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buckbuckleys · 2 years

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Season 5 Fic Rec Roundup

doing something a little different for fic recs this week and posting a roundup of a bunch of my favorite fics set during this fantastic season. some of these are repeats from past rec lists. just think of it as a double recommendation.

all past lists are found under the weekly fic rec tag!

Some Questions I Cannot Ask by thingsthatfly

"He hadn't considered this part when he quit. How working side by side every shift and hanging out during their aligned time off would turn into the occasional 45 minute lunch. How he would go from feeling Buck’s knee against his in the truck and his hands on his body to double check that his harness is done right to rarely seeing him, rarely touching him, and going home alone while Taylor moves in closer."

Eddie leaves the 118. Buck shows up to ask him to lunch. Everything is good, he made the right decision, and everything still hurts.

strike one by autumnchills

“There’s two of us,” Eddie says. “There’s two of them.”

Buck nods, following his line of thought. They could probably take them down if they wait until the right moment.

“There’s two—”

“Hey, Mitch. Do my eyes deceive me, or is this kid one and the same?”

The blond guy, Mitch apparently, smirks up at Eddie and flips a photo of Chris from his wallet to show him, then looks back at it and lets his gaze wander between the small photo and Buck’s phone. Eddie hasn’t seen Buck’s lock screen recently, but it’s not hard to guess what it is based on the other man’s words.

━━━

AKA a “what-if” fic in which Mitch and Dom assume that Buck is Christopher’s dad, too, and they use that to their advantage against Eddie

Give Me Fire (It'll Burn All Your Fear Away) by Princessfbi

“Eddie?”

Eddie frowned as Taylor’s voice flooded the cab of his truck.

“Taylor? How did you—”

“You have to get to Buck’s loft! It’s on fire!”

Eddie’s foot nearly jumped the gas. “What?”

“Buck’s building is on fire! I… the smoke was too bad and—” Taylor broke off with a harsh cough that sounded like it had been ripped out of her with claws leaving her with slashes along her throat. The light changed green and Eddie slammed on the gas, swerving in and around traffic as he raced to Buck’s place.

“Call 9-1-1!”

“We did! Eddie… Buck, he… I think he’s inside!”

we got ethical conflict taylor at the cost of arsonist lucy - but this is still one of my favorite fics with the concept.

a little unsteady by hopeintheashes

Set post-5x10. So much has been turned upside down, but some things haven't changed.

Close Enough for Comfort by allyasavedtheday

Their first hug doesn’t happen at the firehouse.

It’s at a bar where they’d decided to get a drink after work. Eddie arrives a little after he does once he drops Christopher off at his aunt’s place and when he joins Buck at the table he pulls him into one of those casual, back-slapping kinds of hugs.

It’s nothing to write home about. It’s friendly, comfortable, but Eddie’s hands are warm on Buck’s back and for the briefest second Buck can feel Eddie’s smile imprinted against his shoulder before it’s over.

He puts it down to missing Abby that he finds himself thinking about it when he’s trying to fall asleep that night.

A look at how Buck and Eddie's physical relationship develops from season 2 to season 5 AKA the one with all the hugging.

dragged in dust (bathed in blood) by tkreyesevandiaz

I'm leaving the 118.

Or, the aftermath of Eddie's decision, and what it means for his relationship with Buck.

ya filthy animals by mmtion

With Eddie away dealing with his family in Texas, Buck makes the mistake of showing the movie Home Alone to Christopher the day before a shift, where he has to leave him, well, home alone. With Taylor.

Tarantulas, buckets of honey, and revelations ensue.

finding our way (back home) by cnomad

When Eddie left the 118, he promised Buck that nothing would change. But six weeks later, things were strained between them as Eddie tried to adjust to his new role at dispatch while Buck decided to take a major step forward in his relationship. After a series of revelations forced Buck and Eddie to confront what they really wanted out of life, it was up to them to find their way back to each other.

Back home.

takin' my time, let the world turn by archerincombat

“Hey,” Ravi says. “Scale of 1 to 10, how bad would it be if I assumed Eddie Diaz’s girlfriend was his wife in front of him?”

Lee groans. “Did you do it in front of Buckley?”

“Yeah?”

“A hundred,” she replies, turning the other direction before Ravi can demand to know why.

At three in the morning, it hits him. He bolts upright in his cot. Oh my god, he thinks. Buck and Eddie are divorced, and everyone forgot to tell me.

aka, the ravi fic (affectionate)

wherever we're together, that's my home by woodchoc_magnum

Set post-5x06 "Brawl in Cell Block 9-1-1", in which Buck is struggling and unwilling to let anyone in (until Eddie takes matters into his own hands).

you were never mine by woodchoc_magnum

Set immediately post 5x10 'Wrapped in Red', in which Eddie is leaving the 118, and Buck is floundering in the aftermath of his decision.

we'll be forever, you'll see by rarakiplin (gmontys)

Eddie reaches a hand, slowly, towards the cat, palm up and open like he was taught to greet dogs, and the beast hisses at him.

“Oh, relax,” he says, rolling his eyes, and inches his hand closer. “I’m bigger than you.”

The cat’s eyes are narrowed into slits, zeroed in on his hand, but she doesn’t hiss again. Eddie’s not sure how she does it, but he gets the distinct impression that she’s doing him a huge favour when she finally lets him get close enough to run gentle fingers over the top of her head.

Her fur is dry and chalky, like she’s got a layer of grime settled on top of her. Eddie’s familiar with the feeling.

Covered in hope, and filling with doubt by Mellaithwen

“Buck,” Bobby says again with that tone, “Eddie’s not coming back until he’s processed what he needs to. If he comes back before he’s ready then he’s putting himself and everyone else in danger.”

Buck reels from the comment as it hits too close to home. He’s suddenly reminded of Bobby uttering the words 'light duty' as they rise up unbidden from the back of his mind, but Hen just tilts her head to her shoulders beside him as though she’s been handed the missing piece of the puzzle.

“He asked to come back, didn’t he?” She says knowingly, and Buck almost gives himself whiplash from the speed in which he turns from her to his captain and back again.

“Wait—what?”

Buck finds out about Bobby and Eddie's conversation, and Eddie won't reply to any of his messages. (He's trying not to freak out. It's not going well.)

i just wanna tell you how i'm feeling by probieravi

Buck thrusts his phone into Eddie’s hand, opened to their text thread, and—oh. It’s a picture that Ravi sent him that Eddie obviously sent to Buck immediately, because it was—actually, he doesn’t really know why he sent it to Buck. Ravi sends him random shit like that all the time, from memes to TikToks, and usually, Eddie just reacts to the messages with a laugh or a thumbs up and leaves it at that.

But Frank’s been telling him to express himself without words, since Eddie is, according to Frank, emotionally constipated sometimes, and so—he just sent it without thinking.

Eddie glances at the picture, mouth quirking a little in the corner.

“It’s a meme,” Eddie says, raising an eyebrow at Buck. “I know you know what that is. You’re the one who taught me what they were.”

or, healing through shitty memes sure is cathartic.

a wall between two gardens by renecdote

Buck shakes his head, not even sure what he’s denying. “I’m fine. It was just—it was a weird call, that’s all.”

(You were shot six months ago, and almost buried alive before that, and I know it’s not the same, but I can’t stop—)

“You’re here.”

The words hit Buck’s chest like a blunt sword; hard enough to bruise, more damaging than you’d think it could be: you’re here, so something is wrong.

everything's coming up milhouse by hammersmiths

LAFD Updates (@L*A*F*D_Metro) LAFD Alert: Red-level traffic on Gardiner Road this morning. If you are trying to get into the city centre consider taking Westerley Lane.

buck 🔥🔥 (@firebuck) so true bestie

or, Eddie mans the LAFD Twitter account. Buck tries to be supportive.

circles all the way down by archerincombat

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Bobby,” Buck bites out. “He took three months off. Saw a physical therapist. Did a few sessions with Frank. Clearly, he’s doing great.”

