to have the rain follow him wherever he went.

“Do you think it’ll rain?” Petra asked, her eyes meeting Calum’s even through the dark sunglasses they both wore. 

“I hope not, I thought I had escaped the rain,” Calum teased and pulled her close, “Come on, let’s walk in the sand a bit.” 

With hands held tightly, their arms swaying as they strolled down the dandy beach, Calum found himself at peace. The past couple of weeks away had left him wanting more from his relationship and wanting to do more for Petra. In the past, the mere thought of a future with someone would’ve had Calum running for the hills. But with Petra it all made sense, he wanted to be by her side every day, to see her go through her day and be there to make her smile. As the first few droplets of rain fell from the sky, he realized that this future, the one with Petra, was all he’d been missing. Their stroll was cut short, much to Calum’s displeasure when the curtains of rain got closer and closer. The waves roared next to them, the ocean alive and ever more powerful as the rainstorm above them finally let go. 

Calum looked over at Petra, who had tugged on his hand and before Calum knew it, they were both racing back to the car. The sand hadn’t made it easier for them to run, both of them stumbling as they raced through the beach in fits of laughter. By the time they’d both shut their doors and panted out breaths, they were completely drenched and looked as if they had jumped onto the ocean itself. They sat in silence watching the view outside of the safety of the car. Watching the waves crash onto the ocean and battle with the clouds above them that were spewing out rain. It was all so violent and sudden, but Calum’s eyes shifted to watch Petra. 

He watched as her eyes widened, watching the storm in awe as his chest rose and fell with each breath she took. He watched as her hand ran through the curls, that not even the rain could mess with, trying to shake the water out of them. She was beautiful without even having to try and Calum was out of breath. But Calum didn’t mind, not at all, because Petra could make even the thing he hated the most a beautiful sight. 

“We should run away to Sydney for a bit,” he mumbled quietly, his bottom lip trapped between his teeth as Petra’s eyes met his, “I want you to meet my family.” 

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[themandhoelorian]

Dincember - December 4: Hot Chocolate

summary: Mando has unique ways of showing his affection for his son, like getting him hyper on too many cups of hot chocolate, but it’s only after a long day of bringing the kid down from his sugar high that you realize Mando has similar ways of showing how much he cares for you.

pairing: din djarin (the mandalorian) x gn!reader

warnings: a caffeine addiction, sleep deprivation, the smallest sexual innuendo, Din being sweeter than hot chocolate, not super well edited ahaha

word count: 3.2k 

a/n: asdfghkldf this is so so late but this week has been long and exhausting (no this fic was definitely NOT me projecting), and I haven’t had as much time as I’d like to write :/. I’m not even really sure this makes sense, but that’s kind of how my brain works when it’s exhausted, so hopefully on some level that’s accurate ahaha 

***

You never understood the appeal of caf until you joined Mando’s crew. 

The first time someone offered you a cup, that one day you showed up to the tiny mechanic shop of your first job with bags under your eyes, complaining about how little sleep you’d gotten the night before, you thought you’d been handed a steaming cup of motor oil by accident instead. 

The dark liquid felt like lava on the roof of your mouth, leaving the taste of bitter ash on your tongue as you willed sip after sip down your throat. It did pull you out of the sleep-deprived fog, but it was more of a jolt in the opposite direction than a gentle tug, your body shooting into overdrive and hands shaking so intensely you burned your fingers on your soldering iron more times than you could count that day. 

After that, you tried to stay away from caf as much as possible. No matter how little you’d slept the night before, how often you were caught staring blankly at the wall instead of untangling a mess of wires, you always refused when you saw a mug of hellfire coming your way. The acrid taste, the jitters, none of it was worth enduring when you just had to make it to closing before you could go home and sleep away the fatigue. 

But now, your full time job is taking care of a child, and every night is a night with too little sleep. You spend your days trying to wrangle a warm, mischievous demon into compliance instead of just manipulating cold scraps of metal, and the kid doesn’t have “closing hours”- not with how violently he reacts to the notion of bedtime- so there’s never a sweet finish line to look forward to at the end of the day. 

You thought you’d known exhaustion before, felt it heavy on your shoulders those months you worked overtime to make ends meet, but that was light years away from what you feel now. The black hole of sleep consumes you as soon as you get the chance to lie down, and when you inevitably wake to the sound of cries a few hours later, it feels like the weight of the galaxy is crushing your lungs, making it nearly impossible to crawl back out of bed.

So after just a few weeks on the Crest, after that one day when you accidentally dozed off watching the kid play and woke to find him sticking a finger into the barrel of a blaster (thankfully Mando had the sense not to keep his weapons loaded on the ship or Maker, that could’ve ended badly), you bought a caf maker on the next planet and forced yourself to chug a cup every morning since.

The taste still sucks, no matter how much cream you’ve tried mixing in, but it doesn’t make you jittery like it used to, the caffeine just enough to keep you awake, and now you don’t know how you ever took care of the little womp rat without it, especially on the days when Mando returns from his hunts and the child bursts with energy to welcome his father home.

Even if it’s only been a couple days since Mando left, you’d think he’d been gone for months with the way they act at seeing each other again. The kid’s just downright ecstatic, dropping whatever part he’s playing with as soon as he hears the hiss of the hull opening and babbling excitedly as he runs into his father’s arms. He’ll follow Mando’s every move for at least an hour after he’s returned, and sometimes, you have to literally pry him from the beskar so Mando can retreat to the cockpit and set the course to the next planet.

And then there’s Mando. He’ll look stoic as ever as he takes the child into his arms, but you can feel how eager he is to reunite with his son, his affection all but spilling out the sides of his armored chest. He’ll never admit it, of course, you’re not sure he’d even be able to find the words to say it if he wanted to, but he finds other ways to show the kid how much he missed him, how deeply he cares about his little foundling.

More often than not, those methods include spoiling the child to no end, giving into the kid’s every desire and providing him with a few moments of pure, unrestrained joy. And more often than not, you’re left with the not-so-simple task of dealing with the consequences of giving the child his every wish, easing him down from the euphoric high and re-establishing that he absolutely cannot expect that kind of indulgence with anyone but his father.

Like one time, Mando stayed awake with him all night long, conceding five more minutes every time the kid whined when he was told it was time for bed. Five minutes quickly turned into hours as they watched the bright mosaic of hyperspace go by, the kid so happy to just sit in Mando’s lap while he spoke in the soothing tones of his people’s tongue. You were only able to pull the child from his father’s arms in the early hours of the morning, all three of you only half conscious at that point, and you spent several cycles trying to get the kid (and yourself) back on a normal sleep schedule.

Or like today, when Mando returned this morning while it was still dark outside, and you woke to the smell of cocoa and peppermint what felt like mere minutes after you’d fallen asleep. When you finally pulled yourself from the bunk, you found Mando sitting next to the child as they sipped on steaming liquid, his helmet tilted back just enough for him to bring the mug to his lips. 

He made the kid hot chocolate, you realized from the way the child threw back his bowl so quickly he left milky brown splotches on his face. Of course. Mando had made a habit of bringing sweets back for his son after he’d once gotten his hands on a chocolate bar you’d splurged on in the market, nearly bouncing off the walls with glee as he devoured the entire thing in seconds. That was a memorable day for all of you: the kid found his new favorite snack, Mando found another way to indulge the child, and you found out that when the kid has sugar in his system, you need caf more than water to survive the day.

So it’s no surprise that several hours and a couple more servings of hot chocolate later, long after Mando’s gone to the cockpit to fly to the next planet, you’re chasing the tiny ball of energy around the hull, running on nothing but an unhealthy amount of caf mixed with a little bit of spite, worried you might collapse before the sugar-fueled monster falls asleep.

You have half a mind to be mad at Mando for getting the kid so hyped up on the decadent drink and inevitably making your job that much harder, but you can’t get the image of them together this morning out of your head, Mando dabbing the mess from the child’s face as giggles bubbled from his tiny mouth. The memory’s shaded with the golden haze of dawn, like those dreams that feel warm and familiar, and you can feel your heart swell re-imagining that moment of perfect bliss, father and son so content just to be with each other and the sweetness in their cups.

And oh, you know you could never be upset at Mando for indulging the kid, creating those little pockets of warmth in a life filled mostly by cold, dead space, no matter how much more work it makes for you. Not when you know that he savors those moments as much as the child, that the days he’s back with his son are the only times he doesn’t have to be tough and menacing and deadly, the Crest the only place he doesn’t have to armor up his feelings just as much as his body.

You’re willing to reign in the kid, be the tough one on the ship, if it means Mando can show his son the softness that lies beneath the beskar, tuck away the sharp edges when he holds the little green menace in his lap. You’re willing to lose weeks of sleep course-correcting after each indulgence if it means he can let the honey of his love ooze thick and messy before he’s off to the next quarry and has to lock his affection behind iron walls again. You’re even willing to drink all the caf in the galaxy, let cup after cup burn bitter down your throat, if it means he can have a moment of peace sipping hot chocolate with his son at the break of dawn. 

You’re more than willing, happy even, to do all that and more for him, especially if it means you can catch glimpses of the man behind the guise of “Mando” in the process, a man whose heart you’ve found yourself wondering more and more about lately, wondering if it might one day beat strong and steady for you the same way it does for the kid.

So no, you’re not mad at Mando, not in the slightest. It’s more that right now you’re worried you might not be physically able to do those things for him, the shorter than usual night of sleep catching up with you faster than you can fight it off with caf. You’re pretty sure it stopped working after your third cup anyway, the additional caffeine just making you dizzy and no more energized, and you don’t know how much longer you can keep up with the child’s pace. You’ve played peekaboo and thrown around his favorite silver ball and even tried to show him how to rewire an old generator (not that you had any luck with that), and he still hasn’t crashed from his sugar high. 

You have no idea what else to do to keep the child busy, and Maker, you’re just so kriffing tired right now, so you’ve resorted to leaning against the door of the weapons closet, floating in that hazy space on the brink of consciousness, using what little of your energy remains to make sure he at least won’t get his hands on a blaster again. 

You’re not even completely sure what the kid’s doing right now, just know he’s somewhere on the other side of the hull, and you can only hope that Mando doesn’t come down here and find you and the kid like this. The last thing you want to do is make him worry, doubt how much you care about his son’s well being, but it’s like he can feel your exhaustion radiating through the ship because the next thing you know, the heavy echoes of his boots fill the hull as he descends the ladder from the cockpit. 

You will yourself to sit up straighter as you hear his footsteps getting louder, locate the child before Mando can, but your body is working on a little bit of a lag, and by the time you actually open your eyes, Mando’s walking past you, the child snoring softly in his arms.

Of course he fell asleep as soon as you took eyes off of him, the little monster.

Mando doesn’t say anything as he tucks the child into his makeshift bed before striding back to the other side of the hull, and some faraway part of your brain tells you to explain yourself or apologize or say kriffing anything at this point, but the inky gravity of sleep is pulling you in deeper with each passing moment, and you can’t be bothered to speak when your eyes are threatening to droop shut again. 

They must have at some point because you don’t remember seeing Mando approach you, but somehow he’s in front of you now, holding a mug out in front of your face. Maker, you must’ve drifted off, long enough for him to decide you needed some help staying awake and make you a cup of caf, and as you reach for it instinctively, bringing the cup to your lips in the trained motion, you can’t decide if it’s just as a thoughtful gesture or a thinly veiled warning for you to actually do your job.

You hum as the warm liquid coats your tongue, deliciously silky and slightly sweet, and it’s only when you swallow, the milky substance gliding down your throat, that you realize-

“This isn’t caf,” you mumble, looking up from the mug to meet Mando’s gaze.

“I never said it was.”

You just stare at him wordlessly, trying to figure out why he made you hot chocolate when it’s not going to make you any more functional. You have no idea how long you sit there thinking, too far gone to even understand the concept of time right now, but it must be a while because he breaks the silence first with a sigh.

“Cyar’ika, you have to stop drinking that crap. It’s not good for you.”

“Need it,” you respond, almost too quickly considering how long it took you to answer him before. Apparently the only thing you can understand in this groggy fog is your caf addiction. “Gonna fall asleep if not.”

“You’re about to anyway. Come on, you need to sleep.”

For some reason you giggle at that, unable to stop the laughter rising through your chest. He’s right, of course, but it just seems so damn funny right now that Mando, who has told you he rarely sleeps when he’s away, who you’ve never seen rest for more than an hour at a time, is telling you that you’re the one that needs sleep.

“You sleep even less than me, Mando. You can’t talk,” you accuse.

He jerks his helmet back in something like disbelief, and you can’t stop yourself from giggling again.

“Well I’m not the one falling asleep on the floor right now,” he counters.

“That’s fair,” you admit. You take a few more sips of the hot chocolate, closing your eyes in pleasure as the warmth floods your veins. Maybe it’s just because you’re so used to the sharp bite of caf, but the sugary drink feels so good, like something comforting and familiar though you can’t quite place your finger on where you recognize it from. It’s almost like you’re wrapped up in the thickest blanket or, even better, by strong arms as you’re lulled to sleep, and you’re not sure that’s what you were thinking of, but you realize that’s exactly what you want right now. 

And then your stupid, half-conscious brain decides to ask for it in the worst way possible.

“How about this, I’ll sleep if you sleep with me.”

You only catch how kriffing suggestive it sounds as the words come tumbling out of your mouth, but then all at once, you’re utterly aware of how much you’ve been embarrassing yourself. First getting caught falling asleep on the job and then accidentally making a very blunt pass at your boss, and Maker, you’re just a whole ass mess today aren’t you? Suddenly you feel very awake, your eyes going wide as you stumble over your words trying to backtrack as quickly as possible.

“Oh stars, I didn’t mean sleep with me, that’s definitely not what I, well, not that I wouldn’t…no, I just- I do need sleep but so do you, even if you’re not actually falling asleep right now, so I was just gonna say that we should both-”

But then your rambling is cut off by a chuckle coming from the modulator, his voice light and playful in a way you’ve never heard before.

If you weren’t so kriffing worried about what he was thinking about you right now, you might’ve thought it was the sweetest thing you’ve ever heard.

“I know what you meant, cyar’ika,” he says. 

Oh, thank Maker, you think, waves of something like relief washing warm over your body. You’re not quite sure how he can understand what it is you want when you can’t even articulate it yourself, but your brain is still too foggy to care, deciding it doesn’t really matter how he knows you so well, just that he does.

Mando eases the mug from your hands, the worn leather of his gloves brushing lightly over your knuckles. You whine in protest as he steals the liquid comfort from your fingers, but it’s quickly replaced by his hands wrapping around yours to help you off the ground.

“I’ll make you more tomorrow,” he assures you, his voice as velvety as the drink he just took from your grasp. “But now, we need to sleep.”

We, not you. 

You barely catch the distinction as he leads you to the bunk while his thumb rubs soothing circles on your lower back, but it just leaves you even more confused in your sleepy daze. You didn’t think he was actually going to entertain your suggestion, even if he did take it in the more innocent way, and when you crawl into the bunk and he doesn’t follow, you think maybe you just misheard him.

But as you close your eyes, your exhaustion starting to pull you away from reality again, you hear the clang of metal on metal behind you, and a gentle tap on your calf halts your descent into the stillness of sleep as Mando climbs into the bunk next to you.

It’s only after he shuts the door, when your body is pressed to his so you both fit in the tiny space, that you realize he’s taken his armor off, the first time he’s ever done so in front of you. You can’t see him at all in the darkness of the bunk, you’re not sure you could even open your eyes again at this point anyway, but even in your delirium you can grasp the weight of how vulnerable he’s making himself right now, letting you run your fingers lazily across the tight muscles of his bicep and rest your head against his broad chest.

And once again, you’re overcome by the feeling of something pleasant and vaguely familiar, your heart swelling the same way it did when you first saw Mando and the child this morning, the same warmth in your veins as the first sip of hot chocolate. You couldn’t quite place it before, but for some reason, as you listen to the way his heart beats strong and steady against you, you think you finally recognize it, the way Mando’s been making you feel all day, the reason he knew exactly what you needed before you could even realize it yourself.

It’s just a hazy flash in the moment before the black hole of sleep finally consumes you, an inkling of a breakthrough you may or not remember tomorrow, but you think this feeling, the acrid taste of caf replaced by smooth chocolate on your tongue, a strong body turned soft as it’s molded to yours, has a four letter name you thought you and Mando only saved for the child.

Maybe that’s why you’re learning to use it for each other too.

[chocolateheart]

Twenty Minutes

Title: Twenty Minutes

Word count: 3088

Pairing: Professor!Dean x Reader

Summary: Online school sucks but your professor is worth the torture. 

Warnings: 18+, smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kiddos), oral sex (male receiving), office sex, desk sex, sex from behind, biting, hair pulling, a hint of choking, professor Dean Winchester (yes, it’s a warning), student-professor romance and so on.

A/N: This one was inspired by “Pay Attention” written by my dear, lovely friend @winchest09 who also happened to be my beta once again and one of the best people I know. Thank you honey! <3

A/N:  @talesmaniac89 once again, thank you for those amazing dividers! <3 Guys, go check her stuff, she’s a talented devil! 

Lockdown sucked. Since the very beginning you knew it'd be a pain in the ass. Stay away from people, sit at home, wear a mask. Dammit. So many plans went to hell; your photography classes, your friends birthday party, visiting your parents in your family town. You knew it was safer like that but hell, you hated it. Your own apartment seemed to be getting smaller and even the flower on your window sill became annoying. Not to mention your online classes; sure, you didn’t have to get ready and drive almost half an hour to get to the Uni but sitting in front of your laptop had started to get on your nerves. 

Your eyes were heavy and red after hours of looking at the screen, your body yelled to be stretched and you wanted to scream every time your internet lost connection. Headache became your best friend, so did coffee. You were pretty sure your addiction just deepened and instead of blood, there was caffeine in your veins.

You yawned and rubbed your eyes as you were sitting in on the first period of your last classes. The whole day on the same chair, you were sure you used every possible sitting position to try and remain comfortable. Glancing at the clock you growled; it’s been almost 10 hours. 

How long can one day be? 

Thankfully this subject was one of your favorites. And it wasn't because of the handsome man in white shirt who helped in enjoying the last two hours of this nightmare; at least that's what you've been telling yourself. 

You like the subject, Y/N.

You smirked seeing how he brushed his longer than always hair with those beautiful hands; forearms exposed and tempting because of the sleeves being rolled up. His stubble was more visible due to quarantine and he just simply got hotter; you honestly thought it wasn’t possible. But there he was, behind his desk in a soft light; black watch on his wrist as usual, ring on one of those long fingers. Knuckles, little bones and veins, all making you lick your lips. This sharp jawline you dreamed to kiss, eyes so green that you could drown in them even through the screen. Arms hidden under the shirt that gave him a more casual, domestic look which made him even more attractive. You bit your lip seeing a gorgeous smile spreading on his face as one of his students said something funny. 

Those teeth; incredibly white and sharp… the way they could sink in your flesh, leaving marks all over your body as his hands travelled up and down, raising up your temperature.

The things you could do with this man… The thought itself was bad but you couldn’t stop daydreaming about your professor. He was too tempting, too beautiful to hold back your imagination. You didn’t remember most of what he said during any classes, too mesmerised by him and even though his deep, smooth voice was so listenable, you weren’t able to focus. You caught yourself staring at him or closing eyes just to feel those vibrations running over your skin. 