Bobby chews his lip. “If you’re sure,” he says finally. “He just looked a little off at that car crash, is all.”

“I would have noticed,” Buck insists. “It’s Eddie. I would’ve noticed.”

Or, healing doesn't happen in tandem

i thought i loved you (it's just how you looked in the light) by asgardiun

He loves the kitchen sink and the drying rack on the counter, because he always washes and Eddie always dries and sometimes when he dries he chips the grey bowls and breaks the white plates, but it doesn’t matter because he bought the set second hand and really, they don’t need more than three plates, three bowls, three mugs, and three forks.

“Just three?” Maddie asks.

“Yeah, me, Christopher, and Eddie,” he says, like it’s obvious.

Maddie gives a knowing smile. “And Taylor?”

He shrugs. “It’s not like the four of us hang out."

“So who’s plate is she borrowing when they leave?” Buck stays quiet. She sets her mug on the table. “Moving out might help, but no matter where you go, you’ll only have three plates.”

(In which Buck hates his apartment, breaks up with Taylor, and makes a long overdue confession.)

by act of grace by hattalove

Oh,” Greg says, his face falling, “that’s Lucifer.”

Buck lets out something between a laugh and a cough.

“Lucifer,” he repeats.

“It's a long story,” Greg says, tugging on the collar of his polo, his name tag clinking. “He's—not exactly well socialized, and he really, really hates—“ he starts, except he’s interrupted by Eddie’s voice, the first words Buck has heard him say since they dropped Chris off at Hen and Karen's.

“Hi,” Eddie says, crouching right under the bright red sign – which, now that Buck’s close enough to read it, says DO NOT PET – and reaching his fingers toward the bars.

“—men,” Greg finishes, his voice weak, frozen mid-step like he’s not sure if he should be hauling Eddie away while there’s still time. “He hates men. Usually.”

or the one in which healing looks a little like ten pounds of dog with a mean streak.

Been Holding My Breath, Been Counting Till Ten (over something you said) by ChasetheWindTouchtheSky

“No getting out of it now.” Bobby’s steady voice makes him flinch.

“We literally haven’t moved.”

“You could run,” Bobby says with a shrug. “But then you’d have to deal with Athena.” He steps into the RV.

Turning around, Buck sees Athena standing at the doorway, her hand still in the air. When she catches his eye, something in her expression shifts. He’s seen that expression before. Typically, she uses it on people who are about to flee arrest.

I fucking dare you.

Sighing, Buck gets on the RV.

After a call that is almost his last, Buck is having a hard time. He’s avoids his family, his friends, and everything in between. When Bobby suggests they go on a road trip, he almost laughs. But what’s worse? He actually says yes.

Or: The Post 5A recovery road trip fic literally no one asked for, but I wrote anyway.

the wood marked for your fire by hattalove

“Chim. Weird question?”

Chimney’s chair creaks. Buck cranes his head over the back of the couch and watches him straighten up, pop his back, close the folder.

“You only ever ask me weird questions,” he says, and then crosses the loft to sit in one of the armchairs. He levels Buck with a look that’s way too knowing for the amount of words they’ve exchanged. “What’s up?”

He takes a breath.

“What does it feel like to be a dad?”

in which buck is used to wanting things he's not allowed to have; it's just that he never thought being a father would be one of them.

tell me about despair by hattalove

eddie's not entirely sure he believes in getting help, at least not for himself. there's only so much healing to be had for a body torn apart by bullets, for a mind that's only half there, for a man who's been leaving pieces of himself behind all his life with nothing to take their place.

except, as it turns out, falling apart happens in increments, and healing does, too: it happens when you gnaw a hole in your lip trying to keep quiet only to have the words escape; when you realize that the ghost you've been seeing out of the corner of your eye is yourself; when your best friend smiles, and you allow it to take your breath away.

it happens through the smallest of things: bird feeders, and cacti, and pasta shapes.

meanwhile, the world goes on.

(or: the entity often affectionately referred to as the unrepression fic.)

it could mean something (it could mean everything) by renecdote

There is time for one decision.

The truck is going to hit the ground. Hard. Can’t avoid that. Buck wonders if crashing down on top of a firetruck will hurt more than a firetruck crashing down on top of him.

Then he stops that thought. There’s no time.

Think.

5x18 and bts inspired speculation fic.

For BTHB: near-death experience.

the world is too quiet by renecdote

Buck looks down, picking at the label on his beer bottle. It’s not that he has been avoiding Eddie. It’s just… he doesn’t want to have this conversation.

“Look, I’m sorry, I know you’re mad—”

“I’m not mad, I’m—” Eddie takes a breath; starts again, soft with sincerity. “I’m worried about you.”

Fuck.

Buck angst, set post 5x05.

across our great divide (a glorious sunrise) by catching_paper_moons

“We’re working on it,” Maddie explains, shooting Chimney a look. He nods seriously. “In couples therapy.”

“Huh,” Eddie says, and then he thinks about it. "Do you think Buck and I would benefit from couples therapy?"

—

or, Eddie gets Buck to come to couples therapy with him.

just prior to this fic i’d joked that Buck and Eddie going to couple’s counseling would be a surfire way to know that they weren’t actually going to go canon but then i read this and 100% changed my mind.

Close My Eyes and Stumble (Right Into Your Love) by HMSLusitania

Eddie's PTSD is just that little bit worse and when he moves to Los Angeles, instead of joining the LAFD, he joins dispatch.

Which is all good and fine, except for this one firefighter he keeps ending up talking to.

bonus rec bc this fic was a little too on the nose to leave out.

#911 fox #fic recs #buddie #911fic #i'm SURE i've left out some good ones #there was so much good fic written this season!#stella scribbles #weekly fic recs

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sequinsmile-x · 3 years

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Fracture

Theo Hotchner breaks his arm.

A mini-fic set post ITSWM. (I know I haven’t finished posting that yet but I wrote some fluff for this universe because I needed the serotonin, and thought you might too.)

Rating: General

Words: 2.5k

It happens in slow motion. Aaron watches as Theo falls from the jungle gym, landing awkwardly on his arm as he hits the ground. There’s a beat of silence, a moment where Aaron thinks everything might be ok when runs over, and then his son starts crying hysterically as he sits up.

When he sees Theo’s arm, bent at an unnatural angle, his first thought is that Emily was going to kill him.

____________

Emily feels her phone ring in her pocket for the second time in as many minutes and the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. She knows it’s Aaron without looking, having rejected his initial call only a minute before with the intention of calling him back the minute she was free. He never calls her at work, knowing the pressure of her job since he had once done it himself.

He usually texts her, sends her a photo of the kids as they do something adorable or slightly mischievous. Photos of Amelia smiling widely at the camera, or Theo and Jack playing Mario Kart together, matching looks of concentration on their faces. They helped, reminding her of what was waiting for her when she got home from horrific case after horrific case, that despite everything she still had her family.

She’d never tell Aaron that they also hurt at times. Tiny reminders of what she missed out on when she was away.

The fact he was calling her twice in such quick succession could only mean something was wrong.

Emily looks at the team as they deliver the profile to the local detectives. Dave catches her eye and gives her a quick nod as she lifts her phone and tilts her head down a hallway.

She answers the phone just as it’s about to ring out. “Aaron, is everything ok?”

Aaron sighs over the phone. “It’s Theo, he’s okay I promise, but he’s broken his arm.”

For a moment she swears her heart stops in her chest, panic seeping through her body at the thought of her precious little boy being hurt. “He’s not okay if he’s got a broken bone, Aaron.”

“Sweetheart.” He says firmly, preventing her from spiralling any further. “He’s in a bit of pain but he’s ok. He’s just convinced me this means we get to have ice cream for dinner.”

She barks out a laugh that catches in her throat. “That boy will do anything for ice cream.” She pauses to take a breath, her emotions still overwhelming despite Aaron’s attempts to distract her. “What happened?”

“He fell off the jungle gym.”

She frowns at this, indignation running through her veins. “Aaron, I-”

“Yes, I know you told me he has almost fallen off of it before. I can’t exactly tell him he can’t go on it though sweetheart.”

She sighs, and feels the anger leave her just as quickly as it came. She looks over her shoulder when she hears the room full of local officers and detectives start to disperse.

“Do you want to talk to him?” Aaron asks gently.

“Yes please.” She breathes out, and waits a second as she hears Aaron talking to Theo in the background, the sound of the emergency room they were in almost drowning out their conversation.

“Hi, Mommy.” He sniffs, sounding incredibly sorry for himself. Her chest feels tight at the sound of it, at the use of the name ‘mommy’ when her 8 year old had mostly been calling her ‘mom’ lately.

“Hi, sweetie. How are you feeling?”

“My arm hurts.” He grumbles. “The doctor said I could get a cast in any colour.”

“Really?” She asks, voice full of fake enthusiasm. “What colour are you going for?”

“Green.” He sniffs again, a sign that he had been crying that broke her heart. “Are you coming home?”

Emily closes her eyes, and she blows out a breath. “I can’t, sweetie. I’m working, remember? I’m in Texas.”

“Okay.” The disappointment in his voice is palpable, and it takes everything in her to not start crying there and then. Thoughts of how she could leave in the middle of the case, assign someone else as agent in charge and just go home and hug her son.

And maybe smack her husband for letting Theo go on the jungle gym in the first place.

“Emily.” Dave’s voice interrupts her and she turns to look at him, holding up a finger to show she just needed another minute.

“Theo, honey, I’ve got to go okay. I love you so much. I’ll call later.”

“Love you too.”

She smiles at that, as she has done every single time since he first said it. “Can you pass me back to Dad?”

There's another shuffle on the other end of the phone, a quick curse from her husband as one of them nearly drops the phone. “Sweetheart?”

“I’ve really got to go, I’m sorry.”

“Baby, we get it.” He reassures, clearly able to hear how sad she is, how torn she is over what to do. “Theo gets it too usually, you know you’re the first thing any of us wants when we’re sick or hurt.”

Emily nods despite the fact she knows he can’t see her, and she hastily wipes away the tear the movement drops onto her cheek. “I know, you Hotchner’s really can’t cope without me.” She jokes.

“We can get by until you wrap up the case.” He replies, and she can just imagine the grin on his face, the way it would bring out his dimples. “I’ll text when we’re home okay?”

“Yeah, thank you. Love you.”

“Love you too, sweetheart.”

She hangs up the phone and turns back to Dave, who is standing behind her still, with concern all over his face. “Is everything okay at home?”

Emily sighs as she puts her phone back in her pocket and starts to walk back to the conference room, Dave keeping pace at her side. “Theo’s broken his arm, so Aaron took him to hospital.”

Despite how neutrally she tries to say it she clearly fails, Dave coming to a stop and putting a hand on her arm. “The poor kid. We can always manage here if you need to head back.”

She frowns at him. “I can still do my job, Dave.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. “I never said you couldn’t, Bella. I just know that you aren’t going to believe he’s fine until you see him for yourself.”

“I appreciate your concern, but I am fine.” She practically growls at him before walking past into the conference room.

“Yeah.” Dave says to himself. “That was definitely said in a way a person who was fine would say it.”

____________

Emily was aware that she was in a foul mood, snapping at the team as they asked questions or every time they came up against a dead end. The need to get home as quickly as possible clawing at her throat. Photos that Aaron had sent her the night before of Theo with his bright green arm cast, and a bowl of ice cream in front of him only further deepening that need.

It culminates in her shouting at Derek like she never had before, something that made him say the ‘Hotch attitude’ was finally rubbing off on her. She threatened him with victimology for the rest of his career and then stormed out, ignoring the way the locals looked at her as she did.

She finds solace in the women’s bathroom, or at least she did right up until Dave followed her in.

“You shouldn’t be here, Dave.” She says as she briefly turns to look at him, before going back to looking at her weary face in the mirror. Sleep had not come easy for her the night before, George Foyet always making his way back into her subconscious every time someone in her family was hurt.

“Neither should you, Emily.” He clears his throat, clearly ready for an argument. “Which is why I’ve booked you a flight home.”

Emily turns quickly at that, stares him down. “You did what?”

“I booked you a flight, it leaves in two hours. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

She takes a step towards him and crosses her arms across her chest. “I can’t just leave in the middle of a case. I am the Unit Chief.”

“And you’re a damn good one, but you’re also an excellent mother. And I know that you need to see your little boy more than he needs to see you.”

Emily stares at him before nodding, relenting to doing exactly what she had been wanting to do in the 30 hours it had been since Aaron had called her. “You’re right. I’ll go. But I expect updates about what's going on here.”

“As you wish.” He stands out of her way so she can get past him and leave the bathroom. “The ticket is first class by the way, so drink some free champagne and do everyone a favour and chill out.”

Emily grimaces as they walk back towards the conference room. “Have I really been that bad?”

“You owe everyone at least one drink. I think you owe Derek a month off of paperwork.”

“He wishes.” Emily scoffs.

____________

Aaron watches in amusement as Amelia climbs onto the couch next to Theo and starts to, not very gently, stroke his hair. It’s what Emily did for all of them, Aaron included, when they were sick or hurt and Theo lets his sister do it, despite it clearly being the last thing he wanted. Watching his two year old daughter mirror her mother made his heart constrict, and he wished more than ever that his wife was here.

His phone rings and he grabs it, smiling as he sees Emily’s name and picture on the screen. “Hey, how are things?”

“I’m on a plane.” She replies, a small laugh in her voice. “Dave bought me a ticket and drove me to the airport. Took me as far as security would let him to make sure I got onboard.”

Aaron couldn’t pretend he was anything other than relieved. He’d noticed the tension in his wife during the brief phone calls and text exchanges about their son’s injury. Not to mention Theo was miserable, barely putting up with his little sister's antics anymore, and getting crankier by the second.

“What time do you get in?”

“Too late for you to even think about picking me up, I’ll get a cab home.”

He wants to argue, to go get her and tell her everything is fine, but he knows that's not what she needs him to do. She would want him here, in their home, with their kids. “Okay, just text me when you land.”

“I will. Love you.”

“You too.” He says as he hangs up.

“Everything okay, Dad?” Jack’s voice comes from behind him.

Aaron turns to look at his 17 year old son. “Yeah, Emily is on her way.”

Jack smiles at him, the same smile he inherited from Haley. “Uncle Dave sent her home?” Jack laughs at Aaron’s nod. “That’s a whole day sooner than you said it would happen.”

Aaron laughs. “She must have been in a really bad mood.”

____________

When Emily gets home it’s already well past Theo’s bedtime. As soon as she is in the house she sneaks into his bedroom and her chest tightens at the sight of his bright green cast laid on a pillow next to him. Archie held tightly under Theo’s good arm. She walks over to his bed and presses a kiss to his forehead, whispering apologies for not being home earlier into his hairline.

Amelia is also asleep. Emily sits down on the edge of her bed and tucks her in a little bit tighter and runs her fingers through her daughter's increasingly unruly hair.

Jack was still up, playing video games online with his friends. She pops her head in his room and quietly says hi, aware she had accidentally embarrassed him in the past. He throws her a grateful smile and a wave and she closes the door behind her.

When she gets to her own room Aaron is sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for her, and immediately stands as she closes the door behind her. She’s in his arms before she can really register it, and the lump that had sat in her throat since Aaron called her about Theo dissipates almost immediately.

Emily wraps her arms tightly around him, and presses her face into his soft t-shirt. “Hey.”

Aaron presses a kiss to the top of her head and rubs a hand up and down her back. “Hey sweetheart.”