You missed sitting in class on his lectures. There was a reason why you chose the first row and it obviously wasn’t your ambition to learn more. 

“Okay guys,” Dean started when you stretched. “I think we can take a break now. In the next meeting we’ll finish this Unit and I’ll let you free earlier. Um… so let’s make it twenty minutes and I will send you an invitation. Just don’t drink yet, I know it’s friday evening but I want you all sober just a little bit longer,” he joked and you smiled seeing few people laughing on muted. 

Then he simply said “see you” and ended the meeting. You stretched again, taking a deep breath and stood up. Before leaving your room you opened the window to let in some fresh, evening air and then went to the kitchen. Filling cups with some sugar and tea bags, you waited for water to be boiled. 

Leaning against the counter, you focused on the wall in front of you. The pictures hanging there were way too old and there were some stains marking the paper. This lockdown made you crazy; you already painted your bedroom and the office, and you made some renovation in the bathroom. All in all, you spent more money without walking out of home. Ridiculous. 

You jumped a little, detached from your thoughts by the whistling kettle and soon your tea was ready. Humming some random melody, you turned off the light with your elbow and headed towards the office room. Using your elbow again you opened the door and smiled.

"Hey there, professor," you put one cup down on the desk. "How's your class going?" 

He turned around on his chair and flashed you this charming smile. You were smiling at yourself from his laptop wallpaper; he took this photo almost a half year ago in his apartment, just two flats above your head. You still could feel the softness of his white sheets you had been tangled in on this picture.  

"All fine," he took a small sip and frowned. "Just… one of my students seems to be off today." 

"Oh, really? How?" You asked, leaning against a desk. He played with the cup, shrugging, visibly holding back a smile.

"She stares blankly, lost in her thoughts. She's not answering any questions willingly, she seems to be away." He acted like he was talking about some random girl. 

You felt his knuckles briefly touching your naked thigh; it was way too warm indoors to wear something else than shorts. The delicate movement tickled you and your legs jerked uncontrollably. You looked at him, deep in the eyes and suddenly the air thickened. The tension between you two shot up; his intense gaze pierced into you like a sword, forest green eyes making your breath lose its track. 

"Hmm, maybe it's your fault," you managed to suggest, putting down your cup. His eyebrows raised along with mouth corners.

"My fault?" 

Now both his hands gripped your legs and sharply pulled you closer to him. You sifted his fluffy hair between your fingers and scratched the back of his head. He hummed in response closing his eyes as his palms sneaked under your shirt, making you shiver a little.

"You can be very distracting, Mr. Winchester," you purred standing between his legs. 

Dean was looking up at you with sparks in his eyes and dimples caused by a pert smirk. Your shirt suddenly lifted up, exposing your stomach that he gladly kissed. Slowly and wet, using his tongue first, squeezing your hips at the same time. Hot, soft lips pressed to your skin, slightly sucking, heated breath fanning over your flesh, causing the ocean of goosebumps. You felt your insides tremble at the feeling. Closing your eyes you let yourself enjoy him; his strong hands now caressing your back, mouth placing open kisses across your belly and going up.

He knew how to build you up, how to turn you on. You swallowed hard and gasped when he licked your nipples; you didn’t bother to wear a bra at home. He smiled against you and backed away; you immediately looked down and kissed him. Deep and hard, cupping his cheeks, pushing on him so he leaned back on the chair as you straddled his lap. His grip tightening on your sides, fingers dipped in your flesh. 

"How much time did you give your students?" You jokingly asked when his lips dropped to your neck.

"Twenty minutes," he answered and stopped, looking in your eyes again. "How much did you get?" you smiled and kissed him once.

"Twenty minutes," you whispered as you played with his ear. 

"I like your professor," he whispered back, staring at your lips from under the hooded eyes.

"I like him too… A lot."

Smiling at your words Dean stood up, then dipped down just to catch you under your ass and lift you up. After sitting you down on the desk, he took away the cups and placed them on the floor; for safety.

Spreading your legs you allowed him to stand between them. Brushing your hair away he cupped your cheek and kissed you deeply, squeezing your thigh with his second hand. You didn't waste any time and kissing him back, you started to unbutton his shirt. When the material fell loosely, you caressed his strong stomach, feeling muscles rippling under your touch as he inhaled sharply. He sucked on your lower lip in response, then switched to your jawline, neck and collarbones; forcing you to close your eyes at the pleasurable feeling. When he reached this one, specific spot between your jaw and ear, a trembling gasp escaped you and your head fell back, revealing even more neck which he attacked immediately. 

"Dean," you breathed out heavily, glancing at the clock. "You have to speed up." You noticed how his eyes fired up in a second. "Do your magic baby, or I'll have to help you finish in front of my friends." You flashed him a devilish smile as he wiggled his brows on you.

"Would be interesting, we have to try it one day." He winked at you and helped you stand up so he could take down your shorts and panties. 

Then you dropped to your knees, taking down his pants in one move, freeing his cock. He moaned deep in his throat when, without waiting, you sucked on the tip. Looking up you saw his exposed neck as his head was tilted back. You licked the sensitive spot under the tip and smiled when Dean shivered and his body swayed a little. Taking him almost whole at once, you scraped his stomach; he instinctively gripped the back of your head which only made you growl. You bobbed your head a few times, hollowing your cheeks, tasting his flavor. Nipping on the apex every so often, dragged sexy noises from Dean what only made you weaker. You loved every tiny sound he made, you could listen to it all the time; that's why you enjoyed going down on this man so much. He was not holding back at all and it was such a turn on. You were easily losing control; wouldn't be the first time he finished like that because you couldn’t stop.

"Not today, sweetheart," not being able to take it anymore, he pulled you up, turned you around and with your front pinned to the desk you heard a low growl next to your ear.

"You have no idea how hard it is to focus while having you on the screen, knowing that you're next door, so close to me." 

Strong chest against your back, pressing down your body; you could feel his heart racing.

"Vice versa, professor," you panted, feeling the weight of his cock resting on your lower back. 

He fisted your hair, scraping your head and slightly lifted himself from you, kissing your shoulder blades and spine. You inhaled loudly, suddenly feeling his fingers on your clit, making small, sharp circles; drawing quiet whines from you. When his index slid inside, your body jumped in surprise. Dean chuckled low and sucked on the crook of your neck from behind; you couldn't help but smile, already drugged on him. And Dean Winchester was a high quality drug.

The last hour had been a torture. You knew he kept making moves that were waking up the corbes in your brain. Licking his lips, smiling straight to the camera, playing with his hair, "casually" flexing his body; this bastard knew exactly what he was doing. 

Placing his palm on your lower back, Dean made sure you were trapped and a moan flooded out  when he entered your pussy. Inch by inch he was going inside, stretching you in the most pleasurable way. You both moaned when he bottomed out, his fingers tightened even more on your skull. Your eyes rolled back with his first hard thrust; you clawed the edge of a desk. He pulled slightly on your hair and grabbed your shoulder, then started thrusting firmly, causing you to greet your teeth from the intensity. Every move, every push and pull, every squeeze and kiss was so delicious. Dean’s hot, fast breathing tickled the skin on your back, creating waves of chills that shook your body. 

Dean started slamming his hips stronger, hitting your sweet spot, making your head spin. None of you were quiet anymore; the mix of your voices, moans and skin slapping on skin, filled the room. His hands appeared on your ass and he squeezed it; you expected to see red marks from his nails later. Dean's muscles were flexing with every move, his face grimacing from blissful sensation. 

Even after almost a year, his game was a mystery to you; you had no idea what he was doing but the way he was moving was just different, making you feel some spiritual stuff you couldn't explain. Dean Winchester was the only guy who could make you feel like you weren't yourself; he was the only one you were completely losing control with. And with every bite you wanted more.

“Ah, Y/N,” he breathed out when you arched, giving him even better access, changing the angle a little bit.

“Five minutes, Dean,” you said almost out of voice, checking the time. “Faster.” 

He growled and fastened; slamming into you with more speed, pulling you to him with every push. He was close, you could sense that by his more and more erratic movements. He couldn’t decide where to hold you, where to touch; hazed by the pleasure and the smell of sex filling the air. His voice got higher and every moan was a slightly higher pitch.

“Come on baby, let go,” you encouraged him, reaching behind you to claw his side. 

“Fuck,” he cursed under his breath and scraped your back, leaving red lines on your body. 

Then he bent over and his sharp teeth sinked in your arm at the same time his fingers found your clit, rubbing fast. You choked on your voice that got stuck in your throat; it was too much. He was filling you completely, scrapping every spot inside and outside that you needed. Warmth radiating from every inch of his powerful figure heated the air. Sweat broke across your bodies; a lonely drop rolled alongside his spine, strands of hair stuck to your forehead. 

You managed to lift yourself up almost to a standing position; Dean palmed your throat, slightly squeezing it and kept working on you with his second hand. You started twisting, your knees sagging, eager for the relief you felt coming.  

“Y/N, baby,” he licked your earlobe. “Please come with me, I need you to come, please,” he literally begged, craving for mutual finish.

“Oh my… Dean,” you warned him feeling the knot in your lower abdomen tightening unbearably. “Dean!” fiercely gripping the back of his head you leaned back on him as he kept pounding into you. 

“Oh, fuck,” he stammered and thrusted forcefully two more times, then you felt his teeth sinking into your neck one more time, leaving yet another mark. 

“Oh, yes!” 

All of your muscles tightened to the max and then let go. Your pussy started pulsating along with his throbbing cock; it was like your bodies didn’t need any information from your brains, they knew exactly what and when should happen, they were connected. 

Dean coated your walls with a hot cum; hugging you tightly, panting against your nape. You were shaking, your heart racing; breathing was problematic and if Dean didn’t hold you, you would surely hit the floor. Your nails left half-mooned marks on his forearms, so did his teeth on your neck. 

You usually were slow - all touching, feeling every little inch of each other, moving smoothly but deeply, steady rhythm, building the other to the breaking point, to the edge. So when you needed to go quick, you would get crazy and high kind of easily. 

“Shit, sweetheart,” Dean took a few deep breaths, trying to calm himself down.

You rested your hands on his desk, chugging, unable to stand on your shaking legs without any support. The blood in your veins was still boiling, rushing in your ears pumped by your hammering heart. Hissing, Dean slipped out of you and his seed dripped down on the floor. He showered your back with small kisses, caressing your sides and arms. You purred and turned around, softly pressing your lips to his.

“We have two minutes, baby,” you said and laughed when he moaned unsatisfied. 

“This hour will be torture.” You both rushed to put your clothes on. 

“I know, but then we will order pizza and watch some horror movie.” Smiling at him you opened the window and smoothed your clothes; he quickly cleaned the floor. 

Standing in front of him again, you adjusted his hair and pecked him a kiss, thinking that people from your class will surely notice his blush and glassy eyes. 

He looked at you with adoration and gentleness, his orbs shimmering. You knew this look; he gave you it when you first bumped into each other on your staircase, unaware that you were living in the same building. You were already crushing on your professor back then, so the fact that you were about to see him way more often than just in class made your stomach clench. That’s how it started. Later he offered you his help in some housework and studying, you became his healthy food service and after realising you couldn’t stay away from each other you opened the whiskey and let fate do its job.

You both had the feeling like you had known each other for years and you understood the other, not to mention how honest the two of you were, you still couldn’t fully believe that you were the one his heart had chosen.

“I love you,” he spoke almost like he could read your mind. 

Your face lit up with a smile but the moment he bent down to capture your lips in yet another kiss this evening, you avoided it, biting your lip to shoo away a wide smile that wanted to break free and turned around heading to the door.

“See you in class, professor,” you said over your shoulder and smiled hearing his low chuckle.

A/N: Thank you for reading! I hope you liked it :) Feel free to leave some feedback, don’t be afraid to message me. Every word from you is gold <3

Tags: @deanwanddamons @jay-and-dean @katehuntington @winchest09 @talesmaniac89 @roonyxx @bunkerconfessions @akshi8278 @snffbeebee @lady-pswrld @rvgrsbrns​

If you want to be on my tag list, shoot me in asks or DM’s! :) 

[wtf-yoongi]

“Your thing is kind of special.”

pairing | jungkook x reader

summary | jungkook misses performing :(

genre/warnings | flufffff

words | 1,329

note | i wanna give jk the world you know

Jungkook is feeling a little bit unsettled. His hands have been slightly sweaty all day, knees jumping up and down whenever he’s seated, walking back to his bedroom to get something only to forget about what he needed and most definitely unable to stand still.

Actually, a little bit is an understatement.

You watch him carefully as he moves from room to room, from one thing to another, never seeming to be satisfied with whatever is going on. He is restless and frustrated and you know it. You want to do something about it, think of ways in which you can help – but ultimately keep your thoughts to yourself as you consider whether or not you can, actually, help.

Taking one last look at his agitated-self – bare calves once again disappearing into the bedroom –, you get up from the place you’ve been sitting for the last hour or so, trying to focus on the laptop screen and the video player when your mind was filled with him.

You take careful steps towards the kitchen area and then turn to the narrow corridor, to where the faint sound of sheets of paper being turned comes from. The light of the second bedroom is on, the one Jungkook uses as an office-slash-studio-slash-gaming-area – and where things that don’t have a place find a place. When you peak inside, he’s hunched over his desk, using an arm for support while his opposite hand stops mid-turn. 

He’s looking at you now, a soft smile making an appearance and turning his lips up. “You’re all done?”

“Oh, no, I still have more to go,” you say, thumb immediately pointing back to the living room where your laptop’s screen is surely still glowing. “I was just wondering if maybe you wanted some tea… I’m going to boil some water for me, you still have chamomile, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” he answers in a heartbeat as his body immediately stands up straight and his legs start moving him towards you. “I can do that for you, you should go back to studying.”

“Jungkook, it’s an online course,” you mention with a lightness in your voice, something to make him not worry about this one more thing. “It can wait five minutes.”

“I know.” Jungkook is closer now, less than a feet away when he places both hands on your shoulders and leaves a chaste kiss on your lips. It’s short, but still enough for you to smell the motherly perfume of laundry on his clothes. “Let me do something for you. I’m bored, I need to occupy myself.”

You make way for him to leave the room with a tight smile, soon following his broad shoulders to the kitchen. “Well, bored isn’t the adjective I would use, but ok.”

“What would you use, then?” He asks, hands quickly picking up the kettle to fill it with water. “I feel like I know what you’re going to say.”

“Worried? Tense? Anxious? Distressed? Apprehensive, maybe? For how much longer am I going to show off my vocabulary?”

“Yup,” Jungkook says, making the p sound pop at the same time he turns the kettle on. “I was right about knowing what you were going to say.”

“Anything you’d like to share?” You ask and move closer to place a hand on his back. Jungkook tenses for a second and then relaxes, but decides to cross his arms in front of him, not looking really eager to talk about this. “We’re all living a weird life right now – on different levels, yes, but weird regardless –, it’s completely ok to feel apprehensive about it.”

“I feel silly about this, not apprehensive, really. This isn’t right.”

“There’s nothing silly about feeling whatever you’re feeling,” you reassure him, voice calm and kind, but nothing could change his mind. Jungkook still has his arms crossed when he turns his torso in your direction.

When he speaks, his voice is serious. “We’re in the middle of something really awful, you know? People are suffering. I don’t think I should be feeling this, it’s the highest level of privilege.”

“Acknowledging your privilege already shows how much you’ve thought about this and how concerned you are.”

“You sound like my therapist.”

You can’t help but let out a short and breathy laugh – even in the middle of a conversation like this. Jungkook has the smallest of pouts on his lips, but it’s worth it. “Even if I were a therapist, ethically speaking, I couldn’t be yours and you know why, but yes,” you admit and laugh yet again, resuming your hand movements, but now on his shoulder. “What I’m trying to say is that it’s ok to be anxious about this world situation.”

“But it’s more than just anxious, I… I don’t think I’ve gone this long without performing before. You know, like, in front of an actual crowd.”

You stop yourself, letting out a short and a bit surprised oh. “I never thought about this.”

Jungkook looks at your slightly taken aback expression with that I told you so look. “See how silly it is now?”

“It really isn’t,” you say and shake your head quickly, trying to formulate thoughts. “Everyone misses things they’re not able to do at the moment. It’s just that… Your thing is kind of special.”

“I just miss being on stage, you know?” Jungkook asks rhetorically, finally uncrossing his arms, but only to throw them down and look defeated. “I want to be there, I want to feel that energy again. I want to feel so tired afterwards I can barely stand on my feet. And you know what? I hadn’t realized before, but I think I might be addicted to that feeling.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’m 100% sure performing releases a bunch of happiness and excitement hormones and that I’m addicted to it. I actually looked it up on the internet,” Jungkook explains, body walking away from yours again to get two mugs from the cabinets above the sink. “Just like people who go to the gym all the time and don’t realize their bodies are addicted to the endorphins being released every time they work out.”

“People who exercise all the time?” You ask him with a raised eyebrow. “Don’t you mean yourself? I don’t think you could go a week without boxing.”

Jungkook doesn’t immediately answer, hands expertly moving to fill the mugs with hot water after he places a tea bag inside each of them. “But boxing isn’t the same as performing. Actually, it’s nowhere near.”

After another moment of silence, Jungkook turns around again, taking a good look at you. There’s the smallest of smiles on his face when he opens his arms and, soon after, his voice comes out just as warm and inviting. “Come here."

Your feet then carry you forward to meet him. He finally looks relaxed when your body collides with his, moving his arms to encircle your middle, pulling you closer and squeezing you protectively.

“I’m really sorry you feel like this,” you start, voice muffled by his clothed shoulder. “I wish I could do something to help.”

“You do more than enough by just coming around,” he assures you, a hand leaving your middle to slide upwards and hold you even closer somehow. “It’d be much worse without you here.”

“Good thing I’m here to make you drink chamomile tea and calm down, then.”

“You didn’t even want chamomile, did you? You don’t usually drink chamomile at this time of day. It’s usually black or green tea, something with caffeine.”

You shake your head quickly and let out a short, childish laugh. “No, I wanted you to drink it. I thought maybe it would calm you down a little.”

It takes a while, but when Jungkook speaks again you can hear the smile on his face even though you’re not seeing a thing. “I literally don’t deserve you.”

“Good thing I can say the same.”

Read more ›› masterlist

[crqstalite]

wip whenever.

just for me because i really, really got back into writing this weekend. should really get some more kaidan/kodee content out, makes me happy. especially fluffy stuff.

no content warnings. post...me1 i think? i wrote this months ago. i have no idea where it was going because i got burnt out towards the end of it.

-

Were flowers too much? Would she even appreciate them? Was she allergic to flowers?

Kaidan sighs, deciding against the carnations, and the attendant looks relieved when he steps away. Whether she was even the type of woman to like flowers, he didn't know. In fact, other than that she had an unhealthy tendency to get herself hurt and a possible caffeine addiction, there wasn't much he did know about her. Kaidan wasn't about to assume something that could make her like him any less. He gives the pink bundle a second look, before continuing to the elevator. He'd been checked out of the hospital within a week of the Geth attack, mostly minor injuries that ended with his forearm in a cast. The same had gone for the rest of the crew, worst being a suit rupture from Tali that gave her a fever. The same couldn't be said for Shepard, unfortunately. Taking the brunt of Sovereign's corpse when it'd come down, she'd been kept for observation and further treatment. She kept assuring him the whole time on their way out of the mangled council chamber that she felt fine, and that she was more worried about him and Garrus.

He'd remind her of that a few years from now, if they still kept in contact, how she'd passed out on the transport back to the hospital. And still, even with her floating in and out of even being able to see apparently (Anderson had to ask her three times how many fingers he was holding up, and even then it took her a solid two minutes to answer with 'four' instead of three), she kept asking where the rest of her crew was. That wasn't unusual considering the past few months aboard the SR-1, she'd grown close to everyone, but it proved difficult for the doctors who actually came looking for him and the others a few hours later. Apparently just to put her mind at rest and let her be sedated long enough for surgery. According to Dr. Chakwas, Shepard wasn't about to take no for an answer, even with shrapnel in her side. The woman was a trooper.

He steps out of the elevator, careful to check every number written beside each door.  He wouldn't lie, his heart had sunk so far when C-SEC officers and Anderson had come to find them after the fight with Saren's corpse and he hadn't seen Shepard. Maybe out of concern for his commanding officer, maybe out of devastation to lose a friend like her. More than a friend, he wasn't completely sure how she wanted him to recognize her.  Yes, there were regulations, but he'd never met someone quite like her. Someone who saw past his defective biotics, and instead saw someone she thought was worth her attention. Was worth spending a night together, was worth laying her life on the line to save over another soldier. To think she might've died before they got to know each other any better, he'd felt empty. Then she'd appeared again, clutching her side with a triumphant grin on her face, and everything had been set right again. She'd lived to fight another day, and after Chakwas had informed him she'd be ready for visitors in a few days, he'd been able to sleep a little easier.

He pauses beside one door, then backtracks three. Hesitating, he's not sure whether to knock or not, to do anything to announce his presence first. His hand hovers over the control panel, pressing open.

He's greeted by laughter, genuine laughter from Shepard and someone else sitting by her bedside. There are already flowers on her nightstand, bright yellow and pink in a glass vase. Kaidan thinks about leaving, wondering if he was intruding on a moment between friends or something more. He's not quick enough to make the decision himself, because Shepard's eyes light up as soon as she notices him, her tone soft but loud enough to carry, "Alenko, didn't expect you to drop by. Good to see you."

The other person still has the remnants of a grin on her expression when they turn to him, a curly mess of hair tied up in a bun at the base of their neck. Their eyes glitter green and blue, an eyebrow raising at his arrival. His words are caught in his throat before he responds, "Good to see you're awake and well, ma'am."

"Ma'am? Jeez, how old are you?" There's a giggle in the feminine voice as she gently jostles Shepard, only pulling another smile onto his friend's scarred smile. He strides further into the room, lingering closer to her bed so that the door closes behind him.

Shepard shakes her head, a loose afro of dark hair standing out against the stark white pillows. Other than just before Ilos, he'd never seen her hair loose from it's regulation bun before, nor had he actually seen a full smile from her. He sort of wishes she'd do it more often, "Oh shush, Lali. That's what you say when you actually respect someone higher in the chain of command than you."

"Just because you always had first pick of bunks when we were kids, doesn't immediately mean I'm gonna call you ma'am wherever I go, Dee." The other woman sticks her tongue out at Shepard, and she rolls her eyes, her attention returning to Kaidan, "So pretentious. Ma'am."

"Kaidan, I told you about my sister?" She asks, ignoring her sister for the moment, and he nods, "Citlali Velasquez. Citlali, Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko."

"So you'll give him the title, but not me? I see how it is." Citlali crosses her arms, mock pouting at her older sister before he can greet her properly, "Flight Lieutenant, actually. Recently promoted."

"Flight Lieutenant Citlali Velasquez, then," Shepard deadpans, "Look, you've been here all morning, don't you have duties to get back to?"

"I'm on leave for the next two days, you really think I wasn't going to come check on you, my dear older sister?" Citlali asks sarcastically, pulling her jacket from off the back of her chair. Her eyes dart to Kaidan, looking him over surely, "Trying to get rid of me, huh? Here I thought I was funny."

"And you are, but I'm pretty sure you scared Tali and Liara off when they were here earlier," Shepard responds, reaching over for what he thinks is an omni-tool to hand to Citlali, "Stop forgetting this in here, would you? Pulled that up thinking it was mine the other day."

"Yeah, yeah," She snaps the band around her wrist, the orange UI lighting her face before she swipes it away, "Don't have too much fun without me, dad still wants to see you before you go back on duty."

"I'm still not going anywhere, not for at least another week, Lali. I'll see him then." With a sound of agreement, Citlali nods at him, and then leaves. Shepard looks nearly relieved, her features softening and gesturing for him to sit where her sister had been, "She's been here since I got admitted properly. My mom's still out on tour right now, my stepfather's trying to jailbreak me. At least Mason keeps his distance."

"Family problems?" He asks.

"No, far from it. I stay in here any longer, I'm either going to lose my mind, or this room is going to be filled with flowers. I don't hate the things, but this is like the sixth bouquet someone's brought me. I asked Mason to take a few, I'm not sure what he did with them," She acknowledges his confused expression, "Mason. My younger brother?"

"Right." He'd have to make a better effort to keep all the names in her family straight, "Feeling alright, ma'am?"

"Fine, honestly. Apparently they're just waiting to remove the stitches, then I can get out of here. Good thing, my stepfather might actually make good on his threat." She says, adjusting the pillow propped up behind her so she can face him, "What brought you all the way here? Not saying I haven't missed your company as of late, but I figured the crew was still recovering themselves."

She's eyeing his cast with a look of concern she really should've saved for herself, "It's fine, really. Just figured I'd come by when you weren't too out of it."

"Thanks. It's been a little lonely with only what I think are Citadel sitcoms. If my sister doesn't, they'll drive me crazy first," Shepard gestures to the set up on the wall, "It is good to see you, Kaidan."

[fvckvalenciano]

introducing benji !!

[ FROY GUTIERREZ // 20 // CIS MALE // HE/HIM // MUSE J ] can you believe BENJAMIN ‘BENJI’ VALENCIANO is apart of the stellar world tour? the industry has dubbed him THE CHARLATAN and he has quite the reputation. sources say he is [ ENGAGING ] and [ ASSERTIVE ], but can also be [ VINDICTIVE ] and [ QUICK-TEMPERED ]. however, he is best described by the song [ SUPER RICH KIDS ] by [ FRANK OCEAN ]. i can’t to see what the stellar world tour has in store for him.

bio & pinterest

hi hi !! i'm sure you guys will recognize this as a reoccuring theme sooner rather than later, but i have absolutely no idea what i'm doing at any given moment, so i'm just gonna dive into a quick introduction to benji and hope for the best ! if you are interested in some slightly more organized thoughts i would recommend taking a look at his bio ( which i just fixed the link for because i'm dumb and it was broken this whole time haha, so let me know if there are any problems! ) & i hope you guys enjoy :)

okay so benjamin is born in greenwich, connnecticut, a town famous almost exclusively for housing some of the wealthiest families in america and not much else. his moms are both lawyers, cutthroat defense attorneys that pay for the family's summers in europe and vacation homes down south with somebody's elses blood money. he's an only child, and their scrutiny is merciless as it curates an envy for the anonymity of the shadows. their expectations pile too high in his throat, and he fears the day he chokes and lets them down, for it is inevietable. but he knows they'll do anything to get him across that finish line, walking across the stage at a prestigous law school he couldn’t care less about, which in an odd way is more terryifying than it is comforting.

music is not something that even crosses his mind until much later in life. it was never an option, still isn't, so he decides early that it is not worth the energy of entertaining, even as he finds peace only when the music is loud enough to drown out everything else. he is desperate to mold himself into somebody worth his mothers' undying affections, not just charades and party tricks. but they are patient with him nonetheless, smiles tight and forgiving through it all, and his stomach turns more often than not with the way pity flashes in a matching set of cool eyes, lightning-quick.

benji is created in just sixteen hours and thirty-seven minutes, an accident. it's a textbook definition of overnight fame, a shoddy youtube video gaining far more traction than it was ever meant to. he's nineteen and only in his second semester at college, and music was never the plan, but neither was law school, really. it's a headache, dizzying to imagine taking a life where he steps outside of his family's hold, and he is forced to make a real decision for the first time in his life. so he does.

in the same breath that he signs a contract with the label, they are prying his music from his fingers, the lyrics of missing a life that was never his to begin with are lifted away and delivered to somebody that looks more the part of soft and remoreseful. ( cue lincoln entering stage left, hello bb ) rather, he’s fitted with quick and aggressive lines, still technically his words but molded in a way that don’t fit right in his mouth. they tell him it fits his image better, and doesn’t he want to be famous? the worst part is that it works, his fans eat it up, and demand more, more, more. anger thrums beneath his skin, obvious even as he shoves it down like always, but any pr agent could spot it from a mile away, and they tell him to use that instead. he is familiar with the use of disguises, years of sneaking around in his own home make excellent practice, but it leaves a bad taste in his mouth all the same. nobody has ever allowed him the vice of anger before, though. he knows a lifeline when he sees one, and he runs with it. benji realizes all too late that this is not the freedom he thought he would be granted, realizes he should have known better, that he let himself get passed over from his mothers’ iron grasp to the label’s. he decides he prefers the way disappointing others lasts longer and feels better than chasing approval, and lets this time be different.

[ H E A D C A N O N S ]

( i know this is all dramatic backstory so far lmao, let me introduce you to who this dumb asshole really is )

more than anything else, benji is all bark with no bite. he’ll curse you out for accidentally waking him up at 7:30 instead of 8:00, and hold the grudge for hours with icy stares and glorified pouting, like he’s got a personal vendetta for making himself miserable. he’s often a bit standoffish, distant in the apathetic way that you could cry on his shoulder for hours and still not hear a word out of him, look over and he’ll offer a placating grin and a shrug. he tells the truth to a fault, blunt and unforgiving and too impatient to waste time playing games with lies and faux-affection. even with all his own bouts of irritability, the kid is an absolute idiot when it comes to reading people and understanding social cues and he’s often left blind-sided when people are pissed at him without explicitly spelling it out. still, he doesn’t hold any actual distaste for anybody on the tour, floating between groups based on whoever’s personality suits him better that day, unless they are the ones to escalate the matter, in which case, good luck charlie. forgive-and-forget isn’t really in his vocabulary. once he makes a decision, it’s near impossible to get him to change his mind.

when he wants to be, or if you’ve entertained his interests in one way or another, he warms up and and indulges you with his internal monologue ( your chances are better if there’s a camera around, he doesn’t often bother wasting the energy otherwise, but still ) actually, it is not as hard as it sounds to gain his favor. crack a dumb joke about pr or offer him half a snickers bar and you’ve already got a foot in the door, baby. he reveals his friendship in odd ways — sarcastic comments and random compliments, nonchalant and declared like fact rather than opinion.

the real shortcut into his brain is alcohol. flash forward to like 11pm on any given day and the asshole is chugging fireball like it’s the first sip of water he’s had after years of dehydration, suddenly all bright grins and loud laughs, eager to collect drinking buddies like playing cards. it’s a harsh juxtaposition, from brooding and fabricated to giggling and tipsy, and his tolerance isn’t nearly as high as he likes to pretend it is, so he’s drunk off his ass and acting a fool more often than not. he’ll trade secrets easily, charming and tongue loose in a way that it never is when he’s sober. ( don’t even get me started with the amount of people he hooks up with, oh boy ) drunk benji’s a real headache for the crew, considering he’s not of drinking age yet in america and he’s got a rigid mask to maintain in order to keep up his charades and remain relevant. he refuses to be ashamed of it, though, and he’s adamant to make things difficult for them, relishing instead in impulsive decisions he never got the chance to make for most of his life. long story short, in a pinch, buy him a handle and he’ll probably like you.

when i say benji will try anything once, i mean it seriously, offer him literally anything and odds are that he’ll say yes. it’s kind of ridiculous. his self-destructive streak is always up for a good time, wink wink ( this doesn’t just mean drugs or anything, like dare him to eat an entire jar of nutella in under 10 minutes? where’s the spoon )

unfortunately he’s a stereotypical rich kid through and through, and he’s got the nicotine addiction to show for it. he won’t even smoke cigarettes out of the principle of the thing ( unless he’s blackout drunk, in which case, oh boy, watch your pockets ) but he’s got at least two juuls on him at any given moment. nobody knows how he manages it, but he’s got an extensive supply of the mango flavored pods even though they’re banned, because they’re the only ones he’ll use. he’s got lots of connections, and the fact that he uses them for this pretty much sums up his entire personality.

you would think that benji, with his reformed rich kid attitude and all his burning anger and sarcastic eye-rolling, would only drink expensive coffee, black and strong, right? no. he’ll walk up to any barista, pissed just to be awake before noon and gaze as hard and cold as hell itself frozen over, and order himself a frozen caramel frappuccino with extra whipped cream and extra caramel drizzle on top, deadpan and monotone. to add insult to injury, he’ll chase it by shotgunning a can of redbull, living off of unhealthy amounts of caffeine to have enough energy to deal with the others at all times. it’s ridiculous.

he’s grudgingly okay with the fact that his social media accounts have been sacrificed for his image, wiped clean and shaped into the public figure he is today. however, he guards his spotify account with his life, keeping it private and refusing to monitor this aspect of his life. his music taste is everything to him, and while he’s willing to plaster songs he’s never listened to all over his instagram story, his spotify is an extension of him, and he fights like a dog to keep it that way.

last but not least, benji’s fashion is atrocious. really, for the greater good nobody should let him dress himself, ever, and they usually don’t. he’s got quite the bad reputation amongst the stylists, infamous for scowling at the high-fashion look they want to stuff him in, refusing to hear reason to the fact that he has to wear makeup to the red carpet. whenever he knows beyond a doubt that no cameras will be waved in front of his eyes, he practically lives in sweats like it’s his religion, paired with genuinely whichever shirt he first lays eyes on. ( listen, he grew up filthy rich and just bought his first pair of sweatpants when he went to college, let him indulge bb ) some members will swear up and down to the fact that they saw him walk around in mysteriously stained sweatpants and a stolen back-up dancer’s skin tight, hot pink mesh crop top for a full hour into rehearsal before he woke up enough to realize his mistake. he’ll bite your head off for even bringing it up, but glance down and double-check what he’s wearing just in case.

oh wait also he’s dyslexic. words blur together in a way that makes writing lyrics a bitch, and just one song take him weeks to finish. it makes the sting of having them ripped away even worse. ( also i get to spell things wrong in the group chat and it’s in character lmao )

[winterisakiller]

Get Better - Chapter Eight

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 8/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list:@tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @nonsensicalobsessions @theheartofpenelope @blacksuitofdoom @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @hiddlescastle @echantedbytwh

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER EIGHT

 “Large English Breakfast with Almond milk and a double latte macchiato.”

 Tom smiled brightly at the barista and grabbed the two steaming mugs from the counter. He weaved his way through several tables towards the back of the small café. The store front was busy enough for a Monday morning; a stream of tired and warmly attired commuters parading in and out in search of much needed caffeine. But sitting in the back of the shop, tucked away by a small working fireplace, guaranteed they would be left more or less alone.

 “Alright, one tea.” He placed the white ceramic mug in front of Ben and settled into the cushioned chair opposite, placing his own steaming mug down on the dark wood table. “And my own spot of heaven.”

 Ben chuckled, blowing gently on the steaming tea before him. “I see the caffeine addiction is still running strong.”

 “Stronger than ever.” Tom laughed, picking up his gently steaming mug and taking a careful sip. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the warmth and the rush of caffeine as the smooth and bitter drink hit his tongue. Bliss. He placed the mug down, resting his folded hands on the table. Ben stifled a yawn, rubbing his free hand over his face. Tom took the opportunity to study his friend; taking in his stooped posture, heavy-lidded eyes, and the tension in his shoulders.

 He hadn’t talked with Ben much in the past few weeks and hadn’t seen him in longer; between rehearsals and the birth of Ben and Sophie’s youngest, a boy, neither man had been much up for socializing. Tom had called the afternoon before to check in on Ben (and his newly expanded family) and had been not entirely surprised when Ben had jumped at the chance to get out of the house. “I don’t care when or where, but please take me away.” It had taken all he had not to chuckle at the desperation in Ben’s tone and plans were quickly set for a meeting at a café halfway between their two homes the following morning. “Thank you,” Ben had all but implored before the call had ended. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

 Tom picked up his mug and took another sip of his macchiato. “How are things with Sophie and the kids?”

 A tired but warm smile spread across Ben’s face. “Good…Exhausting, but good.” He took another sip of his tea, his eyes closing briefly, before placing the mug back onto the table top. “Sleep is a fond but distant memory.”

 “I can only imagine,” Tom laughed, with an understanding nod. He ran his finger up and down the side of his mug. “And how are the boys adjusting?”

 “Kit’s been a bit moody but seems to be settling in. He does however look at Sophie and me from time to time as if we’ve betrayed him in the worst way.” He chuckled softly, taking another sip of his tea. “But Hal seems fine for the most part. He’s been a bit fussy when Sophie can’t hold him but he overall seems to be handling it much better than either of us thought.”

 “And the littlest one?”

 “He’s been giving us a run for our money. Fussier than either of the other two unless he’s being held.” Ben laughed in earnest. He was drained, that much was abundantly clear, but he happy, albeit exhausted, pride that shone in Ben’s eyes spoke volumes. “So inevitably he spends most of his time in either mine or Sophie’s arms. Though he seems to be taking to the self-rocker Sophie’s mum sent up after Hal was born. Needless to say, we’re hoping it sticks for more than a week or so. I don’t think I can stand watching Hal cry because we aren’t able to hold him too.” Ben laughed again and took another sip of his tea.

 “I’m thrilled for you mate, both of you.” Tom took another sip of his macchiato. “Though,” he started again with a raise of his eyebrow, “I can readily admit I don’t begrudge you the lack of sleep.”

 Ben laughed and shook his head, pointing a finger at Tom with a knowing look. “It’ll be your time soon enough, mark my words.”

 Tom shrugged and shook his head with a soft sigh. There was no sense in trying to argue either way with Ben; he’d tried so many times and it was frankly exhausting. The best course of action, it seemed, was simply to let it be. He picked up his mug once more and took another long sip.

 After several minutes silence, Ben tapped his fingers idly on the tabletop and asked. “How is the show going?”

 Tom’s face lit at the question, a full smile spreading quickly across his features. “Bloody wonderful.”

 “Wonderful, eh?” Ben rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin against his opened palms. “Do tell.”

 Laughing, Tom rambled through details about the play and the people he worked with. The ridiculous way Charlie had taken to try to make him laugh during a serious scene (he hadn’t cracked yet but Tom could admit it was coming) and the pranks he and Zawe had taken to pulling on both each other and, in turn, on Charlie. He talked about Cath and the way she made him laugh, shared silly anecdotes they’d discussed, talked about how she remembered how he liked his coffee after one run in at the coffee shop near the theatre. He smiled, rubbing his finger along the rim of the mug, as he remembered the way her face lit up when she laughed at a stupid joke he’d shared with her the evening before.

 In the week that had passed since their impromptu coffee meeting (he refused to let himself think of it as a date), he and Cath had taken to trading coffee runs and talking. She’d asked fondly after Bobby; it appeared the spaniel (the flirting menace) had left quite an impression and he’d found himself contemplating asking her to join them on one of their morning runs. The only thing stopping him (he told himself fiercely) had been the look of disgusted horror she’d worn when he’d mentioned running. “You’re telling me you do that for fun. Insanity. Complete and utter insanity.”