He encourages her to get ready for bed, and joins her. Their nighttime routines are easily done around each other, years of practise behind them. Once they settle into bed he immediately pulls her into his arms and rests her on his chest.

“You ok?” He asks gently, fingers running up and down her arm.

“Yes.” She swallows against the word, and it tasted like a lie. “No. I just feel like a bad mom.” She admits into his chest, the fear that had been circling around in her head for longer than the last couple of days bursting out of her. “I know I’m not.” She says as she feels him take in a breath to admonish her, and she rubs the tension from his chest with the palm of her hand. “Being their mom is my favourite thing, but when I can’t be here when my son hurts himself...it really sucks.”

Aaron hears the way her voice cracks, and the way her body shudders when she tries to hold back the tears he had no doubt she had been putting off since he called her to tell her about Theo’s accident.

“You’re okay, Em. And so is he.” Aaron kisses the top of her head. “He’ll be so happy when he wakes up to see you tomorrow, and I’ll go back to being second favourite even though I gave him ice-cream two days in a row.”

She pushes herself up by the hand on his chest, her tearstained face coming into view. “Two days in a row?”

____________

Theo is delighted to see her the next morning, all but forgetting about his broken arm as he launches himself at her. He begs her to sign his cast, to draw a picture on it for him, and she smiles when she sees the scribbles on it clearly left by Aaron helping Amelia hold the pen.

When her daughter realises she is home she squeals and demands to be held by her mother for hours.

They watch a movie together, all of them piling into the living room. Theo chooses the movie, Monsters Inc, and Aaron levels a glare at Jack when he opens his mouth to complain.

“Breaking your arm is fun.” Theo exclaims as he sits in between his parents, ready to watch his favourite movie.

Aaron and Emily exchange a look over the top of their son’s head and they both suppress a laugh.

They were all going to be fine.

#Hotchniss #hotchniss fic #hotchniss fanfic #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #WTB Universe #ITSWM #David Rossi being a busy body #The OG hotchniss shipper #mini fic

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cajunquandary · 4 years

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Hands that Heal

Link: (coming soon to Ao3)

Summary: Sometimes all you need is a little push the right direction...

Created for: @negans-lucille-tblr SPN Secret Santa Fic Exchange

Rating: 18+ only

Pairing: Dean x OFC (Jay)

Warnings: Jealous Dean, fluff, smut, smidge of angst, medical IV (briefly), unprotected sex (don’t be silly, wrap the willy)

Wordcount: 3.8k

A/N: Happy Holidays, @jay-and-dean! I was so ecstatic to have received your name and hope that my ramblings make you smile a little.

It’s a funny thing, the way everyone goes on about the eyes being windows to the soul. Of course, they can be very telling, and if you ever catch yourself getting lost in those of the Winchesters, how could you believe anything else? Or perhaps you are more like Jay.

Jay has been with the Winchesters for quite some time. She’s been lost in those eyes. And she’s been found. The pure green folds of Dean’s have scooped her up, swaddled her, saved her. So have Sam’s hazel, but not in quite the same way. Not that either brother knows. Only Cas.

Cas has seen the way her deep brown eyes linger just a little longer than they ought to, can feel the ache in her chest. There are times when Jay meets the angel’s gaze just afterwards but looks away just as quickly. They both know, but they won’t talk about it. And that’s okay.

But for Jay, she can see beyond the green. Beyond the freckles and blushing pensive lips, the curve of his jaw, the gently rolling hills of his chest and arms. She traces the majestic waves and ripples beneath his warm skin with only her eyes and her heart. They come to rest just past strong wrists and fall like weighted feathers upon Dean’s weathered hands.

You see, that’s where the soul really reveals itself closest to visible flesh. Each scar and busted knuckle tell a story. The pattern of freckles and tan lines speak of years in the sun. The calluses of his palm and fingertips disclose a rough life, a tough job. They are toned with skill, accurate in all things. They can field strip a gun and put it back together in the blink of an eye, tie complicated knots with dexterity, bait a hook and cast a line without hesitation, and even mold and create custom parts for Baby as they fix her up.

And yet, the skin between those marks is soft, no longer as elastic as it once was, but still full of life and love. The very muscles that hold together the bone and sinew have the capacity to both take life, and give it. Jay has watched them rip apart monsters and gently caress and hold victims within the same minute.

Such an extreme duality shouldn’t be so neatly wrapped up in one man, but it was. It was both Dean’s light and his curse. Jay shivered as she hesitated just a moment too long on the fantasy of those thick muscled, deadly, yet oh-so-gentle hands, imagining how they might tickle as they might glide over her smooth skin. Of course, Dean notices.

“There’s no way you’re cold, Jay. It’s a hundred friggin degrees outside!”

Right. Jay had to remind herself that they were on a case. No distractions. “Yeah, I-I’m good. Just got a chill because, ya know, we’re next to human refrigerators.” She swallowed hard and clenched her teeth to help ground herself back to reality.

It really was hotter than a witch’s tit out there and not much cooler inside the mortuary. Dean continued to read silently from some forms on the coroner’s clipboard before licking his thumb and index finger to turn the page. Heat washed over Jay, spreading like drunken honey from her scalp all the way to her toes. She tried to steady her breathing, remain in persona as a stoney FBI agent, but the hot red of her cheeks was giving her away.

She tore her gaze away to inspect the body. Not that anything she made mental note of would stick at this point. Dean cleared his throat and pulled the clipboard closer to his face before setting his thumbnail between his teeth the way he always did when he was laser-focused on something. She only caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye, but it was the final bit to break her.

With a huff, Jay exclaimed a little too loudly, “There’s nothing here for us, Dean. I’ll be in the car.” Her legs carried her much too quickly out the swinging doors and up the stairs.

“Um, okay?” Dean grumbled to himself before setting the paperwork back in its place and following Jay. “What the hell got into her?”

Jay was glad to leave Texas. Mid-July heat drained her, along with every plant and tree scorched under the unrelenting and searing white sun. The world around them was bleached and bathed in the almost-eerie too-bright light. Well, everything except what existed in the shadows of the Impala. The sparse countryside rolled away mile by mile as time ticked by with every song on Dean’s favorite cassette.

The air conditioning just couldn’t keep up, so Dean rolled down the windows. Jay tied up her locks in frustration, leaving a messy excuse for a bun resting on top of her head. The leather seats did nothing to help as she sweat through her shorts until she was nearly sliding off the seat.

“How much longer until Oklahoma?” She sighed. For the third time that hour.

Dean shot a glare in her direction before settling his attention back on the highway. The heat was getting to him too, and even with sunglasses on, spots were gathering in his vision and impairing him with every piercing flash of the sun off of the windshields of passing cars. “Jay, I swear if you ask me ‘are we there yet’ one more time, I’m going to friggin pull over.”

“Ugh, FINE.” Jay wished to be nearly anywhere but here. Resignation set in and she slumped in the seat and let her bare feet hang out the window, crossing her arms.

Dean turned the music louder, trying to drown out his own misery rather than her. He began to belt out slightly off-key to “Dazed and Confused.”

Jay cracked a half smile but hid it from Dean.

He rapped out the solos on the steering wheel, his hands keeping perfect time as they danced upon the taught leather.

Maybe pulling over wouldn’t be a half-bad idea, Jay thought.

She closed her eyes, allowing the steady rumble of the engine to echo through her as hot wind whipped through the cab. She cracked them open again just long enough to witness the stretch of tight skin over Dean’s knuckles, the way the washed out wilderness blurred past behind them and accentuated the tan he’d gained from driving.

The image was burned into her mind. To help pass the time, Jay granted herself permission to linger on it, explore it. Despite the heat outside, a new, different heat grew steadily in her core, stirring somewhere deep between her heart and soul.

Not too long after, the Impala slowed and turned into a run down gas station--the first one in an hour. As Dean filled up, Jay took the opportunity to find shelter in some air conditioning and hopefully an ice-cold drink. Inside the store was no better. In fact, it was worse. The air was still and thick with humidity from the cooler, which buzzed and whirred as if it were possessed.

“Sorry, Miss. Cooler is out. Hot drinks only,” a disheveled and sweat-drenched employee slouched over the register.

“Thanks… got any pie?” Jay decided that if they had to drink hot water, they may as well have some comfort food.

“Whatever we got is over there.” The clerk motioned with his eyes, no strength to even lift a finger.

Jay stalked back to the car empty handed and more pissed than ever. If the summer heat was something tangible, she could just strangle it. Kick it, punch it. Anything to fight it.

Dean finished up just in time, careful not to touch the scorching black paint and chrome on the car. “What, you go pee and come out with nothing? I’m dyin’ here!”

Jay snapped. “NO DRINKS. NO PIE. NOTHING. K?!”

Dean was taken aback by the outburst. It was then he noticed the sunken look and dark circles under her eyes and the red sheen over her face and neck. She was getting pale and wasn’t sweating anymore.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m sorry.” His brows knit as he drove slowly through the town, hoping for a decent motel to rest at for a while. Fortunately, he didn’t have to wait but a few blocks before The Moonlight Motel came into view.

Pay by the hour may not be the greatest, but at least it was cheap and would likely be empty this time of day.

Jay was losing touch and the following events were a blur. The next thing she truly could grasp and remember was lying mostly clothed in a cold shower. Dean sat facing her atop the closed toilet seat, a worried face perched upon clasped hands. Still a bit out of it, Jay relaxed into the cool water as it slowly washed the fever down the drain. The world slipped away, replaced by a gentle, dark nothing.

When Jay stirred, the room was too dim to still be day and shadows were held at bay by only a small lamp on the far side of the dingy room. She couldn’t remember how she got there at first, but as she woke, things gradually came back to her.

Dean had practically carried her to the room. He’d carefully set her in the bathtub and removed her belt, overshirt and boots. He’d turned on the cold water and at first, she’d protested, but slipped in and out of consciousness. He’d retrieved ice from the machine down the hall and poured it over her as he constantly monitored her vitals and temperature.

He’d withdrawn her, a soaking wet dead weight, stripped away the sopping clothes while careful not to look where it would make her uncomfortable, and buttoned her up in the softest flannel he had.

Jay glanced down at her right hand, as it felt stiff and sore. A needle was taped there, no longer hooked to the empty bag of saline, taped down and left in place just in case. Jay wiggled slightly when she realized that her other arm had gone quite numb beneath her and--Dean?

His soft snores disrupted as she shifted, equally mortified and elated to be nestled into the crook of his arm. Dean woke and rubbed his eyes, as if pretending he’d been awake the whole time. His voice was low and gravely from sleep.

“Hey, how are you feeling?” He looked down at her, so small in his arms, furious with himself for not taking better care of her.

“M-good,” Jay choked out, completely entranced by being so close to the hunter. Close enough for their breath to mix and his cologne to shroud her senses. Close enough to see the flecks of golds and blues and dark greens in the folds of his irises. Her breath caught and she shivered. Again. Jay mentally kicked herself for that tell. “Thank you… Sorry I was being a brat.”

“No. No, this is on me. You were sun-sick. I’m sorry. I should’ve--”

Jay put a finger to his parted lips with only the intention to stop Dean from blaming himself (like always,) but the touch sent electric pulses through her fingertips and set fire to every nerve in her body. They were impossibly soft and warm.

Dean caught her hand tenderly in his before she could pull away and planted a slow kiss on her knuckles. He watched anxiously as her pupils dilated and her breathing became more shallow. Pulling their hands out of the way, Dean leaned forward just slightly and planted a firm, reassuring kiss to her forehead.

Jay’s mind was a mess. This was more than familial. Were they crossing a line? Or maybe it just meant that Dean was comfortable with her, and concerned. But even as the thoughts swirled, her lips had a mind of their own. As Dean traced his nose down hers until their heads were pressed together, Jay angled upward to meet him.

When their lips locked, there was no more question. Jay loved Dean, and he knew and he loved her back. It was soft and sweet, with their eyes shut tight, just exploring and tasting and sucking gently.

The remainder of the trip back to the bunker was spent with Dean humming, a stupid smile plastered on his face, and Jay resting across the front seat, her head in his lap. Dean stroked her soft, brown hair adoringly. The night was much cooler and comfortably dark with only dim, scattered stars to blanket the hunters.

Everything was different after the motel. The kiss.

Almost six months had gone by and for the most part, they’d been wonderful. Jay spent more time in Dean’s room than her own, and the hunts had been good so far, like old times.

Until this one.

Jay, Sam, and Dean were doing a bit of recon at a local bar to dig up some answers, or at the very least, a lead. Jay had dressed to stun, as usual. (After all, men’s lips tended to be a bit more loose around a pretty girl.)

Dean was hovering. Everytime Jay got close to some useful information, Dean would scare off the burly locals with a death glare.

Until this one.

This man was built like a tank. He towered even over Sam by a few inches and dwarfed Jay in comparison. Sam eyed her uncomfortably from a few tables over, but he always got like that when someone was bigger than him. Dean didn’t adjust his tactics at all, and when the big guy had enough of Dean dancing around him and bumping his chair with an insincere, “sorry, man,” the guy stood up and puffed out his chest. Dean moved to both protect Jay and get in a prime fighting position, but Jay yanked him away by the collar of his jacket faster than he could complain.

She didn’t stop until they were completely outside the bar, then shoved him into the soot-covered brick wall. Dean opened his mouth to spout something pigheaded, but stopped himself as he felt the chill of her glare more than the chill of the snow flurries swirling around them.

“Would you just trust me to do my job? What is your problem?”

“I do! I just--” Dean waved in a flustered motion, unable to find the words. All he knew was that when she got a little too... comfortable... with anyone, he saw red.

Still, Jay seemed to understand. She reached up and held his face firmly between her palms, forcing him to maintain eye contact.

“I’m yours. I know that you worry, what you fear. I’m not going to leave you. Ever. No one can ever take me from you, either, because I’ll haunt your ass and you know it.”

Dean’s bottom lips quivered just barely, and he quickly bit it back. “Don’t you even joke about that,” his voice broke.

“De- I’m right here, okay?”

He nodded and leaned into her until his face was buried in her neck. He squeezed his arms around her, never wanting to know what it would feel like to have to let go.

A muffled “let’s go back to the motel” emanated from somewhere within Jay’s scarf and she nodded in response.

Dean grasped her hand as they walked the short distance back to the rented room. Jay stopped dead in her tracks, eyes wide and pointing over to the edge of the woods. A startled “Dean!” escaped her, and Dean dropped her hand and withdrew his gun, ready for a fight. His plumes of hot breath on the air slowed to nearly nothing as he steadied himself and visually searched the area.

What had she seen?

Before he could ask, something hard, round and icey struck the back of his shoulder with decent force. He spun on his heels and lowered his weapon to find Jay wide-mouthed and laughing, another snowball forming in her hands.

“Son of a bitch! You want to play dirty, huh?” Dean howled. He holstered the pistol and raced to close the distance between them. With a squeal and a grunt, the two ended up in a heap in the wet, mushy snow.

Jay managed to end up on top of him and leaned in for a deep kiss. She could feel the smile on his lips as his tongue graced across hers. When at last they came up for air, Dean was moving his arms and legs haphazardly.

“A slush-angel?” Jay giggled at the sorry creation.

“What, my art not good enough for you?” Dean retorted while wearing a shit-eating grin. “And no, actually, it’s a Yeti.”

The wet chill began to sink into their bones, so they hurried onward. Dean fiddled with the key card but the lock gave him fits.

“C’mon, Dean! I’m freezing to death!”