 Ben’s voice broke through the memory. He glanced across the table to find his friend shooting him a sly look. “This Cath sounds like quite the woman, to have captured your attention so singularly.”

 Tom blinked, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Ben, she’s just a friend.”

 He watched as Ben’s eyebrows rose comically. “And I’m a tea pot.”

 “And aren’t you a lovely one?”

 “Thomas, I know you. I know the way you get when you are interested in someone.” He raised an eyebrow at his friend. “And, my dear fellow, you are definitely interested in this one.” He paused for a sip of his tea. “Out of all the people you’ve worked with on this show, she is the one you’ve talked about the most.” He quirked an eyebrow once again.

 “She is a friend,” Tom insisted, pausing to take another deep sip of his coffee. “Or at least someone I could consider one, in time…”

 “And someone you find attractive.”

 Tom grunted under his breath. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

 “But you don’t deny it?” Ben countered with a grin.

 An exasperated sigh was his only reply for a long while. “Fine, yes she is attractive and I’m not blind to that. But it’s not the best idea.”

 “Why ever not?” Ben threw back. “You like her, no one is saying you’ve got to marry her this instant.” Tom narrowed his eyes. Ben simply ignored him and carried on. “I’m just saying don’t lie to yourself. You like her and from what I’ve gathered she doesn’t think you’re a complete waste of a man.”

 Tom narrowed his eyes further. Ben burst out into a deep laugh at that which only served to deepen his friend’s already scathing glare.

 “Oh poppet, fix your face. People will think we’ve had a falling out.” Tom fought the smirk that threatened to spread across his face. And lost. Ben grinned cheekily. “I’m just saying why not give it a shot? What do you have to lose?”

 “My track record with these things is…less than stellar. I don’t want to fuck things up by just jumping in. She’s a good person…She deserves better.”

 “That is utter bullshit.” Ben snapped, starling Tom with his ferocity. “Okay yes, you’ve made some spectacularly unfortunate decisions in the past but the fact that you’re pausing to think about them speaks a great deal towards just how much you’ve grown and to just how serious you are about this woman.” Ben reached out and placed a hand on Tom’s arm, squeezing it in reassurance and in understanding. “You don’t have to jump into anything. Just talk with her. Get to know her, be her friend. And see if this…If she is ultimately worth taking a risk for.” He offered Tom a warm smile. “The only thing you have to lose is this…” Ben waved his hand before him. “Fear that’s still holding you back.”

                                                          —

 Tom shook his head, pausing to tie his laces, the conversation from earlier replaying itself once more in his mind. His mid-morning run with Bobby had taken nearly an extra half hour as he thought over everything Ben had said to him and tried to figure out just what he was going to do about it. Bobby had been utterly delighted with the change and had taken full advantage; sniffing new territory, marking it as his, and finding even more wildlife to chase.

 It was still a relatively cool day, though warmer for mid-March, and he found most of the park and surrounding streets were dotted with people, but not as crowded as he would have expected for the time of day. He’d been stopped a handful of times, a few young women and a little boy who pointed at him crying out “It’s Loki, daddy!” as he pulled on his father’s hand. Tom had done his best to be friendly and open with each and every one of them. He’d refused pictures but had signed the receipts and other bits of paper they’d handed him. Thankfully, he’d managed to get away before a bigger crowd had a chance to form.

 Not a damned thing was any clearer though when he climbed his front steps and mechanically unlocked and opened his front door. Bobby shuffled around contentedly as Tom unclipped his lead and hung it on the hall tree next to his jacket. He toed off his trainers and jogged up the stairs to shower. He was hot, sweaty, and tired, but still utterly confused. He hated it, hated how indecisive he was being. Annoyed, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry basket by the bathroom door. His shorts, leggings, and socks were next. As he tossed them into the basket as well, he let out a resigned groan, knowing he couldn’t put off a load of washing for much longer. He could send them to a laundry service, it would certainly make his life infinitely easier if he did, but doing simple things like his own washing or running to the shops on his own helped to keep him feeling grounded. And despite everything, that was something he still desperately needed.

 The bathroom light flickered to life as Tom padded his way towards the walk in shower and fiddled with the knobs until he’d gotten the water temperature just so. He all but sighed in bliss as he stepped into the steaming water, letting it soothe his aching muscles and warm him from the chill of the late morning. He soaped and shampooed with a delightful lethargy, not quite wanting to give up the peace and warmth. But the day would carry on without him whether he was ready for it or not. Rinsing thoroughly, Tom shut off the water and rubbed his face with his hands. He reached for the towel hanging on the rack beside the shower and made quick work of wiping his face and rubbing his hair before wrapping the towel efficiently around his waist.

 He found Bobby curled contentedly at the center of his made bed. Tom knew he should scold the spaniel and move him, but couldn’t find it in his heart to do so. Bobby rolled onto his back, mouth hanging open and tongue lulling to one side and barked once at Tom.

 “You are trouble,” Tom laughed, making his way towards his wardrobe and pulling out jeans, a jumper, socks, and boxers. Laying the gathered clothing on the edge of the bed, Tom quickly dried himself and dressed. It was a late day today and he technically didn’t have to be at the theatre until around five. That gave him plenty of time to putter around before he needed to consider heading out.

 As he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the familiar ring of his mobile echoed from the table near the front door. Tom darted forward, managing to grab it and swipe to answer without dropping either the mobile or himself.

 “Hello?”

 “Afternoon, brother mine.” He could hear the amusement in his younger sister’s voice.

 Tom let out a soft laugh. “What do you want Em?”

 “Want something? Me? I’m hurt, Tommy. So hurt.”

 “Funny,” he quipped, heading into the living room. He plopped himself onto the couch, propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. He hit the speaker button and dropped his mobile on the couch beside him. Bobby padded in from the hallway and jumped up beside Tom on the couch, resting his head on his master’s crossed legs.

 “And don’t you ever forget it,” Emma chuckled. “Seriously though, you know Jack and I are planning to come see the show tonight.”

 “Yes…” A sense of foreboding rushed through him. He reached out and absently stroked Bobby’s ear.

 “If you are alright with it, would you mind me swinging by with Allie for a bit? Mum’s coming up tonight to mind her, but I have a few errands I need to run…”

 “And they’d be easier sans toddler?” Tom finished, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

 “I know it’s horribly last minute but I am utterly desperate.”

 Tom let out a quiet sigh. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Or is Mum coming here?”

 “Um, I should be back by half two…quarter after at the latest…” Tom heard shuffling in the background, followed by a car door shutting. “Come on baby.” Allie’s high pitched giggle filtered through the phone’s speaker. A few moments later his front gate buzzed.

 Tom groaned. “Please tell me you’ve not done what I think you’ve done.” The gate buzzed again and Bobby barked elatedly, jumped off the couch and made a mad dash towards the front door. “Very cute, Em.” He pushed himself up to his feet and wandered towards the panel by the door. He didn’t bother checking the monitor before buzzing Emma and Allie in. Bobby continued to bounce excitedly by his feet.

 A knock sounded on the door a few moments later. He made quick work of the locks and pulled the door open, using his back leg to keep Bobby from darting out. Emma smiled brightly at him, her daughter clutched in her arms.

 “Uncle Tommy!”

 Tom’s face brightened and he reached out to take the small girl from her mother. “Hello princess. Are you ready to have fun?” She nodded enthusiastically, clapping her hands together.

 A small, warm smile spread across Emma’s face as she watched the sight before her for several moments before seeming to remember herself. “Alright, darling,” she started, clapping her hands together. “Be good for your uncle. Mummy will be back in a few hours.” She kissed Allie on the cheek then smiled brightly at her brother. “Thanks, Tom. You’re the best.”

 He raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger of his free hand at Emma. “You’d do well to remember that.”

 Emma snorted. “Funny.” A horn sounded from the street. Emma leaned over and kissed Allie once more before running down the walk and towards the gate. “See you in a bit.”

 Tom pushed the door closed with his hip and placed his squirming niece down so that he could relock the door. He then made quick work of removing her pink coat as she squirmed and hanging in on the hall tree beside his own. Bobby, excited by the arrival of a new friend, barked once and began to lick Allie’s face causing the little girl to squeal in delight and reaching out to pat the dog in return. Tom found himself smiling at the sight and lowered himself to the floor beside them. There was something so simple and so beautiful about the innocence in which they interacted and he was taken by it so completely.

 He sat on the floor in his front hall beside his dog and his niece for what felt like ages before he broke the contented silence. “So my darling, what would you like to do?”

 Allie tore her attention away from Bobby with great reluctance and faced her uncle. She scrunched her face in thought, sandy brows nearly reaching her the coppery curls that brushed her forehead. “Park,” she finally answered with a decisive nod of her head.

 Tom laughed and nodded. “Park it is.” He let out a soft groan as he pushed himself to his feet and Allie giggled at his efforts. “Laugh now, little girl, but someday you will understand all too well.”

 “Uncle Tommy silly.”

 “Yes,” he answered with a chuckle. “Yes, I am.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and grabbed Bobby’s lead from the hall tree. Bobby barked twice then sat still, his tail a blur against the hardwood floor. “Two walkies in less than two hours. You, my lad, are spoiled,” he joked as he clipped the lead and harness around the spaniel.

 Patting his back pocket to make sure he had wallet, phone, and keys, Tom grabbed his coat, shrugging it on before helping Allie into her own. Both dog and child bounced excitedly by his feet and Tom couldn’t help the smile which spread across his face. Taking Allie firmly in one hand and Bobby’s lead in the other, the trio made their way from the house and out into the bright early afternoon light.

Next Chapter

[winterisakillerwrites]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Three

Chapter: 3/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: M

Author’s Notes/Warnings:  This is part nine of Last Minutes & Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

Previous

CHAPTER THREE

  Rosemary took a deep breath as she walked into the crowded bistro. A quick glance at her watch told her she was a good fifteen minutes early. Perfect. She offered the woman standing behind the counter a small smile and hurried to claim the small table near the back of the room she’d noticed upon entering. It offered a modicum of privacy that she felt they would desperately need.

Her head had finally ceased its incessant pounding; thank god for paracetamol and insanely large amounts of water. But she still felt much the worse for wear. Three hours’ sleep is not at all enough.  

 The night before had dragged on far longer than she’d hoped it would; not that that should have surprised her in any way. Jules, even completely in her cups, was a force to be reckoned with and she certainly hadn’t held back, hitting Rosemary with question after question. What was Tom doing calling her? How did he have her number? Was she actually serious about meeting up with him? Was this all a reaction to how things had ended with Adam? On and on she went until Rosemary thought she’d go mad.

 Even now, hours later, her head was still spinning. Giving Jules carte blanche had been a very, very bad idea. Her own uncertainty and unease of the growing situation with Tom was in no way helped by Jules’ leading and distinctly pointed questions.

 A surprisingly sunny faced waitress approached the table, a stack of menus in her arms. She took one off the top and held it out. “What can I get you?”

 Taking the proffered menu, Rosemary ordered a glass of still water and asked for a few moments to look over her options and to wait for a friend who would be joining her. The waitress nodded flitting off in the direction of the kitchens. She returned a few minutes later, placing the glass in front of Rosemary before heading off towards another recently occupied table.

 Rosemary rubbed her temples, fearing nerves would bring back her headache with a vengeance. She wondered for the hundredth time if coming here, if agreeing to meet Tom, had been a mistake. His excuses from the previous night had been flimsy at best, though admittedly her memory of them was fuzzy. Copious amounts of wine and serious conversations are not the best of bedfellows. Was letting him back into her life, in any way, actually worth it? She honestly didn’t know. But yet here you are…

 She was tempted to simply leave. So sorely tempted. He wasn’t there yet and chances were she could probably get away before he was. Surely it would be the smarter choice to walk away now rather than allowing herself to be slowly pulled back in…But still she hesitated. Was that honestly fair to him? Or to her? She wasn’t the same person she’d been three years ago and at this point she didn’t really know if he was either. Shouldn’t she give him at least the chance to explain? Just to say that she had?

 Give him the benefit of the doubt, she reasoned with herself. See what he has to say. You can always walk away later.  

 Temporarily bolstered, Rosemary felt herself start to relax. There was no sense in working herself up over something that hadn’t happened yet. She drummed her fingers on the table as she sipped her water and watched as people filtered in and out of the bistro’s doors.

 The bistro did a fairly good lunch run, from what she could see. That was promising. Her eyes wandered over the menu, and had they seemed to have a fairly decent selection. Very nice.  If the food was any good it might be worth a repeat visit. She glanced reflexively at her watch, twelve on the dot. Any minute now.

 But by fifteen after Rosemary’s patience was beginning to run thin. She was acutely aware each time the door opened and grew more and more disgruntled when, each time, it wasn’t Tom. The waitress had been by her table twice more, and the expression she wore grew a little more pitying with each pass.

 Rosemary grimaced. She felt utterly foolish for allowing herself to think that coming here could have ever been a good idea. She glanced at the glass and judged that she had approximately two more sips of water remaining. Fine then. If he hadn’t shown by the time she finished then he could go hang for all she was concerned. She was done.

 She’d pushed it for as long as she could, holding her glass and stubbornly hoping he’d walk through the door. But he didn’t and water finished, she grabbed her coat and left. She felt like an idiot. Why did she even consider coming here let alone waiting for so long? Foolish, foolish woman, she chided herself. You always do this. Why can’t you learn?

 “Rosie?”

 She paused momentarily at the sound of Tom’s voice some several yards behind her before shaking her head and pressing onwards.

 “Rosie! Wait!”

 She could hear him scrambling after her but did not slow her pace. It was childish, she knew, but didn’t care. She’d waited enough. And if he didn’t have the decency to recognize that, then so be it.

 It took everything she had not to jump when his hand landed gently on her shoulder. She hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close and so quickly. Damn that man and his freakishly long legs.

 His touch was firm but not demanding; pleading her to turn and face him but not forcing the matter. “Rosie,” he whispered, “Please. I’m sorry. I completely lost track of time. I’m so sorry. I’m a complete ass and I know I don’t deserve it but please, please don’t walk away.”

 She whirled around, her frustration burning clearly on her features. She saw no need to try to hide it. “Why Tom? Give me a reason why I should be wasting anymore of my time waiting for you?”

 Tom flinched at her words before whispering, “Because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I pushed you away once and I’ve regretted it every day since. I just want a chance to make it right.”

 Rosemary stared in stunned disbelief. She shook her head, to clear it, and pushed past Tom. Arrogant son of a...

 He hastily reached out his hand, halting her progress. “Wait, please.” Relief flooded his face when she did. “I know you are angry with me and you have every right to be. And I know that I don’t have a reason that won’t sound like I’m trying to make excuses.” Rosemary narrowed her eyes but remained where she stood, waiting for him to continue. “I got caught up in a meeting with Luke and completely lost track of time. I’m an idiot and I fucked up. I’m sorry. Please just give me a chance to fix this.”

 She sighed in resignation. “You keep saying you’re sorry, Tom, but you keep doing this. You make me promises and then you turn around and break them. You ask me to trust you and go and give me reasons why I shouldn’t.” She paused and shook her head. She hadn’t meant to unload on him, and certainly not in such a public setting. “You keep asking for chances, Tom, and you keep blowing them. And I don’t know if I’m willing to waste another on you. Maybe that’s not fair, but I don’t know if I can keep doing this with you.”

 Tom smiled grimly. “You are absolutely right. And I know it’s not fair to you either. I don’t have any excuse for my behavior. I keep hurting you and I don’t mean to. Please believe that I don’t mean it. All I’m asking is you for you please just give me a half an hour of your time. Let me try to fix this, please.” He held his hands up, desperation clear in his eyes. “Just have a quick meal with me. Or a coffee if you’d prefer. Just give me thirty minutes.”

 This is a bad idea, her mind screamed. Just leave. Don’t let him pull you in again. It’s not worth it. But she stood rooted, watching the pleading look in his eyes.

 With a resigned sigh she spoke. “Thirty minutes, Tom.”

 A small, hopeful smile spread across his face, “Thank you.”

                                                        —

 They sipped their respective coffees in silence. Tom had chosen a table in the corner of the small coffee shop, hiding them away from the bustle of busy Londoner’s feeding their caffeine addictions. Rosemary watched Tom as he watched her but neither spoke. She had expected him to bombard her with reasons and excuses for his actions as soon as they had settled. He’d been so keen to get her to stay and to listen. The fact that he wasn’t talking unnerved her.

 With decision she placed her nearly empty mug onto the lacquered table and folded her hands in her lap. “You said last night you wanted to explain so explain.”

 Tom placed his own mug down and straightened the hem of his sweater before speaking. “Yes.” He quickly picked up how mug, taking another sip of his coffee. “I told you last night that I got called in for unexpected reshoots right after we talked in the shop.”

 Rosemary nodded, fussing with her own sweater. His nervousness, it appeared, was catching.

 “I should have called you straight away,” he began again in earnest.  “Let you know what was happening. But I honestly didn’t think it would take more than a few days. But things happened and before I knew it near a week had passed. The mobile reception was poor at the best of times and when all was said and done and I got home and settled it had been well past what I’d promised you. And I knew I didn’t have a good excuse for not calling. I should have called then but I didn’t.  And the longer I waited the harder it was to justify.” He shrugged helplessly. “I had fucked things up with you enough. But I couldn’t just say nothing so…”

 Rosemary took a deep breath and grabbed her coffee mug from the table, taking a large sip of her rapidly cooling latte. “If you had just called when you got home. Hell even a text. Something. I would have understood. I know I have my moments, but I’m not completely irrational…”

 “I know you’re not, Rosie. I never thought that you were,” he assured, tentatively reaching out a hand to her. She watched him cautiously but did not stop him. Tom took her hand and gently squeezed it in his. “And I should have done something, I know that. But at the time…I wasn’t thinking. I was angry with myself and I just didn’t think. It’s not an excuse but it’s all I have.”  

 “And today?”

 She watched him critically. He’d already given her his reasons for their futile lunch meeting; she refused to call it a date no matter that the only person who would know she had was her, but in light of his candor she wondered if that story would change. And if it did what she would do.

 “I really was in a meeting with Luke,” he started. He locked his gaze on hers, blue eyes shining with the need for her to believe him. To listen. And she did so, grudgingly. “Things ran over and instead of calling I just panicked and tried to run here as fast as I could. I saw you leaving and I knew I’d bollocks it up again. I’m an idiot and I am truly sorry.”

 Rosemary didn’t utter a word for several minutes, her gaze darting from Tom to the table and back again. She could hear the pleading sincerity that he’d imbued his words with, but still she could not let herself fully believe them. She had believed them so often in the past and it had never ended well, for either of them.

 Frustration warred with longing. She loved him still, wanted desperately to believe that he meant it when he told her he wanted to be there, to make an effort with her. But yet again his actions spoke of a different and at the same time all too familiar tune. He hurt her in the past and seemed to fall back into that pattern so easily. She couldn’t let herself go through that again. Not now.

 “I hear what you are saying, Tom,” she began, willing herself to remain calm, “But it’s a little bit shit. You say you want to be a part of my life but then you go and pull the same shit you’ve always pulled. I don’t think I want to go through that again. It’s tiring.” She grabbed her purse from the floor beside her chair. “You say that you’re sorry but your actions say something altogether different and right now I cannot deal with that.”