“Yeah, yeah, me too. Hold your horses.”

At last, the door swung open and Jay rushed inside, leaving Dean to close and lock the door behind them. She’d already started stripping off the wet outer layers when Dean approached. With every step bringing him closer, his heartbeat rose and he wrestled out of his own layers.

Jay moved to lift off her shirt, but Dean covered her hands with his, intertwining their fingers. He stood against her, and in one swift move, wrapped both of her wrists in a single firm grip behind her, and with the other, pressed an open palm against her belly.

Jay gasped, her knees going weak with what she knew was coming next. Despite the weather, his touch was toasty. Coarse skin slid over her soft flesh, causing a friction that left Jay needing more. Heat flushed her cheeks and pooled deep in her stomach. Dean melted with every shuttered breath of hers as he stroked up and down beneath the fabric of her shirt, making sure to linger over the more sensitive areas as she twitched and bit down on her lip.

Dean massaged her breasts with skilled fingers for a few moments, but a sensual twist of her nipple sent Jay reeling backwards, supported only by Dean’s other arm. With her head tilted back, Dean took the opportunity to kiss and suck and nip zig-zagged lines over the most delicate parts of her neck and along her collarbone.

Jay squirmed and panted with lust-blown pupils and a cry just on the tip of her tongue. Dean’s grasp only steadied her against him more until he found himself grinding into her, faint moans already filling the air. The growing bulge in his pants drove Jay mad. She wanted to be covered by him, skin on skin, needed him inside her.

“D-Dean please, please…” Jay whimpered and attempted to wiggle out of his hold once more to no avail.

“Please, what, pretty girl? Tell me what you want.” Dean breathed against her ear, just above a whisper. He sucked and nibbled in the hollow behind it.

A shudder wracked Jay, but this time, she didn’t mind the tell. She had him. He was hers. But right then, she needed more and she knew he was holding back. “Unnghh, please… need you, now,” she managed.

“Okay, Baby,” Dean crashed his lips to hers and shifted until Jay was suspended in the air and straddling him as he walked them towards the bed. He dropped her playfully and they scrambled to see who could lose their remaining clothes the fastest.

In a fray of scattered clothing, Dean climbed on top of her, comfortably crushing Jay into the lumpy mattress. He let his full weight rest upon her.

“Stop it,” she giggled as his scruff tickled her cheek.

“Why don’t you make me?” Dean grinned between planting kisses everywhere he could reach.

Before he could react, Jay had him rolled onto the floor. She straddled him and tried to concentrate despite his hard cock resting perfectly between her hot, dripping folds. Her hair created a curtain around their faces, blocking out everything but that moment and the sensations it was riddled with. Dean’s eyes closed and mouth opened like a fish out of water. His breaths were shallow and shaky. Jay fought the urge to lift her hips just so, knowing that if she did, and she came back down upon him, his throbbing dick would line up just perfectly… and they’d end up on the floor for the remainder of their romp.

She rose to her feet, grasping his hand and pulling him up with her. Dean’s eyes were full of question, longing. His cheeks were flushed and hot to the touch. He was melting at every touch and could do nothing about it but wait for her.

Jay led him over to the chair and pushed him into it. He nearly tripped on his way down. That stupid smile she loved so much spread across his face again as he dug his fingers into her hips and pulled her onto him. She let out a yelp as the broad head of his large cock spread her entrance, dripping with precum, and buried itself deep inside until her walls stretched almost uncomfortably. The shock of his size was something she’d never get used to. Each time was like the first, the same butterflies swarming in her stomach, the same jolts of pure lust burning through her veins.

Dean gasped and held her close to him, trembling hands roaming her back and squeezing her ass. Jay carded her hands through his hair and pulled just slightly at the nape of his neck as he whined in approval. Those laments made her head swim and her limbs weak. Drunk on Dean, she adjusted her position until he was sunk deep into the spot that was just right, then began to move back and forth, slow and steady. Dean’s breaths stuttered and his head fell back, leaving his neck open for Jay to take into her mouth.

“Fuck--Baby you feel s-so good,” he stammered between increasing moans and grunts. She could see in his eyes that he was losing control.

Jay cried out as he began to fight her movements with his own, pounding up in all the right spots. She arched her back as the coil wound tighter… higher… tighter… higher... until she shattered in his arms, his name and curses spilling from her gaping mouth.

He held her through it and chased his own orgasm, sucking a mark onto her chest before he spilled into her. Everyone would know she was his, and only his. Her walls clenched in waves and he pulsed within them, his delicious sounds filling her ears as she came down.

Jay crashed her lips into his, and he returned with fervor until they were both completely breathless. Wrapped there in Dean’s arms, Jay was home.

No, nothing was ever the same after that first kiss. And that was okay. It was amazing.

WAYWARD PEEPS:

@carryonmywaywardcaptain @manawhaat @supernatural-jackles @jensen-jarpad @wheresthekillswitch @bummblebeeblue @nothin-after-79-blog @docharleythegeekqueen @fangirl-writing-fiction @taste-of-dean @impala-dreamer @arryn-nyxx @idk-life01 @attorneyl @deathtonormalcy56 @xwing-baby @wonder-cole @itsangelpie @thinkinghardhardlythinking

ANGST BABES:

@trexrambling @abbessolute @emptywithout

ALL ABOUT THAT DEAN:

@akshi8278 @will-winchester

@waywardbaby* the smut was heavily inspired by The Scene. Tagged as promised lol

Tag List now open!

#spnsecretsantaficexchange #hands that heal #dean winchester #dean x reader #dean x ofc #dean x jay #fluff #smut #supernatural

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boxoftheskyking · 4 years

Text

Pick Up Every Piece - Part One

Ok things to know: -this does not take place in China. It does not take place in the US. It is the year 2000 in a fictional country that I control (this project is a challenge called Let’s Do Exposition). Just go with it. -It’s all talking. That’s what I do, you know this. -Warnings for stuff, I dunno I haven’t written it all yet. When it’s shiny it’ll go on AO3 but for now here’s what I got so far. -There is a lot of alcohol in this fic -Like all fic writers I live on positive reinforcement and this shit is a lot of work. -The title may change, yes it is from NMH

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There are bodies in the creek bed. Enough bodies to stop the flow of the water. Thirty at least, a dam of them. An old woman and a child. Clothes and hair sodden, darkened and wet. Clouds of darkness hovering in the air around them, seeping into dead flesh. An old woman and a child and others. Others in that middle age, the age that passes comment. Is it wrong that these two bodies stand out to him? After all, if he were among the bodies, if he was lying in this creek bed, thirty, skinny, and unremarkable, he would hardly notice himself. He’d blend into the pile, only serving to make the word a plural. Body becomes Bodies. Alters the language. Murder becomes Massacre. There are thirty bodies and hundreds, thousands of flies. Crawling on the back of the little boy’s hand. A smell like—not burning, not quite. Death. Not rot, fresh death. The sand under his feet is nearly dry. The creek bed is dry.

Wei Ying blinks. The creek burbles on alongside him, one duck lazily riding the current under a fallen branch and along to somewhere more interesting. It’s October, and beautiful, and there’s the smallest twilight bite in the air pricking at his nostrils on every inhale. He blows out a long breath and finds himself scratching at his arms, the backs of his hands, where the old scars are. They’re ugly, blotchy and dark like land masses on a faded old map, and they still itch sometimes. He rubs at them hard with the heel of his palm—it’s a weird half-feeling, the layers of dead tissue. It’s not dead, Wen Qing would correct him. It’s not necrotic, it’s just scarring.

He steps around the gnarled roots that reach up from the banks, trying to get to the road but not ever making it. There’s a few muddy stuffed bears tucked among them, plastic wrap snagged on the bark from cheap drugstore bunches of flowers that have rotted away. A couple of carefully hand-painted wooden signs nailed to the trunks, trying to convince the place that people still remember.

He shakes himself and turns away from the woods, hopping the fence onto the road that leads to the bar. He’s late, but Li Chen is always late in the mornings so he deserves to work an extra fifteen minutes. It’s not like there’s a manager to yell at him.

The bar is across the street from an old gas station, one that got firebombed during the war and then left. That’s the thing about Yiling. Everywhere else, even up in Gusu, the cities have gotten rid of as much evidence as possible. Well, they’ve gotten rid of most and turned the rest into memorials to the victorious dead, nice and shiny and flying the Sunshot flag. Nobody really cares about appearances around Yiling—maybe the city council does, but they don’t have anywhere near the budget to run cleanup. Too much actual infrastructure got hit during the worst of the fighting, and they’ll be years behind the rest of the country for the next decade or so. Memorials here are all handmade, and none of them last long.

There’s a flag, though, spray painted on what’s left of the concrete wall of the gas station. A golden hand covering most of a red sun, partly covered by black—one finger for each of the four leading clans and a thumb for everyone else. Typical. He’s not sure who’d have painted a Sunshot here. No one local, he’d put money on it. He supposes they know about spray paint in Lanling—governments must adapt.

It’s probably intentional, anyway, the lack of cleanup. The lack of progress. Nightless City can be repurposed by the Jin government, but the site of the Massacre should stay ugly and busted for a few more years. So no one forgets what it looks like to lose.

Wei Ying likes it in Yiling. “It’s my kind of town,” he always tells Jiang Cheng, who usually throws something at his head. “You want to be a bartender in a town like this. In a town like this, people need a bartender. It’s nice to be needed, you know.”

It’s a shitty bar by any other place’s standards, but for Yiling it’s cozy. The owner, who everyone just calls Granny, still orders sawdust for the floors like it’s 1860 or something, to soak up spills and puke and, occasionally, blood.

Jiang Cheng always says it’s only a matter of time before they have murder in the bar. “Manslaughter, at least,” he’ll say. “It’s just got that look.” Wei Ying says everyone in Yiling’s too tired. Mostly he and Wen Ning just roll drunks out onto the sidewalk and into a cab if someone can afford it.

Jiang Cheng himself comes in around eight. It’s as much of a rush as they ever get, so he has to wait for a few old men to get their cheap lager and gin before sliding up to the bar on his usual stool. Wen Ning gives him a cheerful salute as he comes in, and Jiang Cheng nods awkwardly back at him.

“You’re back early,” Wei Ying says, drawing him a pint of something bitter. Jiang Cheng still lives in Yunmeng, in the old family home, but he has a sublet in Yiling now that he’s working for the intelligence department. Jin Zixuan calls it “cutting his teeth” monitoring old Wen strongholds. Jiang Cheng calls it “shoveling shit.”

It turns out cleaning up a civil war is a pain in the ass, even five years later.

“We should do lunch with Wen Qing on Saturday. She’ll want to see you.”

Jiang Cheng pulls out his annoying little planner, full of his cramped handwriting and meetings with this informant and that police sergeant. “Have to be brunch, I’ve got a twelve-thirty on Saturday.”

Wei Ying snorts at him. “Brunch, in Yiling. Good luck.”

“Hangover breakfast, then.”

“That we can do.”

Jiang Cheng takes a long pull of his beer and Wei Ying can see the relief run down him from the crown of his head down over his shoulders like something hot and slippery. Oil maybe, or homemade noodles. He groans and drops his head down behind his glass.

“Hey, Wei Ying!” An arthritic hand waves at him from the other end of the bar.

“Gotcha, Riseung,” he calls and starts fishing for the kahlua and cream. It’s always at the back of the cooler; no one else ever orders it. “You’re gonna work yourself into an early grave,” he tosses back at Jiang Cheng.

“Not if you keep giving me beer.”

“Hey, Wei Ying, I saw that story last week. Hell of a thing.” Li Riseung has a little cream mustache, but Wei Ying’s not going to mention it.

“The gas thing?” Wei Ying grins at him. “Yeah, I’m telling you, it’s all connected. You watch the prices when Lanling tries to pass another referendum. It’s all supposed to soften you up. You got something for me today?”

“Still writing your conspiracy theories?” Jiang Cheng calls to him. “Some guys just don’t know when to quit.”

(Someone else comes up, he pulls a pint of stout.)

Riseung bristles. “Wei Ying is the only real journalist left in this country. You’ll see.”

Wei Ying props his chin on his folded hands and waits. Riseung takes another long sip. “Yu Xiuying’s got her popcorn maker up and running. She’s starting to sell what she can, make enough to get the theater back in order.”

“Really? That would be something. I’m sick of taking the train every time I want to see a movie.”

“You should report on that, get her some customers.”

Wei Ying drums his fingers on his chin. “Maybe we can work out an ad situation. I need more ads, you know. Papers ain’t cheap.”

Riseung finishes his drink, sets the glass down on the bar. He half-reaches for his pocket. “So, do I owe you, or . . .”

Wei Ying stifles a sigh. Technically it’s nothing he can use. He’s not about to publish an expose on popcorn. Still, he waves a hand. “Your money’s no good here. Go on, keep up the good work.”

The man grins up at him, flashing a row of silver fillings, and heads over to bother someone else.

(Another customer—rum and Coke.)

“You’re just letting people drink for free, huh?” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying wanders back over to him, taking a sip of his own drink (coffee, plus whiskey, just enough to get through the shift).

“Reporting is all about cultivating sources, Jiang Cheng, even you should know that. Li Riseung is a source.”

“A source,” Jiang Cheng mutters. “He’s a drunk.”

“So’s everyone. This whole country’s full of drunks. Drunks make the world go around.”

Jiang Cheng rolls his eyes. “This city is fucking depressing.”

“Oh, and all of Lanling’s sober, is it? Yunmeng? Everybody’s living like Lans? You’d be much more pleasant with a few more of these in you.” Wei Ying grabs his pint glass and dumps the end of it out, refilling in the same smooth movement. It’s just out of spite. He shouldn’t be wasting a good few ounces of genuinely nice beer. But he can’t help it; Jiang Cheng brings it out in him. He spins and shimmies a bit to the bad pop song coming from the busted speaker above him and grabs a bin of limes to chop.

“When are you going to come home?”

Wei Ying doesn’t slip and cut himself, but it’s close.

“I live in Yiling, Jiang Cheng.”

“Yeah, for now.”

Wei Ying sighs. “I like it here, okay? You think they’d let me back in Yunmeng, after everything?”

“I’ve got influence now. They wouldn’t say anything.”

(Two lagers, shot of tequila.)

He hasn’t lived in Yunmeng in years. Almost a decade now. He was in Yunmeng at the start of everything, when Wen Ruohan was forced out of office and half the military went with him. He visits now, but there’s still that sense of before when he’s there, like the majority of his life hasn’t happened yet. But Jiang Cheng is never going to get that, he’s a linear person.

“Not saying anything isn’t the same as allowing. I’m not going to make you fight all day just so I can work at some bougie wine bar somewhere.”

“You wouldn’t have to work at a bar. You could—”

“What? Write? You think anyone anywhere is going to hire me at a paper again? Despite all the rumors, you’re not that dumb.”

“Fuck off. You could work with me.”

“Intelligence. Really? How do you think that would work out? ‘Yes, Jin Zixuan, whatever you say, Jin Zixuan—’”

“Fuck off.”

Wei Ying shakes his head and scrapes a pile of lime wedges back in the bin. “I like where I am. I’ve got the paper—”

“It’s not a paper.”

Wei Ying doesn’t slam the knife down, but it’s a close thing. “Jiang Cheng—”

“You’re such a fucking martyr. What, you lose your dream job so you go to the ass crack of the world and set yourself up as king of nowhere?”

“I’m not king of anything, I’m just writing.”

(Three glasses of white wine.)