 Without waiting for his response, she walked towards the café’s door and into the weak afternoon sunlight.

                                                         ___

  “Another glass?”

 Jules held up the half empty wine bottle at Rosemary, shaking it lightly, her eyebrow raised in amused question. The living room had been overrun with various blankets, take-away bags and bottles of wine. The television was on, the movie playing all but forgotten.

 Rosemary handled her glass over without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, please.”

 “You know,” Jules pointed out, filling Rosemary’s glass nearly to the brim and handing it back. “We are very much going to regret this come morning,”

 She accepted it with a snort, “Probably. But fuck it.”

 “Fuck it,” Jules echoed with a smirk, draining her own glass.

 Rosemary had shown up at Jules’ front door, two bottles of wine in hand, several hours before seeking a little levity to the mess her afternoon had been. After she’d left the coffee shop, Rosemary had practically ran back to the store, startling Max and subsequently Hanna, who hadn’t expected her back for another forty minutes at least. She hadn’t said much, simply thrown herself into the back office and tried to lose herself in the growing piles of paperwork. And it had worked, for a time, but soon enough her concentration began to falter. She’d snapped at Hanna when she’d popped her head into the office with a customer query. At that point Rosemary knew she needed to leave. She’d apologized profusely to Hanna and made a beeline for the nearest Tesco Metro and its wine selection.

 Jules had taken one look at Rosemary and pulled her inside with opened arms. Wine bottles were opened and food was ordered in quick succession. It had taken several glasses and half a container of shrimp lo mein for Rosemary to relax enough to let the day spill out in relatively coherent, if not stilted, bursts.

 Once started, she found it difficult to stop; her anger and confusion bolstered by the alcohol that flooded her system. Was she really such a doormat that Tom felt he could walk all over her? The idea bristled. He’d all but waltzed back into her life, charming and handsome as ever, and pleaded for a place in it. And the second she’d agreed he disappeared only to come back and plead again. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was pathetic. Why couldn’t she seem to learn?

 Jules had nodded in understanding. Rosemary knew that her friend harbored little affection for Tom, she’d made it perfectly clear. But never once did she say ‘I told you so’ and for that Rosemary was profoundly grateful.

 “Fuck him,” Jules stated in a matter of fact tone as she refilled both of their glasses.

 Her glass raised in salute, Rosemary flashed a sardonic grin on her face. “That was always the problem.” She stifled a giggle as Jules snorted into her wine glass. “What? It’s true. If I hadn’t fucked him I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.”

 “But you didn’t know that going in,” Jules indicated with a shake of her head. “Hell, I practically shoved you at him. And for that I am profoundly sorry.”

 With a wave of her hand, Rosemary dismissed Jules’ remark. “I’m pretty sure I threw myself into that one all on my own. But whatever, we could argue it for days and get nowhere.” She took a gulp of wine before continuing, gesturing vaguely. “Besides, it’s not like you didn’t warn me that this would happen.”

 Jules placed her glass onto the coffee table, smiling softly at her friend.  She reached out and rubbed Rosemary’s shoulder in affection. “Has he tried calling again?”

 Rosemary shook her head, “No, thank god. I don’t think that would have ended well at all.”

 “Oh ho now?” Jules quirked an eyebrow and grabbed her glass from the table once more, taking several sips. “Do tell.”

 Bolstering herself with another gulp of wine, Rosemary let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Because with where my head’s been since this afternoon, I don’t think I have the ability to fake any sort of patience.”

  “Like he deserves anymore of your patience. Just call the bastard and tell him off once and for all.”  

 Rosemary shook her head violently. “No. No. No. No very, very bad idea. Anger plus alcohol plus phones equals massively stupid, terrible idea.” She’d seen enough films to know how that scenario would end. And with all that had happened between them…No, best to let that lie.

 Jules didn’t look convinced, however, the thoughts that swirled in her green eyes were nothing short of troubling. Rosemary groaned, sensing this argument was far from over. Jules with an idea was like a dog with a particularly juicy bone. Nothing good could come of it.  

 Noticing that their current bottle was long since finished, Jules stumbled, albeit gracefully, the nerve, into the kitchen for another. Rosemary leaned back against the cushioned back of the couch with a contented and closed her eyes. She felt a pleasant buzz thrumming through her, not quite drunk yet but very much on her way. Her limbs felt heavy and a tranquility that wasn’t wholly natural filled her.

 “Oh no you don’t!” Jules lectured, shoving her arm none too gently against Rosemary’s shoulder to rouse her. “If I’m going down in a blaze of hangover glory tomorrow then you’re going down with me. Now up!” She thrust a now full wine glass into Rosemary’s hand and dropped herself back into the couch, giggling.

 Rosemary drank dutifully, noting that she was definitely getting far too old for such nights and finding that she did not care a whit at the moment. She would pay for it come morning, that she knew with a startling certainty, but for the moment she would let herself bathe in the false bliss brought on by the wine.

  “You know,” Jules slurred over hour later, nearly spilling the remnants of her glass onto Rosemary’s top as she gestured wildly. “You should call him and tell him what an ass he is.” The two had polished off a further bottle and a half of wine while talking. Tom’s name had come up more and more frequency and with less and less charity.

 Rosemary blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of her friend’s words. Something about the idea seemed…off and in her, admittedly, impaired state she couldn’t quite remember why. Tom was an ass; that she firmly believed. Maybe telling him so would drive the point home to him. He kept pestering her for chances and then walked all over her. Maybe it was time she told him just where he could stick his need to fix whatever the fuck laid between them. “That,” she agreed, “Is a very good idea.”

 Her purse, however, was on the floor by the front door and that seemed so very far away. And she needed her phone to tell Tom he was an ass. With determination, Rosemary pushed herself to her feet, trying to desperately ignore the way the room seemed to tilt ever so slightly to the left. It took her several tries to dig her phone from the depths of her bag and several more to unlock it and find Tom’s number in her recent call log.

 Without a moment’s hesitation, she selected the number and hit ‘dial’.

  Next

[sachigram]

Infinity, With Coffee Rings Chapter 4:

((click here to read on ao3!!!))

Tweek's used to not sleeping through the night. People in his life have always blamed the caffeine, but the thing is, Tweek can't remember ever sleeping soundly, even before his dad handed him his first mug of coffee, bitter and black. Tweek's always found something else to do at night besides sleeping, since everyone around him is unconscious. It's his “me time”, the only time of the entire day no one expects anything of him.

What Tweek isn't used to is being held. Not just being touched in general, which he also isn't used to, though the various hugs from his old childhood friends are piling up lately. Craig is holding him, is holding him tightly, and Tweek should feel trapped, but he doesn't. He feels warm, not just from the heat of Craig's body next to his, but also inside, like how he feels when he sips at his hot coffee. Tweek's never liked iced coffee for this reason. It doesn't have the same effect.

Craig shifts behind him, snorting a little, his breath ruffling Tweek's hair. Tweek wonders what he's dreaming about, if he dreams. Tweek doesn't dream often, but that's probably because he doesn't stay asleep often enough to activate the REM cycle. Sighing softly, Tweek closes his eyes and wills himself to drift off, but it doesn't work. His mind is still racing.

Craig's face is buried in his hair. Tweek worries how he might smell, but he showered today before Craig showed up randomly, and Tweek guesses shampoo is probably the best thing for hair to smell like, right? He shifts a bit in Craig's grasp, his arm going to sleep under him. Carefully, he maneuvers himself to roll until he's on his back, Craig's arm still over him, Craig's face still burrowed into his hair. The last thing Tweek wants is to wake Craig up. He's had a week, and Tweek hasn't done anything worth mentioning. Tweek probably should have told Craig how shitty he is at sleeping before they went to bed, right? But surely Craig knew already? They message at all hours, and Craig is always the first to stop responding because he falls asleep. Then he'll wake up and Tweek will wait for his messages, responding instantly when he receives them. It's a routine now, one he looks forward to. It'll be hard to not constantly check his phone in the morning, even with Craig right beside him, in real life.

The stars on the ceiling are losing their glow, but Tweek can still barely make out Ursa Major and Minor, but if he didn't know he was looking at it, he wouldn't be able to tell Orion apart from any of the other stars. He and his dad arranged the plastic stars like this when Tweek was small, and it's a good memory, one of the few Tweek has of his parents. His dad was more lively back then, full of motivation. Now both his parents are just as drugged as Tweek is, if not more so, though for different reasons.

The room starts to lighten as the sun slowly rises, signaling a new day and the end of another night Tweek didn't sleep through. He sighs again to himself, knowing soon enough his mom will poke her head in to see if he's awake to open the coffee shop. Tweek wonders if Craig being here will deter her, but he assumes it probably won't. He's nothing if not free labor to his parents. He's never had a real job, and with his mounting list of mental disorders, he probably never will.

Sure enough, about fifteen minutes later, his mother opens the door, looking him over. Tweek pretends to be asleep, nestled close to Craig, wondering if it'll bother her. Neither of his parents are homophobic, as far as he knows, but they've never actually discussed it openly. Tweek has never liked a girl before, and doesn't think he ever will, but it seems to be the least of his issues.

After a beat of silent scrutiny, the door slips shut, and Tweek is relieved she didn't press him to open. He doesn't mind working, but he'd much rather spend time with Craig while he's around.

“You still awake?” Craig asks quietly, but it's enough to send Tweek jolting out of his skin. Craig looks at him sleepily, a frown on his face. “Sun's up.”

“I don't really, uh. Sleep? I'll pass out for like an hour later, it's cool. Did I wake you up?” Tweek says hurriedly, rolling so he's facing Craig.

“No.” Craig yawns, tightening his grip on Tweek's side and yanking him closer. “'S still early as fuck. Try to sleep again.”

“I should probably get up. Open the shop, let you sleep,” Tweek mutters. Craig makes a disapproving noise.

“What you should do is sleep, you jittery brat. Just for a while.”

Tweek isn't sure that's true, seeing as how he's been trying to sleep this entire time, but he also really doesn't want to get up and leave Craig alone, so he decides it's worth a shot. He timidly presses his face to Craig's chest, breathing him in, and it's all the permission he needs to move closer when Craig tugs him forward gently.

“Clingy,” Craig says.

“Shut the fuck up and let me sleep,” Tweek replies, and Craig snorts in delight.

***

Tweek manages to doze off until it's Craig gently waking him by getting out of bed. Tweek looks up at him half-asleep and surprised he feels groggy at all, like he could sleep longer if he tried. Craig looks much more alert, like he's been awake a while. His eyes soften as he looks down at Tweek.

“Sorry. I gotta go to the bathroom so bad. I've just been holding it since you were snoring so soundly.”

“I don't snore,” Tweek says, but he isn't sure.

“You can sleep longer if you want. I was thinking I'd shower before we go meet Clyde,” Craig says, and Tweek shakes his head, but makes no effort to get up. He inches towards the side of the bed Craig vacated, burying his face in Craig's pillow.

“'S colder without you,” Tweek murmurs, already falling back asleep, but he hums softly at Craig's hand petting through his hair.

About an hour later, they're entering a diner where Clyde is waiting for them, and beside him is—

“Token?” Tweek asks, and he jumps when Craig is hurriedly leaving his side and all but jumping in the booth into Token's arms.

“Hey, guys,” Token says warmly, laughing as Craig's long limbs wrap around him. “It's surreal to see you two attached at the hip again. Takes me back to elementary school.”

“They're obsessed with each other,” Clyde inputs, and Tweek feels himself blushing as he scoots into his booth, his eyes on the table.

“Shut up, Clyde,” Craig says. “I'm having a moment with our sexy friend, here.”

“Bitch, you haven't hugged me yet,” Clyde says, poking Craig in the side, and Craig stretches forward to drape himself in both Clyde and Token's laps, his shoes poking out into the walkway.

“How have you been, Tweek?” Token asks.

“Um, good? I mean, good! I've been...good,” Tweek says. He's feeling almost drugged from being woken from such a deep sleep, and seeing Token caught him off guard. Tweek doesn't remember feeling strongly about many people in his life, but he's always admired and respected Token, and now that he's looking back, he thinks Token might have been one of his first and only crushes.

“Good,” Token says back with a smile, and Tweek glances at him before looking back at the table.

“What's with you? Higher than usual today, Tweek?” Clyde asks, and Tweek glares at him.

“I don't know,” Tweek shoots back, “balder than usual today, Clyde?”

Clyde gapes at him while Craig cackles and Token puts a hand over his mouth to hide his smile.

“Fuck you, man!” Clyde huffs.

“Well, fuck you back, then.”

“See, that's how Tweek operates,” Craig says as he shimmies himself out of the other booth before joining Tweek in theirs. “He makes you think he's this shy, cute little thing, and then he goes for the eyes.”

“It's just that I'm not high! That's mean!” Tweek defends.

“I have cancer. You're mean!” Clyde counters.

“We're all mean,” Craig says with a shrug.

“Speak for yourselves.” Token chuckles, looking at his menu, and Tweek does the same, avoiding Clyde's pout, though he's sure Craig is making faces at Clyde across the table.

When the waitress arrives, Tweek immediately orders coffee, and everyone else orders breakfast, but Tweek still hasn't decided on what he wants, or if he's even hungry. Craig frowns at him while Tweek sips his coffee, and Clyde snorts.

“You better eat something, Tweek, or your boyfriend might have a heart attack.”

“Fuck off, Clyde,” Craig says flippantly, still looking at Tweek. “Are there not any vegetarian options here? We can go somewhere else.”

Tweek looks at Craig, surprised and touched by his thoughtfulness.

“No, it's fine! I can have eggs. I just haven't decided if I'm super hungry yet. I'm still half-asleep.”

“How can you have eggs if you're a vegetarian?” Clyde asks.

“I'm an ovo-lacto vegetarian.”

“A what?”

“I got a huge veggie omelet if you want some of mine,” Token offers. “I'm not super hungry either, but as long as I don't have to fight you for the bacon, I'll share.”

Tweek laughs fondly, feeling accepted, as he always has with them. Even snooty Clyde doesn't mind his presence as much as he pretends to. He's like that with all of them. Tweek used to think he was being bullied until he realized he's always given back just as good as he's gotten, and he's always appreciated being included by them, especially while rumors about him and the things wrong with him circulated around their town.

“Thanks,” Tweek says softly.

“Well, I got french toast, and you can't have any of it,” Clyde says with a smile, and Tweek laughs again.

“Yeah, I know your addiction to sugar, Clyde. I won't ask you for your vice.”

When the food arrives, surprisingly, Clyde is shoving a fork in Tweek's face, instructing him to try it, and Tweek does, missing the delighted look Craig is giving them. They all end up sharing with Tweek, who has to ask the waitress for an extra plate to avoid being fed from each of their forks.

“So, how'd Clyde sweet talk you into coming back, Token?” Craig asks as he pushes his pancakes towards Tweek, who is already pretty full.

“I was planning on coming soon anyway. Clyde's been threatening to blackmail me if I didn't come back to see him during his treatments. Then you guys said Tweek was back, and I was intrigued.”

“What blackmail could Clyde possibly have on you?” Craig asks with a snort.

“I have dirt on all of you except Tweek,” Clyde says. “It's only a matter of time before I find out some stuff on him.”

“I don't have any stuff,” Tweek says.

“That's what someone who has stuff says,” Clyde counters.

“So anyway, I missed you guys,” Token says. “Especially you, Tweek, what have you been up to?”

Tweek blushes again. He doesn't have any lingering feelings from his long ago crush on Token, but he does still ogle at how genuine and warm Token is. Weird things have always happened in South Park, and all of them are a little desensitized, but Token has always given off non-judgmental vibes, and Tweek has always admired him for it.

“Oh, uh. Moving back has been weird. But like, a good weird? Everyone changed so much. Even Cartman gave me a weird one-armed hug thing. I kind of shoved him off, but it just made him laugh. I think when we were kids he would have punched me for shoving him.”

Token makes a face. “Don't hang out with Cartman, Tweek.”

“That's what I said,” Craig agrees.

“I'm not! I work for the public, guys, I can't control who I sell coffee to.”

“Why not? Your parents own the store. Just hang up a sign banning Stan and his band of pricks,” Craig says.

“I don't have any hard feelings towards any of them. Sometimes they made growing up here fun.” Tweek shrugs when they looks at him incredulously. “They reminded me sometimes that even with all the bizarre stuff going on that I was just a kid. Their schemes were distracting. Plus, they hunted underpants gnomes with me when even you guys wouldn't listen. Cartman pretended to beat one up with a stick while Kyle made gnome voices at him. It was fun.”

“That does sound fun,” Token says while Craig and Clyde make sour expressions at each other.

Tweek orders more coffee and physically fights away Craig's fork when Craig tries to get him to eat more.

“Anything cool on the agenda today?” Clyde asks.

“Cool? In South Park?” Craig asks.

“Fuck you, I mean because we're all back together.”

“We should get drunk,” Craig says.

“Tweek can't drink,” Clyde reminds him, and Craig looks mildly guilty about it before Tweek laughs.

“I don't want to drink anyway. You guys can. I'll make sure we all get back safely.”

“It's been a while since we partied together,” Token says, and Tweek's heart clenches. He missed all the partying with them, off somewhere else while they all grew up. Tweek doesn't think he would have partied anyway, but being around them would have made up for his sobriety.

“We could get some weed,” Craig says. “You can have that. You ever smoked, Tweek?”

“No.”

“I have a prescription, actually,” Clyde says, laughing to himself at the thought. “It's crazy, we used to have to buy from McCormick behind the school, and now doctors just give it to me because chemo sucks.”

“I better make sure I don't have to work tonight before we make all these plans,” Tweek says, not knowing what to say to Clyde. He knows Clyde doesn't want pity, even if Clyde acts like a baby a lot. This is serious, and none of them say anything, but Token does put a friendly hand on Clyde's shoulder.

“Even if you do work, the shop closes at ten. So we can still hang after,” Clyde tells Tweek.  

“You work all day, every day,” Craig adds. “You should be able to have a full day for your friends.”

Tweek feels a warmth spread through him at the reminder that they're his friends. He's never been good at talking to people or relating to them. South Park is a small town, and in a lot of ways, they all hate South Park for that reason. But at the same time, they've forged unbreakable bonds for that very reason, growing up together in such a small place.

“I'll talk to them and see,” Tweek says softly.

They make plans to meet up later when Craig drops Tweek off back at the shop. Tweek watches them drive off, immediately wanting to be back in the warm car, shooting the shit with them. Instead, he turns around and trudges into the heat of the coffee shop, where his dad is leaning on the counter.

“Well, there he is,” Tweek's dad says. “Your mother and I didn't know where you scampered off to.”

“Craig's in town. I thought— I thought Mom would tell you.”

“Ah, young Craig Tucker,” his dad says in that way that makes Tweek wonder if he's practicing to be a radio show host, like a detached voice-over. “I hope you didn't bring home anymore pets.”

“I didn't.” Tweek goes to put on an apron, but he pauses when he notices his mother appear from the back room. She never works in the shop anymore, and it makes his teeth clench in a way he doesn't understand to see her here.

“We were busy this morning,” she tells him. The underlying message is “where were you, you bad child, making your parents work so hard all alone.”

Tweek swipes a card and logs into the register, counting the amount of sales they did. It's not much at all. Not even enough to qualify as steady, let alone busy.

“Seems like you managed,” he murmurs.

“I just wish we'd have a notice when Craig is and isn't going to be here. We could plan the schedule accordingly,” his dad says.  

“You don't make schedules. We just work around each other, which usually means I'm the one opening and closing,” Tweek says. His parents stare at him, and he feels himself flushing under their gaze. “I just— I'm sorry. I'm not trying to be problematic or anything, I just really missed my friends, okay? And Token is back in town too, it's not just Craig. And Clyde is going through chemo. Is it so bad I want to hang out with them for a bit?”

“Of course not, Tweek,” his mom says, walking to him and smoothing his hair down. “We'd just like for you to let us know what you're up to. We worry about you.”

“Well, don't,” Tweek says stubbornly, then he smiles when his mom gives him a look. “I get what you're saying. Is it okay if I go out tonight after closing the shop?”

“Again?”

Tweek bites at his lip. They're chapped, he notes. He should get some balm later, lest his friends think it furthers their suspicions that he can't take care of himself.

“Yes. Again.”

“Would you be home in time to open up tomorrow?” his dad asks.

“I think so,” Tweek says nervously, not sure what he's so nervous about.

“Don't stay out all night, darling,” his mom says as she makes her way to the door. “Your medications cause drowsiness.”

“My medications don't work, Mom,” he reminds her, but she doesn't listen to him.

As soon as Tweek finds himself alone behind the register, he's gripping the counter and breathing hard. What's this even about? Why is he like this? He didn't do anything wrong, right? So why does he feel like he's in trouble for something?

“Shit, fuck, f-fuck,” he mutters, trying some breathing exercises. He jumps in alarm when his phone vibrates in his pocket. It's Craig, of course.

So are we down for tonight? Just got Clyde's prescription filled

Tweek takes a deep breath before responding.

Yeah we're good.

He pauses before adding.

I think I just got guilt tripped but I'm not sure.

Guilt tripped? Craig sends instantly.

Yeah like they said they were busy as shit but weren't and kind of just acted like I never do anything to help them even though I'm closing tonight and apparently opening tomorrow morning so.

Tweek sends it before he can think better of it. Then he backtracks, immediately feeling guilty.

It's just unusual for them. Most of the time they act like I'm not around so having their attention at all is kind of surreal.

When Craig doesn't reply for a few minutes, Tweek thinks he fucked up. He unloaded too much on Craig, who is probably reading this all to Token and Clyde, and they're laughing at how an adult man is scared of his parents. Is scared the right word? Is he scared of them? They don't hurt him. Shit. He doesn't know. He never knows how he feels.

His phone vibrates.

I don't like your parents. They do a lot to make you feel like an invalid and it's bullshit.

Tweek shakes his head because that's not true. His parents just know he can't fit into normal society and they've made a safe haven for him. There are reasons for all their rules.

They mean well. Anyway I'll be done around 10.

The bell dings, signaling a customer, and he puts his phone away, getting to work and ignoring the things Craig said. It's not the first time he's heard it. One of his psychiatrists in the past said the same thing, and Tweek wondered if his parents liked him better for being mentally ill, for thinking they had to take care of him and getting recognition from the town for doing so.

But that was a long time ago. If anything, he's proven to them repeatedly that he can't live alone, and another job outside of this place wouldn't cater to his schedule so well. Where else would he be able to shirk off responsibilities and hang out with his friends all morning? It's a miracle he's taking care of himself and Espresso so well. Maybe keeping the guinea pig alive is all the victory he can expect, and that's okay. If they recognize his progress, even if it's just that much, it'll be encouragement enough.

He knows by now to accept what comes, as it's as good as he's going to get.

[soft-sarcasm]

DO KYUNGSOO: COOPERATIVE NEGOTIATIONS.

Pairing: do kyungsoo x reader. Genre: fluff, that's it, that's the tweet. Word count: 1k+ a/n: what is this you ask? i don't; know either.  i didn't even intend to write this and then all of a sudden it was coming out instead of history extract summaries and now here we are. please ignore the repetitiveness of all my drabbles content but also know that it most likely isn't going to stop here. (maybe 2020 will be the year insomnia isn't included in every drabble I write but probably not.)

For a recovering, self-diagnosed caffeine addict, two cups of coffee before 8 am seemed pretty reasonable. Especially considering the fact that you were going on your fourth hour of forced consciousness despite there being no actual reason as to why you should have been awake for that long. You were already in your antsy productiveness being at an 11a high seeing as four hours into the morning was usually when you were in the depths of your studies. But as you were currently in a personal time-zone that was 4 hours ahead of your present one you were left to nurse your most likely unneeded second double-shot Americano in your eerily silent apartment.

Had it been any other day you would have already been blaring the hits of this month's playlist. The sweet sounds of old-school Coldplay or your newest musical discovery in the form of Isaac Dunbar would have long been soundtracking your morning routine. However, you were not the only occupant of your apartment this crisp Thursday morning which resulted in your current state of cautious, conscious silence. Even though the other inhabitant was still snuggled into the warmth of your bed in the other room you still kept your rustling to a minimum. You had even turned to leafing through the opening chapters of Pride and Prejudice to eliminate the potential noise that scrolling through social media may incur. You were halfway through Elizabeth and Darcy's first meeting when a shrouded figure appeared in the doorway that connected your bedroom and living room.

Even after two years of dating Kyungsoo, his presence in your actual apartment still startled you. Despite the fact that he had been here countless times, the sheer amount of time that he wasn't triumphed and caused his physical presence to still feel unnatural, okay perhaps not unnatural but definitely not common.

"Did I oversleep?" He questioned through sleep-thick vocal cords as he rubbed his eyes before placing his glasses onto their habitual spot on the bridge of his nose so he no longer had to squint.

You shook your head, carefully closing the book but remaining in your spot curled into the couch, "Nope, I woke up early."

Kyungsoo simply hummed, shuffling over to flop down onto the sofa next to you, making grabby hands at you until you moved into his hold, "How early is early?"

"Ummm," You trailed off, far more fascinating with just how warm he was, "4ish I think?"

"So three hours after I got back?" He chuckled and the sound rumbled through his chest and into your being.

"Something like that," You offered even though you knew it was exactly that. "Which is why you should still be asleep mister, you only got like 6 hours."

He simply scoffed at your demand at used the hand attached to the arm he had wrapped around you to pinch your forearm, "Says the girl who got half that."

"Yeah well I don't have a jam backed actor's schedule to worry about," You countered, pinching him back in retaliation, "And I know you haven't gotten much sleep the last few nights with all these nights shoots."

These night shoots were actually the only reason as to why Kyungsoo was actually able to be in your apartment as it turned out his newest drama's shooting sight happened to be in the neighbourhood just next to yours. Last night was there final shoot and he had managed to get off early to make coming to your apartment worth it. The two hours you had managed to spend together before he had eventually not been able to stave off the over-worked induced exhaustion had most definitely been worth it but even the soothe of Kyungsoo finally being in the bed next to had done little to stop your brain from growing restless in the early hours of the morning.

"No you don't, instead you have three assignments due and a weekend job that steals your will to live every time you do it; totally not comparable in strain." He snarked with a heavy weight of sarcasm that made an unpleasant sense of something you could only describe as guilt settles in and you snuggled further into him to counteract it.

"It doesn't steal my will to live," You mumbled noncommittally, "It's just tiring."

"Which is why you should take care of yourself more," Kyungsoo returned, "You're going to run yourself dry one of these days."

"I know, I know, " You conceded, "It's usually not like this, or at least, not always."

"Was," He started before taking a pause to assumably weigh his statement, "Was it me? Did me being here keep you up?"

You instantly shook your head because really it wasn't Kyungsoo, it was just something out of your control, "No, no, of course not. You know how it is sometimes."

"Yeah, of course," He dismissed offhandedly but you could still pick out the weight of culpability on his tone, "But I can't help but think that you had a bad night after a week of good ones on the night I just happen to be here."

"You think too much of yourself Kyungsoo," You jested, poking his chest in an attempt to poke away any sort of guilt, "To think that you could do a better job at what my insomnia has been doing since I was 12, look who's gotten themselves an inflated ego."

"You're so kind to me and my inflated ego," He crooned, pressing his lips to the crown of your head, "But seriously, at least try to take care of yourself. I worry."

"I will if you will?" You challenged.

He let out another effortlessly beautiful laugh at your stubbornness, "Okay then, how about we both promise to start taking care of each other as much as the other person takes care of themselves?"

There was a flash of childish competitiveness through you and you grinned, "You've got yourself a deal."

[cynicallystiles]

Odds

Disclaimer: Gif originally posted by me.

Author: @cynicallystiles

Request: Anonymous:  The reader is a new up and coming actress and runs into Melissa in NYC getting coffee and reader doesn't know who Melissa is but then Mel or reader get coffee on the other and they stay and talk to each other and hit it off from there just really fluffy and gay lol

Warning: Lgbt content, two swear words and fluff!

Notes: I hope this at least partly resembles what you had in mind! Enjoy! Please, comment/reblog if you like it! 

Pairing: Melissa Benoist x Reader

Masterlist

Part 2

Words: 1,185

Melissa made her way down the busy streets of good 'ole NYC toward her favorite coffee shop. She stopped here and there for fans that wanted pictures or to ask about her day. A walk that should've been five minutes had stretched into fifteen. She pushed through the glass door as she heard the familiar bell chime, signaling that a customer had walked through the door.

Taking a glance around, she saw that it wasn't as busy as it usually was around this time. She smiled, grateful that she'd get a chance to catch her breath and feed her caffeine addiction. As she strode up to the ordering counter, there was only one person in line. All Melissa could see was the back of the young woman, but something struck her as familiar.

She waited patiently as the woman placed her order and turned around to walk towards the pick-up counter. Mel's eyes widened a bit as she saw why this woman was familiar. It was y/n y/l/n. She was relatively new on the acting scene, but that didn't stop her from making waves with her debut movie.

It was a classic coming-of-age story about a young woman who takes a gap year to travel before going back to her small-town college. The twist in the story is that the main character was secretly gay, and no one in her town knew. So, when she travels the world she finds herself in an unlikely romance with another young woman who came from different circumstances. They end up traveling together and it was just a really important and amazing movie.

Truth be told, Melissa almost auditioned for one of the main females. But, her Supergirl schedule couldn't allow for any leeway. "Y/n! Hey, how's it going?" Melissa began to make friendly small talk as most celebrities do when they run into people they haven't really met but know of.

"I'm sorry," y/n quirks her eyebrows apologetically. "Do I know you?"

Was she serious? Who didn't know of Melissa Benoist? Especially, a fellow actress. She had been in a handful of amazing movies, not to mention her notorious television roles.

"Well, no. Not personally," Mel smiles goofily. "But, I watched your movie! It was so inspiring and beautiful. I went to, like, multiple screenings," she chatters happily.

The woman gauges her cautiously. "Well, thanks! It's so nice to meet the fans that make it all worth it," she says sincerely. Then her name is called out. "Excuse me, that's my caffeine over there," she chuckles before going to pay for her order.

Melissa stared bewilderedly as she walked away, still not showing any recognition. In a moment, she has followed y/n to the pick-up counter. "Excuse me, do you really not-" she began to question at the same time y/n turned around.

But, Melissa had stepped too close in her quest to understand why she was not being noticed as usual, and y/n spun right around into her. "Oh, my gosh!" she exclaims as her coffee drenches the front of Melissa's jacket.

They both froze in place, shocked by the turn of events. Y/n was the first to move. "Oh, my god! I'm so so sorry..." she continues to say as she grabbed several handfuls of napkins from the counter and began to pat Mel down.

"No, it's fine. It was my fault," Melissa trails off as y/n focuses on blotting the hot coffee from her jacket, not realizing that she had begun to blot around her chest area.

She froze, realizing what she had done. "Fuck, I'm so sorry," she repeated as she retracted her hands and handed the napkins to Mel to blot herself there. Mel giggles at the curse word that came out of her mouth.

"Really, it's okay. Like I said it was my fault," she smiles as she flips her hair out of her face to look into the eyes of y/n. They were so bright, they seemed to be charged with electricity. Both women stop and gaze at each other for a moment, seemingly just realizing how beautiful the other was.

Y/n blinked as if she were trying to shake herself out of a trance. "I will pay for that dry cleaning bill," she chuckles. Mel grins and it is so otherworldly, as bright as the billions of stars.

"Please, it's alright. But, I will be paying for your coffee since that was my fault," she chuckles. Then, she remembers why she had come over in the first place. "Do you not recognize me?" She says quietly.

Y/n's brows furrow as she searches Mel's eyes. "Shit, should I? God, I'm terrible with names and faces," she admits with a deep breath.

"Oh, no. It's just that most people do," Mel answers curiously. "I'm Melissa. I play Supergirl on The CW?" She says as she sticks out her hand between them.

Y/n takes it and squeezes gently. "Oh, my gosh! I've heard rave reviews about that show! I haven't had a chance to watch any of it on account of my busy schedule. And before that I was busy with my courses at the university," she explains before trailing off.

"Oh!" Melissa grins broadly before letting out a giggle. "I feel like such an idiot. I got all weird about you not recognizing me and that's why I'm wearing your coffee."

She watches as y/n licks her lip quickly. Her tongue gone as quick as it had appeared. Mel took a deep inhale and realized that they were still holding hands, no longer shaking. She clears her throat before gently retracting her hand and y/n does the same.

The corner of y/n's mouth quirks up into a lopsided smile as she glances at Mel's lips. "Well how about instead of you paying for my coffee, you just take me out to dinner?" She offers boldly.

Mel can't help but grin goofily as she nods her head profusely. "Yeah. Uh, um, yes. That..." she stops and takes a deep breath before continuing. "I like the sound of that."

"Awesome," she grins back at her. Then, she takes a napkin and scribbles something down before handing it to Melissa. She takes it and glances at it. "My number. So you can let me know when and where our date is," she smirks.

Mel stuffs it in her pocket, carefully not to smudge it on the coffee drenched fabric. "I will get on that immediately. I mean, don't want to waste any time we have in New York," she says softly.

"Yeah," y/n smiles at her. "But, what are the odds that two actresses who film in different countries would run into each other in a little coffee shop in big 'ole NYC?" She poses the question.

Without missing a beat, Mel says, "Like slim to none. But, I'm betting if one of us got away..." she bites her lip before continuing, "odds are we'd be able to find each other again."

[jenlmanfre]

R-R-Retail Therapy - Part 2: Morning Edition

A silver lining (or fleck) from the past year of everyone-at-home-all-the-time has been a better morning routine. By better, I mean more time because I don’t have to do school drop-off or commute to work. I know that many folks have used this time to get a better sleep practice, but I’m an early riser, with or without the commute - so I just literally have more time to do stuff. So my morning routine is now a bit more comfortable and relaxed. Or I just pack more stuff in. Depends on the mood.

So here are some morning products for review:

Washable Face Pads

Performance: ⭐⭐⭐

Ease:⭐⭐⭐

Impact: ⭐⭐⭐

Fun Factor: ⭐

Here’s another “just do it already” product. They work great for makeup removal and washing - close your eyes and you're getting a facial at the spa. I don’t use them for toner because YOU CAN JUST USE YOUR HANDS!!! I just learned this. I’m slow. The washable face pads are easy to wash. They came in a little mesh bag, but I just throw them in with the whites and apparently the socks are not recruiting for their escape plans these days. Again - just do it. Cotton balls and wipes are just not needed. There’s the obvious waste, packaging and transport issues - but also some horrific pesticide and we should be more aware of where the cotton comes from and what the labor conditions are. As for fun… they are cute when you get them and look great as part of an IG-worth self care gift for your bestie, but they are mostly a utility item. Just get some and ditch the cotton balls/pads now.

Xero Shoes

Performance: ⭐⭐⭐

Ease:⭐⭐

Impact: ⭐

Fun Factor: ⭐

My morning walk is a must. I try to put in at least four miles every morning. That is a time commitment. Everyday I wish that I could run those miles instead to get some time back, but every time I try, my body reminds me that the scar tissue and weird alignment that compensated for the fact that I ran on a severed ACL for years came at a price. So, I log miles and I need decent shoes. Don’t call them clown shoes, okay? Yes, they look a bit funny because you are used to seeing a more tapered look at the toe. But guess what? My toes can MOVE! I went to Xero Shoes after hearing an interview with Dr. Irene Davis on The Drive with Peter Attia and their discussion on minimalist shoes. I had been a staunch believer in lots of support in my exercise shoes (we are not discussing my heels - don’t start), but became curious after listening and did some research. I decided to try Zeros because of the combination of physiology research and what the founders call Environmentally Intelligent. I’m happy with the performance. They are holding up perfectly after six months and after about three weeks, my feet adjusted and non-scientifically I have fewer aches in my right foot. The knee is still an issue. Easy peasy - good customer service and a nice online shopping experience. Takes a bit to get used to because of the physiology as noted above.

Two major issues on impact: 1. performance shoes use resources that are energy intense and not very earth-friendly. Xero’s claims of Environmental Intelligence are keyed to this because they are aware that the products are what they are. They point out that there is definitely less of these materials used because there’s no midsole and the soles are guaranteed for 5,000 miles (which is about 10x longer than what I used to do in my Nikes). So there’s a Reduce prospect there. Also, as pointed out in the FAQ, although kinda buried in a list of product questions and NOT included in their EI discussion, the shoes are manufactured in China. Obviously some concerns there but also noted by the company - that is the current state of the manufacturing chain. I had to verify, but even TOMS shoes are made in China.

Fun is a very personal thing when it comes to shoes. My shoe fun usually involves Michael Kors. Xeros aren’t your typical sport shoe and if you are trying to get some luv for your ‘fit, this probably isn’t the shoe for you. Apparently they are better known in the serious hiking crowd (they do make hiking shoes) because I’ve gotten queries from random strangers about where I usually summit or if I’ve heard anything about PCT maintenance issues during COVID. Me: blank stare.

NOT Nespresso Re-useable Capsule

Performance: -⭐(note the negative sign)

Ease:⭐⭐

Impact: - ⭐ (again with the negative sign)

Fun Factor: NONE

Ugh. Saved the worst for last on this post because it is soooooo painful and unresolved. Yes, I love coffee. Specifically, I love my Nespresso VertuoPlus coffee. I hate using a single-use capsule even though I send them back to Nespresso and they apparently recycle them into not-so-great veggie peelers. I have one - it’s pretty rough looking. I really want my Nespresso to be a more sustainable activity. Yes, there are lots of options for coffee making and I do use them. I have a French press, I have a Moka pot (actually I have three). Please, please, please Nespresso and Nestle - fix this so that I can enjoy my favorite coffee-making experience again. But they don’t have one. My daughter got me one for Christmas from Recafimil and I am here to say - don’t do it. These are the kinds of products that turn people off from sustainable choices. Granted, after reading the reviews and posts on caffeine-addicts Reddits, it’s obvious most people purchase these capsules to save money first (less waste coming in a distant second). I’ll need to address the conflict of saving money vs. saving everything else in another post later. Regardless, this is not a comparable performance - coffee was WEAK. I tried all of the suggestions - loose pack, tight pack, multiple sizes of grind… nothing worked. Still dishwater in a cup. The last time I tried it, the machine started making a really weird sound while trying to spin the capsule and I had to unplug the machine. I gave up and now I have a crappy stainless steel capsule that I can’t even give to Goodwill. Also, I cannot prove that it was related, but about a month later my machine started leaking and luckily Nespresso repaired it even though it was out of warranty. So discouraging.

[awkwardnessandbaseball]

CS 12 Days of Christmas

I wrote a little drabble for the Captain Swan 12 Days of Christmas challenge by @secretlessvicki :) Hopefully I can keep up with most of the challenges as the days come!

AO3

Emma Swan was a busy, busy woman. She had perps to catch, arrests to make, and overwhelming parents to please. Christmas multiplied her stress tenfold, and she felt like she was being stretched far too thin in every direction.

She was in a rush, stopping just long enough to get her caffeine fix at the coffee shop on the corner on her way to work. During the slower months, her morning coffee run was her escape. She had ten minutes to wait in line, order, and wait for her drink to be made. Ten blissful minutes to think of things besides the case she couldn’t close, the suspect that wouldn’t confess, the parents she had gone two and a half decades without before they’d somehow found her.

Twenty-five Christmases alone – even when she’d been in foster homes and group homes, she’d always been alone – and suddenly these two charming, loving, caring couple had stumbled into her life, claiming they’d been searching for her since they’d turned eighteen, two years after she’d been born.

So now, there were no more Christmases alone. Now, she had to work double-time during the week before Christmas so that she could go do cheesy, horrible, Hallmark Channel style holiday activities with her parents.

Which meant that on December 23rd, she didn’t get to think of nothing while she waited for her coffee. Instead, she had to have one conversation on the phone while simultaneously having another via text, while also looking up information on the case she was working.

“Half coffee, half hot chocolate,” she told the barista without looking up from her phone. She hated customers like herself – had dealt with them in all of her years working minimum wage behind a counter very similar to this one – but she had exactly nine hours to finish roughly fifteen hours worth of work, and she still needed to cook something for Christmas dinner— “Actually, might need a full coffee today. Extra cream and sugar, if you could.”

“Switching it up for once, love?”

“No choice, I--,” Emma finally looked up to see the face behind the lilting accent and was struck by very blue eyes staring right into her. She felt some of the tension she’d been carrying in her shoulders dissipate, as though he were the answer to a question she hadn’t known she’d been asking.

“How about one of each then? Hot chocolate’s on me. Happy holidays.” He grinned at her, and she felt a smile creeping up in return.

“That would be wonderful. Just a--,”

“Pinch of cinnamon. I take the order every morning, love, I’ve got it down pat.”

“Oh um…thanks.” How had she never noticed that her barista was so hot? Especially since he had apparently been her barista for so long that he knew her order by heart?

She waited at the other end of the counter, briefly disappointed that she hadn’t had time to try and chat more with the incredibly good-looking English barista. She quickly returned to her phone call, blue eyes nearly forgotten.

The following morning, she’d been planning on skipping her daily coffee run. She’d probably get her sugar fix from her mother’s baking later that evening anyway. Mary Margaret was trying to make up for lost time, it seemed, by cramming every single type of remotely Christmas-y cookie and cake and brownie into every single Christmas Emma spent with her and David. It was, if Emma were honest with herself, amazing.

Still, she found herself at the shop on the corner, yanking the door open—

Only to find it locked.

Emma was a bit surprised by how disappointed she was. It had been a last-minute decision to get coffee, so why were her shoulders drooping at the thought of going without it? She was just about to turn around and head back to her apartment to make herself a cup from her crappy coffee maker, when she heard jingling coming towards her at a very fast pace.

“Sorry, love, I was running a bit late today. I didn’t think I’d have any customers today, especially not this early. Should have known you’d need your fix.”

The incredibly hot barista was talking more quickly than Emma could comprehend his words – likely due to the lack of caffeine in her system – and suddenly there were keys in the door – that was the jingling she’d heard then – and he was standing in the doorway, inviting her inside.

“Half and half, or one of each again?”

Emma still hadn’t caught up to the conversation, to the fact that a barista had keys to the coffee shop, to the fact that said barista had come running when he’d seen her at the door.

“How about a latte? You seem like you could use a bit of espresso this morning. The holidays working you extra hard?”

Finally, Emma’s brain and vocal cords and mouth all caught up to her at once.

“Yep.”

Such a conversationalist.

“Latte then?” The barista – she really needed to find out his name – smirked at her, one eyebrow raised.

“Sure, why not.”

He was silent while he flicked on lights and turned on machines, getting ready for the day

“Isn’t anyone else working today?” Emma asked suddenly.

“Nah, I always give my staff the holidays off. As I said, I don’t expect many customers today, so I can handle it.”

“Your staff?”

“Indeed.” He held up his keys again. “Killian Jones, the one and only owner of the fine establishment you find yourself in.”

“You own the Jolly Roger?”

“Indeed.”

“But you’re…a barista.”

“I work the register and make the drinks when I’m needed, yes,” he blushed a bit and Emma couldn’t figure out why. She just knew she was veryglad that no other caffeine addicts had walked through the door quite yet.

“Don’t you have somewhere to be for the holidays?” She regretted the question as soon as it was out of her mouth. She’d been asked the same thing for her entire life, never getting used to the looks of pity that came in response to her constant answer in the negative.

“No, can’t say that I do.”

“You should come to dinner with me.” Oh God, Emma really needed her caffeine. She couldn’t just go around inviting random strangers to dinner with her and her folks. Even if they were particularly good-looking strangers with piercing blue eyes who had memorized her coffee order.

“I should?”

“No one should be alone on Christmas.”

He smiled a bit, but then he was running the machine that made the milk foam and he couldn’t talk and Emma felt so horribly silly, and maybe a little crazy, for inviting him to dinner with her on Christmas of all days—

“Sure, I’ll come.”

“Wait seriously? I’m a total stranger. I could be inviting you to something…creepy or horrifying.”

“Something tells me, love, that you’re just inviting me to a regular Christmas dinner.”

“Well, my parents are hosting it. So, that’s vaguely terrifying, isn’t it?”

“Nah. Anyone who raised someone like the hard-working woman who comes in here six days a week, orders the same thing, and always tips generously – even when her order is wrong – can’t be all that bad.”

“They didn’t raise me, actually.”

Killian raised an eyebrow, and hummed in response, but didn’t question her meaning.

“All the same, they must have had something to do with who you are. And, I must confess, I’ve been dying to know more about you since the first time you walked in.”

“You have?”

He came around the counter and handed her the latte – in a mug instead of a to-go cup.

“Sure. I hoped you’d be the type for a foamy drink so I could impress you with my artistic skill, but alas, always that coffee/hot chocolate hybrid.”

“Until today,” Emma knew she should look at whatever design he’d made in her foam, was sure she would be thoroughly impressed by whatever it was, but she was determined to hold his gaze just a bit longer.

“Until today,” he echoed, stepping into her space just a bit.

She finally looked down.

“Is that mistletoe?”

“Indeed.”

“I am impressed.” She looked back up at him to find that one eyebrow raised, and that damn smirk plastered on his face.

“I’d hoped you would be,” he bit his lip.

Emma rolled her eyes, fully intending to shut him down and possibly find a new coffee place. But then she thought about how quickly her tension had eased when he’d smiled at her the day before, how he’d sensed her stress and had given her a free drink, how he’d come running when he’d seen her disappointment at finding the doors locked.

“Merry Christmas, Killian Jones.” And she kissed him. He was surprised for a moment, but then responded eagerly. He took the mug from her hands, placed it on the counter beside them, and pulled himself flush against her.

They pulled apart suddenly when a gust of cold air blew through the open door as a customer walked in, looking as shocked as they felt.

Emma felt the tips of her ears turn red, but Killian simply smiled.

“Welcome to the Jolly Roger. What can I get you, mate?”

Emma quickly wrote her number down on a napkin and slid it into Killian’s tip jar while he took the man’s order. Then she slipped quietly out the door, holding onto her Jolly Roger signature mug with both hands.

[winterisakiller]

Love & Great Buildings - Chapter Three

Chapter: 3/19

Character/Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Rosemary Mathews (OFC)

Genre: Romance/Angst

Summary: Three years have passed and a chance encounter brings Tom and Rosie together again. Can time make any difference or are they doomed to repeat their mistakes.

Rating: T (for now)

Author’s Notes/Warnings: This is part nine of Last Minutes and Lost Evenings. Many thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff​ for listening to me ramble incessantly about  this story and being a sounding board when I needed it. You are a lifesaver, even if your stories break my heart.

This story and its preceding one-shots can be also be found on AO3 under the username: winterisakiller (sparkinside)

Tag List: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER THREE

Rosemary took a deep breath as she walked into the crowded bistro. A quick glance at her watch told her she was a good fifteen minutes early. Perfect. She offered the woman standing behind the counter a small smile and hurried to claim the small table near the back of the room she’d noticed upon entering. It offered a modicum of privacy that she felt they would desperately need.

Her head had finally ceased its incessant pounding; thank god for paracetamol and insanely large amounts of water. But she still felt much the worse for wear. Three hours’ sleep is not at all enough.   

The night before had dragged on far longer than she’d hoped it would; not that that should have surprised her in any way. Jules, even completely in her cups, was a force to be reckoned with and she certainly hadn’t held back, hitting Rosemary with question after question. What was Tom doing calling her? How did he have her number? Was she actually serious about meeting up with him? Was this all a reaction to how things had ended with Adam? On and on she went until Rosemary thought she’d go mad. 

Even now, hours later, her head was still spinning. Giving Jules carte blanche had been a very, very bad idea. Her own uncertainty and unease of the growing situation with Tom was in no way helped by Jules’ leading and distinctly pointed questions.

A surprisingly sunny faced waitress approached the table, a stack of menus in her arms. She took one off the top and held it out. “What can I get you?”

Taking the proffered menu, Rosemary ordered a glass of still water and asked for a few moments to look over her options and to wait for a friend who would be joining her. The waitress nodded flitting off in the direction of the kitchens. She returned a few minutes later, placing the glass in front of Rosemary before heading off towards another recently occupied table.

Rosemary rubbed her temples, fearing nerves would bring back her headache with a vengeance. She wondered for the hundredth time if coming here, if agreeing to meet Tom, had been a mistake. His excuses from the previous night had been flimsy at best, though admittedly her memory of them was fuzzy. Copious amounts of wine and serious conversations are not the best of bedfellows. Was letting him back into her life, in any way, actually worth it? She honestly didn’t know. But yet here you are…

She was tempted to simply leave. So sorely tempted. He wasn’t there yet and chances were she could probably get away before he was. Surely it would be the smarter choice to walk away now rather than allowing herself to be slowly pulled back in…But still she hesitated. Was that honestly fair to him? Or to her? She wasn’t the same person she’d been three years ago and at this point she didn’t really know if he was either. Shouldn’t she give him at least the chance to explain? Just to say that she had?

Give him the benefit of the doubt, she reasoned with herself. See what he has to say. You can always walk away later.  

Temporarily bolstered, Rosemary felt herself start to relax. There was no sense in working herself up over something that hadn’t happened yet. She drummed her fingers on the table as she sipped her water and watched as people filtered in and out of the bistro’s doors. 

The bistro did a fairly good lunch run, from what she could see. That was promising. Her eyes wandered over the menu, and had they seemed to have a fairly decent selection. Very nice.  If the food was any good it might be worth a repeat visit. She glanced reflexively at her watch, twelve on the dot. Any minute now. 

But by fifteen after Rosemary’s patience was beginning to run thin. She was acutely aware each time the door opened and grew more and more disgruntled when, each time, it wasn’t Tom. The waitress had been by her table twice more, and the expression she wore grew a little more pitying with each pass. 

Rosemary grimaced. She felt utterly foolish for allowing herself to think that coming here could have ever been a good idea. She glanced at the glass and judged that she had approximately two more sips of water remaining. Fine then. If he hadn’t shown by the time she finished then he could go hang for all she was concerned. She was done. 

She’d pushed it for as long as she could, holding her glass and stubbornly hoping he’d walk through the door. But he didn’t and water finished, she grabbed her coat and left. She felt like an idiot. Why did she even consider coming here let alone waiting for so long? Foolish, foolish woman, she chided herself. You always do this. Why can’t you learn? 

“Rosie?” 

She paused momentarily at the sound of Tom’s voice some several yards behind her before shaking her head and pressing onwards. 

“Rosie! Wait!” 

She could hear him scrambling after her but did not slow her pace. It was childish, she knew, but didn’t care. She’d waited enough. And if he didn’t have the decency to recognize that, then so be it. 

It took everything she had not to jump when his hand landed gently on her shoulder. She hadn’t realized he’d gotten so close and so quickly. Damn that man and his freakishly long legs. 

His touch was firm but not demanding; pleading her to turn and face him but not forcing the matter. “Rosie,” he whispered, “Please. I’m sorry. I completely lost track of time. I’m so sorry. I’m a complete ass and I know I don’t deserve it but please, please don’t walk away.” 

She whirled around, her frustration burning clearly on her features. She saw no need to try to hide it. “Why Tom? Give me a reason why I should be wasting anymore of my time waiting for you?” 

Tom flinched at her words before whispering, “Because I don’t want to make the same mistake twice. I pushed you away once and I’ve regretted it every day since. I just want a chance to make it right.” 

Rosemary stared in stunned disbelief. She shook her head, to clear it, and pushed past Tom. Arrogant son of a... 

He hastily reached out his hand, halting her progress. “Wait, please.” Relief flooded his face when she did. “I know you are angry with me and you have every right to be. And I know that I don’t have a reason that won’t sound like I’m trying to make excuses.” Rosemary narrowed her eyes but remained where she stood, waiting for him to continue. “I got caught up in a meeting with Luke and completely lost track of time. I’m an idiot and I fucked up. I’m sorry. Please just give me a chance to fix this.” 

She sighed in resignation. “You keep saying you’re sorry, Tom, but you keep doing this. You make me promises and then you turn around and break them. You ask me to trust you and go and give me reasons why I shouldn’t.” She paused and shook her head. She hadn’t meant to unload on him, and certainly not in such a public setting. “You keep asking for chances, Tom, and you keep blowing them. And I don’t know if I’m willing to waste another on you. Maybe that’s not fair, but I don’t know if I can keep doing this with you.” 

Tom smiled grimly. “You are absolutely right. And I know it’s not fair to you either. I don’t have any excuse for my behavior. I keep hurting you and I don’t mean to. Please believe that I don’t mean it. All I’m asking is you for you please just give me a half an hour of your time. Let me try to fix this, please.” He held his hands up, desperation clear in his eyes. “Just have a quick meal with me. Or a coffee if you’d prefer. Just give me thirty minutes.” 

This is a bad idea, her mind screamed. Just leave. Don’t let him pull you in again. It’s not worth it. But she stood rooted, watching the pleading look in his eyes. 

With a resigned sigh she spoke. “Thirty minutes, Tom.” 

A small, hopeful smile spread across his face, “Thank you.” 

                                                       —

They sipped their respective coffees in silence. Tom had chosen a table in the corner of the small coffee shop, hiding them away from the bustle of busy Londoner’s feeding their caffeine addictions. Rosemary watched Tom as he watched her but neither spoke. She had expected him to bombard her with reasons and excuses for his actions as soon as they had settled. He’d been so keen to get her to stay and to listen. The fact that he wasn’t talking unnerved her. 

With decision she placed her nearly empty mug onto the lacquered table and folded her hands in her lap. “You said last night you wanted to explain so explain.” 

Tom placed his own mug down and straightened the hem of his sweater before speaking. “Yes.” He quickly picked up how mug, taking another sip of his coffee. “I told you last night that I got called in for unexpected reshoots right after we talked in the shop.” 

Rosemary nodded, fussing with her own sweater. His nervousness, it appeared, was catching. 

“I should have called you straight away,” he began again in earnest.  “Let you know what was happening. But I honestly didn’t think it would take more than a few days. But things happened and before I knew it near a week had passed. The mobile reception was poor at the best of times and when all was said and done and I got home and settled it had been well past what I’d promised you. And I knew I didn’t have a good excuse for not calling. I should have called then but I didn’t.  And the longer I waited the harder it was to justify.” He shrugged helplessly. “I had fucked things up with you enough. But I couldn’t just say nothing so…” 

Rosemary took a deep breath and grabbed her coffee mug from the table, taking a large sip of her rapidly cooling latte. “If you had just called when you got home. Hell even a text. Something. I would have understood. I know I have my moments, but I’m not completely irrational…” 

“I know you’re not, Rosie. I never thought that you were,” he assured, tentatively reaching out a hand to her. She watched him cautiously but did not stop him. Tom took her hand and gently squeezed it in his. “And I should have done something, I know that. But at the time…I wasn’t thinking. I was angry with myself and I just didn’t think. It’s not an excuse but it’s all I have.”   

“And today?” 

She watched him critically. He’d already given her his reasons for their futile lunch meeting; she refused to call it a date no matter that the only person who would know she had was her, but in light of his candor she wondered if that story would change. And if it did what she would do. 

“I really was in a meeting with Luke,” he started. He locked his gaze on hers, blue eyes shining with the need for her to believe him. To listen. And she did so, grudgingly. “Things ran over and instead of calling I just panicked and tried to run here as fast as I could. I saw you leaving and I knew I’d bollocks it up again. I’m an idiot and I am truly sorry.” 

Rosemary didn’t utter a word for several minutes, her gaze darting from Tom to the table and back again. She could hear the pleading sincerity that he’d imbued his words with, but still she could not let herself fully believe them. She had believed them so often in the past and it had never ended well, for either of them. 

Frustration warred with longing. She loved him still, wanted desperately to believe that he meant it when he told her he wanted to be there, to make an effort with her. But yet again his actions spoke of a different and at the same time all too familiar tune. He hurt her in the past and seemed to fall back into that pattern so easily. She couldn’t let herself go through that again. Not now. 

“I hear what you are saying, Tom,” she began, willing herself to remain calm, “But it’s a little bit shit. You say you want to be a part of my life but then you go and pull the same shit you’ve always pulled. I don’t think I want to go through that again. It’s tiring.” She grabbed her purse from the floor beside her chair. “You say that you’re sorry but your actions say something altogether different and right now I cannot deal with that.” 

Without waiting for his response, she walked towards the café’s door and into the weak afternoon sunlight. 

                                                           __

 “Another glass?”

Jules held up the half empty wine bottle at Rosemary, shaking it lightly, her eyebrow raised in amused question. The living room had been overrun with various blankets, take-away bags and bottles of wine. The television was on, the movie playing all but forgotten. 

Rosemary handled her glass over without a moment’s hesitation. “Yes, please.” 

“You know,” Jules pointed out, filling Rosemary’s glass nearly to the brim and handing it back. “We are very much going to regret this come morning,” 

She accepted it with a snort, “Probably. But fuck it.” 

“Fuck it,” Jules echoed with a smirk, draining her own glass. 

Rosemary had shown up at Jules’ front door, two bottles of wine in hand, several hours before seeking a little levity to the mess her afternoon had been. After she’d left the coffee shop, Rosemary had practically ran back to the store, startling Max and subsequently Hanna, who hadn’t expected her back for another forty minutes at least. She hadn’t said much, simply thrown herself into the back office and tried to lose herself in the growing piles of paperwork. And it had worked, for a time, but soon enough her concentration began to falter. She’d snapped at Hanna when she’d popped her head into the office with a customer query. At that point Rosemary knew she needed to leave. She’d apologized profusely to Hanna and made a beeline for the nearest Tesco Metro and its wine selection. 

Jules had taken one look at Rosemary and pulled her inside with opened arms. Wine bottles were opened and food was ordered in quick succession. It had taken several glasses and half a container of shrimp lo mein for Rosemary to relax enough to let the day spill out in relatively coherent, if not stilted, bursts. 

Once started, she found it difficult to stop; her anger and confusion bolstered by the alcohol that flooded her system. Was she really such a doormat that Tom felt he could walk all over her? The idea bristled. He’d all but waltzed back into her life, charming and handsome as ever, and pleaded for a place in it. And the second she’d agreed he disappeared only to come back and plead again. Wash, rinse, repeat. It was pathetic. Why couldn’t she seem to learn? 

Jules had nodded in understanding. Rosemary knew that her friend harbored little affection for Tom, she’d made it perfectly clear. But never once did she say ‘I told you so’ and for that Rosemary was profoundly grateful. 

“Fuck him,” Jules stated in a matter of fact tone as she refilled both of their glasses. 

Her glass raised in salute, Rosemary flashed a sardonic grin on her face. “That was always the problem.” She stifled a giggle as Jules snorted into her wine glass. “What? It’s true. If I hadn’t fucked him I wouldn’t be in this mess in the first place.” 

“But you didn’t know that going in,” Jules indicated with a shake of her head. “Hell, I practically shoved you at him. And for that I am profoundly sorry.” 

With a wave of her hand, Rosemary dismissed Jules’ remark. “I’m pretty sure I threw myself into that one all on my own. But whatever, we could argue it for days and get nowhere.” She took a gulp of wine before continuing, gesturing vaguely. “Besides, it’s not like you didn’t warn me that this would happen.” 

Jules placed her glass onto the coffee table, smiling softly at her friend.  She reached out and rubbed Rosemary’s shoulder in affection. “Has he tried calling again?” 

Rosemary shook her head, “No, thank god. I don’t think that would have ended well at all.” 

“Oh ho now?” Jules quirked an eyebrow and grabbed her glass from the table once more, taking several sips. “Do tell.” 

Bolstering herself with another gulp of wine, Rosemary let out a soft laugh and shook her head. “Because with where my head’s been since this afternoon, I don’t think I have the ability to fake any sort of patience.” 

“Like he deserves anymore of your patience. Just call the bastard and tell him off once and for all.”   

Rosemary shook her head violently. “No. No. No. No very, very bad idea. Anger plus alcohol plus phones equals massively stupid, terrible idea.” She’d seen enough films to know how that scenario would end. And with all that had happened between them…No, best to let that lie. 

Jules didn’t look convinced, however, the thoughts that swirled in her green eyes were nothing short of troubling. Rosemary groaned, sensing this argument was far from over. Jules with an idea was like a dog with a particularly juicy bone. Nothing good could come of it.   

Noticing that their current bottle was long since finished, Jules stumbled, albeit gracefully, the nerve, into the kitchen for another. Rosemary leaned back against the cushioned back of the couch with a contented and closed her eyes. She felt a pleasant buzz thrumming through her, not quite drunk yet but very much on her way. Her limbs felt heavy and a tranquility that wasn’t wholly natural filled her. 

“Oh no you don’t!” Jules lectured, shoving her arm none too gently against Rosemary’s shoulder to rouse her. “If I’m going down in a blaze of hangover glory tomorrow then you’re going down with me. Now up!” She thrust a now full wine glass into Rosemary’s hand and dropped herself back into the couch, giggling. 

Rosemary drank dutifully, noting that she was definitely getting far too old for such nights and finding that she did not care a whit at the moment. She would pay for it come morning, that she knew with a startling certainty, but for the moment she would let herself bathe in the false bliss brought on by the wine.

 “You know,” Jules slurred over hour later, nearly spilling the remnants of her glass onto Rosemary’s top as she gestured wildly. “You should call him and tell him what an ass he is.” The two had polished off a further bottle and a half of wine while talking. Tom’s name had come up more and more frequency and with less and less charity.

Rosemary blinked in confusion, trying to make sense of her friend’s words. Something about the idea seemed…off and in her, admittedly, impaired state she couldn’t quite remember why. Tom was an ass; that she firmly believed. Maybe telling him so would drive the point home to him. He kept pestering her for chances and then walked all over her. Maybe it was time she told him just where he could stick his need to fix whatever the fuck laid between them. “That,” she agreed, “Is a very good idea.”

Her purse, however, was on the floor by the front door and that seemed so very far away. And she needed her phone to tell Tom he was an ass. With determination, Rosemary pushed herself to her feet, trying to desperately ignore the way the room seemed to tilt ever so slightly to the left. It took her several tries to dig her phone from the depths of her bag and several more to unlock it and find Tom’s number in her recent call log. 

Without a moment’s hesitation, she selected the number and hit ‘dial’.

Next Chapter

[winterisakillerwrites]

Get Better - Chapter Eight

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 8/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do.

Previous

CHAPTER EIGHT

“Large English Breakfast with Almond milk and a double latte macchiato.”

Tom smiled brightly at the barista and grabbed the two steaming mugs from the counter. He weaved his way through several tables towards the back of the small café. The store front was busy enough for a Monday morning; a stream of tired and warmly attired commuters parading in and out in search of much needed caffeine. But sitting in the back of the shop, tucked away by a small working fireplace, guaranteed they would be left more or less alone.

“Alright, one tea.” He placed the white ceramic mug in front of Ben and settled into the cushioned chair opposite, placing his own steaming mug down on the dark wood table. “And my own spot of heaven.”

Ben chuckled, blowing gently on the steaming tea before him. “I see the caffeine addiction is still running strong.”

“Stronger than ever.” Tom laughed, picking up his gently steaming mug and taking a careful sip. He closed his eyes briefly, enjoying the warmth and the rush of caffeine as the smooth and bitter drink hit his tongue. Bliss. He placed the mug down, resting his folded hands on the table. Ben stifled a yawn, rubbing his free hand over his face. Tom took the opportunity to study his friend; taking in his stooped posture, heavy-lidded eyes, and the tension in his shoulders.

He hadn’t talked with Ben much in the past few weeks and hadn’t seen him in longer; between rehearsals and the birth of Ben and Sophie’s youngest, a boy, neither man had been much up for socializing. Tom had called the afternoon before to check in on Ben (and his newly expanded family) and had been not entirely surprised when Ben had jumped at the chance to get out of the house. “I don’t care when or where, but please take me away.” It had taken all he had not to chuckle at the desperation in Ben’s tone and plans were quickly set for a meeting at a café halfway between their two homes the following morning. “Thank you,” Ben had all but implored before the call had ended. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.”

Tom picked up his mug and took another sip of his macchiato. “How are things with Sophie and the kids?”

A tired but warm smile spread across Ben’s face. “Good…Exhausting, but good.” He took another sip of his tea, his eyes closing briefly, before placing the mug back onto the table top. “Sleep is a fond but distant memory.”

“I can only imagine,” Tom laughed, with an understanding nod. He ran his finger up and down the side of his mug. “And how are the boys adjusting?”

“Kit’s been a bit moody but seems to be settling in. He does however look at Sophie and me from time to time as if we’ve betrayed him in the worst way.” He chuckled softly, taking another sip of his tea. “But Hal seems fine for the most part. He’s been a bit fussy when Sophie can’t hold him but he overall seems to be handling it much better than either of us thought.”

“And the littlest one?”

“He’s been giving us a run for our money. Fussier than either of the other two unless he’s being held.” Ben laughed in earnest. He was drained, that much was abundantly clear, but he happy, albeit exhausted, pride that shone in Ben’s eyes spoke volumes. “So inevitably he spends most of his time in either mine or Sophie’s arms. Though he seems to be taking to the self-rocker Sophie’s mum sent up after Hal was born. Needless to say, we’re hoping it sticks for more than a week or so. I don’t think I can stand watching Hal cry because we aren’t able to hold him too.” Ben laughed again and took another sip of his tea.

“I’m thrilled for you mate, both of you.” Tom took another sip of his macchiato. “Though,” he started again with a raise of his eyebrow, “I can readily admit I don’t begrudge you the lack of sleep.”

Ben laughed and shook his head, pointing a finger at Tom with a knowing look. “It’ll be your time soon enough, mark my words.”

Tom shrugged and shook his head with a soft sigh. There was no sense in trying to argue either way with Ben; he’d tried so many times and it was frankly exhausting. The best course of action, it seemed, was simply to let it be. He picked up his mug once more and took another long sip.

After several minutes silence, Ben tapped his fingers idly on the tabletop and asked. “How is the show going?”

Tom’s face lit at the question, a full smile spreading quickly across his features. “Bloody wonderful.”

“Wonderful, eh?” Ben rested his elbows on the table and leaned his chin against his opened palms. “Do tell.”

Laughing, Tom rambled through details about the play and the people he worked with. The ridiculous way Charlie had taken to try to make him laugh during a serious scene (he hadn’t cracked yet but Tom could admit it was coming) and the pranks he and Zawe had taken to pulling on both each other and, in turn, on Charlie. He talked about Cath and the way she made him laugh, shared silly anecdotes they’d discussed, talked about how she remembered how he liked his coffee after one run in at the coffee shop near the theatre. He smiled, rubbing his finger along the rim of the mug, as he remembered the way her face lit up when she laughed at a stupid joke he’d shared with her the evening before.

In the week that had passed since their impromptu coffee meeting (he refused to let himself think of it as a date), he and Cath had taken to trading coffee runs and talking. She’d asked fondly after Bobby; it appeared the spaniel (the flirting menace) had left quite an impression and he’d found himself contemplating asking her to join them on one of their morning runs. The only thing stopping him (he told himself fiercely) had been the look of disgusted horror she’d worn when he’d mentioned running. “You’re telling me you do that for fun. Insanity. Complete and utter insanity.”

Ben’s voice broke through the memory. He glanced across the table to find his friend shooting him a sly look. “This Cath sounds like quite the woman, to have captured your attention so singularly.”

Tom blinked, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Ben, she’s just a friend.”

He watched as Ben’s eyebrows rose comically. “And I’m a tea pot.”

“And aren’t you a lovely one?”

“Thomas, I know you. I know the way you get when you are interested in someone.” He raised an eyebrow at his friend. “And, my dear fellow, you are definitely interested in this one.” He paused for a sip of his tea. “Out of all the people you’ve worked with on this show, she is the one you’ve talked about the most.” He quirked an eyebrow once again.

“She is a friend,” Tom insisted, pausing to take another deep sip of his coffee. “Or at least someone I could consider one, in time…”

“And someone you find attractive.”

Tom grunted under his breath. “That has nothing to do with anything.”

“But you don’t deny it?” Ben countered with a grin.

An exasperated sigh was his only reply for a long while. “Fine, yes she is attractive and I’m not blind to that. But it’s not the best idea.”

“Why ever not?” Ben threw back. “You like her, no one is saying you’ve got to marry her this instant.” Tom narrowed his eyes. Ben simply ignored him and carried on. “I’m just saying don’t lie to yourself. You like her and from what I’ve gathered she doesn’t think you’re a complete waste of a man.”

Tom narrowed his eyes further. Ben burst out into a deep laugh at that which only served to deepen his friend’s already scathing glare.

“Oh poppet, fix your face. People will think we’ve had a falling out.” Tom fought the smirk that threatened to spread across his face. And lost. Ben grinned cheekily. “I’m just saying why not give it a shot? What do you have to lose?”

“My track record with these things is…less than stellar. I don’t want to fuck things up by just jumping in. She’s a good person…She deserves better.”

“That is utter bullshit.” Ben snapped, starling Tom with his ferocity. “Okay yes, you’ve made some spectacularly unfortunate decisions in the past but the fact that you’re pausing to think about them speaks a great deal towards just how much you’ve grown and to just how serious you are about this woman.” Ben reached out and placed a hand on Tom’s arm, squeezing it in reassurance and in understanding. “You don’t have to jump into anything. Just talk with her. Get to know her, be her friend. And see if this…If she is ultimately worth taking a risk for.” He offered Tom a warm smile. “The only thing you have to lose is this…” Ben waved his hand before him. “Fear that’s still holding you back.”

                                                        —

Tom shook his head, pausing to tie his laces, the conversation from earlier replaying itself once more in his mind. His mid-morning run with Bobby had taken nearly an extra half hour as he thought over everything Ben had said to him and tried to figure out just what he was going to do about it. Bobby had been utterly delighted with the change and had taken full advantage; sniffing new territory, marking it as his, and finding even more wildlife to chase.

It was still a relatively cool day, though warmer for mid-March, and he found most of the park and surrounding streets were dotted with people, but not as crowded as he would have expected for the time of day. He’d been stopped a handful of times, a few young women and a little boy who pointed at him crying out “It’s Loki, daddy!” as he pulled on his father’s hand. Tom had done his best to be friendly and open with each and every one of them. He’d refused pictures but had signed the receipts and other bits of paper they’d handed him. Thankfully, he’d managed to get away before a bigger crowd had a chance to form.

Not a damned thing was any clearer though when he climbed his front steps and mechanically unlocked and opened his front door. Bobby shuffled around contentedly as Tom unclipped his lead and hung it on the hall tree next to his jacket. He toed off his trainers and jogged up the stairs to shower. He was hot, sweaty, and tired, but still utterly confused. He hated it, hated how indecisive he was being. Annoyed, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it into the laundry basket by the bathroom door. His shorts, leggings, and socks were next. As he tossed them into the basket as well, he let out a resigned groan, knowing he couldn’t put off a load of washing for much longer. He could send them to a laundry service, it would certainly make his life infinitely easier if he did, but doing simple things like his own washing or running to the shops on his own helped to keep him feeling grounded. And despite everything, that was something he still desperately needed.

The bathroom light flickered to life as Tom padded his way towards the walk in shower and fiddled with the knobs until he’d gotten the water temperature just so. He all but sighed in bliss as he stepped into the steaming water, letting it soothe his aching muscles and warm him from the chill of the late morning. He soaped and shampooed with a delightful lethargy, not quite wanting to give up the peace and warmth. But the day would carry on without him whether he was ready for it or not. Rinsing thoroughly, Tom shut off the water and rubbed his face with his hands. He reached for the towel hanging on the rack beside the shower and made quick work of wiping his face and rubbing his hair before wrapping the towel efficiently around his waist.

He found Bobby curled contentedly at the center of his made bed. Tom knew he should scold the spaniel and move him, but couldn’t find it in his heart to do so. Bobby rolled onto his back, mouth hanging open and tongue lulling to one side and barked once at Tom.

“You are trouble,” Tom laughed, making his way towards his wardrobe and pulling out jeans, a jumper, socks, and boxers. Laying the gathered clothing on the edge of the bed, Tom quickly dried himself and dressed. It was a late day today and he technically didn’t have to be at the theatre until around five. That gave him plenty of time to putter around before he needed to consider heading out.

As he rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs, the familiar ring of his mobile echoed from the table near the front door. Tom darted forward, managing to grab it and swipe to answer without dropping either the mobile or himself.

“Hello?”

“Afternoon, brother mine.” He could hear the amusement in his younger sister’s voice.

Tom let out a soft laugh. “What do you want Em?”

“Want something? Me? I’m hurt, Tommy. So hurt.”

“Funny,” he quipped, heading into the living room. He plopped himself onto the couch, propping his feet up on the edge of the coffee table. He hit the speaker button and dropped his mobile on the couch beside him. Bobby padded in from the hallway and jumped up beside Tom on the couch, resting his head on his master’s crossed legs.

“And don’t you ever forget it,” Emma chuckled. “Seriously though, you know Jack and I are planning to come see the show tonight.”

“Yes…” A sense of foreboding rushed through him. He reached out and absently stroked Bobby’s ear.

“If you are alright with it, would you mind me swinging by with Allie for a bit? Mum’s coming up tonight to mind her, but I have a few errands I need to run…”

“And they’d be easier sans toddler?” Tom finished, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger.

“I know it’s horribly last minute but I am utterly desperate.”

Tom let out a quiet sigh. “What time do you think you’ll be back? Or is Mum coming here?”

“Um, I should be back by half two…quarter after at the latest…” Tom heard shuffling in the background, followed by a car door shutting. “Come on baby.” Allie’s high pitched giggle filtered through the phone’s speaker. A few moments later his front gate buzzed.

Tom groaned. “Please tell me you’ve not done what I think you’ve done.” The gate buzzed again and Bobby barked elatedly, jumped off the couch and made a mad dash towards the front door. “Very cute, Em.” He pushed himself up to his feet and wandered towards the panel by the door. He didn’t bother checking the monitor before buzzing Emma and Allie in. Bobby continued to bounce excitedly by his feet.

A knock sounded on the door a few moments later. He made quick work of the locks and pulled the door open, using his back leg to keep Bobby from darting out. Emma smiled brightly at him, her daughter clutched in her arms.

“Uncle Tommy!”

Tom’s face brightened and he reached out to take the small girl from her mother. “Hello princess. Are you ready to have fun?” She nodded enthusiastically, clapping her hands together.

A small, warm smile spread across Emma’s face as she watched the sight before her for several moments before seeming to remember herself. “Alright, darling,” she started, clapping her hands together. “Be good for your uncle. Mummy will be back in a few hours.” She kissed Allie on the cheek then smiled brightly at her brother. “Thanks, Tom. You’re the best.”

He raised an eyebrow and pointed a finger of his free hand at Emma. “You’d do well to remember that.”

Emma snorted. “Funny.” A horn sounded from the street. Emma leaned over and kissed Allie once more before running down the walk and towards the gate. “See you in a bit.”

Tom pushed the door closed with his hip and placed his squirming niece down so that he could relock the door. He then made quick work of removing her pink coat as she squirmed and hanging in on the hall tree beside his own. Bobby, excited by the arrival of a new friend, barked once and began to lick Allie’s face causing the little girl to squeal in delight and reaching out to pat the dog in return. Tom found himself smiling at the sight and lowered himself to the floor beside them. There was something so simple and so beautiful about the innocence in which they interacted and he was taken by it so completely.

He sat on the floor in his front hall beside his dog and his niece for what felt like ages before he broke the contented silence. “So my darling, what would you like to do?”

Allie tore her attention away from Bobby with great reluctance and faced her uncle. She scrunched her face in thought, sandy brows nearly reaching her the coppery curls that brushed her forehead. “Park,” she finally answered with a decisive nod of her head.

Tom laughed and nodded. “Park it is.” He let out a soft groan as he pushed himself to his feet and Allie giggled at his efforts. “Laugh now, little girl, but someday you will understand all too well.”

“Uncle Tommy silly.”

“Yes,” he answered with a chuckle. “Yes, I am.” He rubbed his hands on his thighs and grabbed Bobby’s lead from the hall tree. Bobby barked twice then sat still, his tail a blur against the hardwood floor. “Two walkies in less than two hours. You, my lad, are spoiled,” he joked as he clipped the lead and harness around the spaniel.

Patting his back pocket to make sure he had wallet, phone, and keys, Tom grabbed his coat, shrugging it on before helping Allie into her own. Both dog and child bounced excitedly by his feet and Tom couldn’t help the smile which spread across his face. Taking Allie firmly in one hand and Bobby’s lead in the other, the trio made their way from the house and out into the bright early afternoon light.

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