“Yiling Laozu.” Jiang Cheng clicks his tongue. “I know you can’t use your real name, but that’s embarrassing. Laozu. You and your sources.”

Wei Ying takes a breath and unclenches his jaw. “If Wen Qing were here you wouldn’t be calling us embarrassing.”

“You’re embarrassing. She’s not embarrassing.”

“It’s our paper.”

“Wen Qing has dignity. You have none.”

Wei Ying gathers up his knife and cutting board to run them back to the dish pit. “Ah, Jiang Cheng, you love me. I know you do.”

It’s always a good way to end a conversation, their own private code. If you keep pushing here you’re going to break something. A warning. You love me. I know you do. Jiang Cheng doesn't ever deny it, but he never agrees either. He doesn't need to. Wei Ying has proof. The scars on the back of his hands, curling around his wrists and up his arms—burn scars, chemical burns—are proof. Jiang Cheng doesn't like to look at his hands. That's proof too.

When he comes back out, Jiang Cheng isn’t alone. The general noise of the bar has fallen to a murmur, and the rowdy game of dominoes is paused in the corner.

Xue Yang is sprawled over two stools, dressed in shiny black leather and grinning a few inches away from Jiang Cheng’s face.

“How’s it going, Captain Jiang?”

Jiang Cheng leans away. “I don’t see you. You are not here.”

“Course not. Good boy.”

Jiang Cheng’s hand tightens around his glass, and Wei Ying picks up the pace slightly.

“Leave him alone, Xue Yang,” he says, carefully mild.

The grin turns on him, and Xue Yang waves, his weird little black prosthesis sticking out like a lighting-struck tree. “You telling me what to do, Wei Ying?”

“I would never. Here, have a drink. If you want.” He pours him a double from his own secret bottle, the one Granny gave him on a good night in the summer. It’s painfully ironic—Xue Yang would be the only person in Yiling who could afford it if he ever actually paid for it.

Wei Ying nods to him and slides the glass across the bar, along with the usual brown envelope. Jiang Cheng sighs and spins around on his stool, looking away.

“Feels light,” Xue Yang says, like always.

“It’s not,” Wei Ying says, also like always.

Xue Yang grins around the little white stick hanging out of his mouth, and Wei Ying grins back. “Eight percent extra on anything you’re short next time.”

“It’s not short. And it’s five percent, don’t try to fuck with me.” Wei Ying smiles wider and does not blink.

“Maybe it’s changed.”

“Granny would tell me, and she wouldn’t hear it from you.”

“Maybe it’s changing today.” Xue Yang leans across the bar, not quite getting in his face, but close enough. Wei Ying meets Wen Ning’s eye over his shoulder. Wen Ning takes a few steps away from the door, but Wei Ying shakes his head just a fraction and he goes still.

“You don’t have the authority.” Wei Ying lets his grin go a little unnatural at the corners, a little bit of a snarl. “And it’s not short, so it doesn’t matter.”

Xue Yang laughs and tucks the envelope into his jacket, then takes a long swig. Wei Ying breathes, finally, quiet and careful.

“Xue Yang,” he says as he starts to wipe down the bar again. “You know you wound me.”

Xue Yang wipes his mouth on his sleeve. “Oh do I?”

“You know it hurts me, deep down in the soul parts of my body, to see you drink top shelf scotch with a fucking sucker in your mouth.”

Xue Yang sticks out his tongue so Wei Ying can see the little yellow nub of it. “It’s pineapple.”

“Great. Thank you. I’m going to go drink bleach now.”

Jiang Cheng half turns to glare at him. “That’s not fucking funny.”

Xue Yang chugs the rest of the scotch and tosses the empty glass at Wei Ying. He hates that it makes him flinch before he catches it. “Tell Granny I say hi.”

“Fuck off.”

“Hey, where’s the little one? Haven’t seen her in a minute.”

Wei Ying stiffens. “You’ll stay away from her if you cherish the rest of those fingers.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Xue Yang gives him a mocking salute and saunters back out towards the door. He’s nearly out when he knocks into an empty chair, sending it to the floor with a crack like a gunshot. No one hits the deck completely, but the held-breath silence turns into a gasp as all eyes snap to the sound, shoulders up and hands braced on tabletops, thighs tensed and ready to run.

Even Xue Yang is frozen at the door for a second. He laughs, though his jaw is tight. “Just a chair, ladies and gentlemen. Clean this shit up, Wen Ning.” And he’s gone.

Wei Ying deflates, adding some of the good scotch to his own cup. Jiang Cheng makes a face.

“How’s that coffee?”

“Shut up.”

“You should let me talk to Zixuan.”

“You talk to him every day.”

“You know what I mean. How long have you been paying—”

Wei Ying sighs and flicks his rag at his brother. “Thing one: I don’t pay, Granny pays. Thing two: Xue Yang is just a low level street thug with connections, he’s as in charge of the operation as I am in charge of Yiling. Thing three: it all kicks up to the Jins at the end of the day, so what are they gonna do about it?”

“Zixuan isn’t—”

“Yeah, I know your best pal is the paragon of morality.”

(Scotch and soda, root beer, gin and tonic, and three pints.)

“He’s our brother-in-law.”

“And your brother-in-arms, I know, I’d never dare disparage the mighty—”

“He’s a nicer brother than you are.”

Wei Ying mimes a faint. “I’m going to call Shijie, tell her you’re being mean to me.”

Jiang Cheng goes quiet, looks down at his beer. Wei Ying reaches out for it, an offering.

“Another?”

Jiang Cheng shakes his head. “I shouldn’t.” A chunk of his hair comes loose from its tie, feathers across his forehead.

“When are you gonna cut that hair, huh?” Wei Ying flicks it back over his ear. Jiang Cheng swipes at his hand lazily.

“I like it like this.”

“You and Zixuan are twins now, huh? You cultivators. Does Lan Zhan still keep his long, do you think?”

“Dunno. Haven’t seen him in a long time. Stop it, leave it, I have it how I want it.”

Wei Ying laughs at him. “Looks good. Dignified. Hey, did you ever ask for Zidian back?”

Jiang Cheng’s face does something complicated, a little bitter. “Not gonna happen. No spiritual weapons are gonna be authorized any time soon.”

“Yeah, but it’s yours.”

“It’s not mine. It’s the government’s.”

“But it responds to you. What good does it do locked away in—”

“Leave it, Wei Ying. I know you’ve got opinions about cultivation, but I’m fucking tired and it’s not going to change anything.”

“Well, when you’re in charge. Then you’ll show ‘em.”

That does make Jiang Cheng laugh, which is satisfying.

(Two gin and tonics.)

“Hey, you’re not allowed—” Wen Ning calls from the door, followed by the tap-tap of a metal cane. Wei Ying sighs and reaches for the grenadine.

“Wei Ying, you son of a bitch.” The voice is high, reedy, and cackling. “How the hell are ya?”

“A-Qing,” Wei Ying calls mildly. “You can’t be here.”

“Where is here?” she yells, as always. “How am I supposed to know that? Can’t you tell I’m blind?”

“Get out of my bar.”

“Discrimination!” She makes her way across the room, purposely bumping into every occupied table on her way over, just to slosh beer onto the floor.

“You’re fourteen.” He has her cherry soda on the bar by the time she hops up on the stool next to Jiang Cheng, ignoring him entirely.

“And how do you know that, creepy old man?”

“You made me get you a cake for your birthday, you goblin.”

“Who’s this guy?” She takes a long slurping suck from her straw.

“My didi.”

“You—!” Jiang Cheng hates it, which is the only reason Wei Ying says it.

“Ooh, the famous Jiang Cheng. I bet he looks real grumpy.”

“Yep.”

Jiang Cheng flips him off. He grins and goes back to wiping down the drain.

“He just flipped you off, didn’t he?”

“Yep.”

“Nice.” She finishes her drink and slams the glass down. “Double vodka please.”

“Nope.”

“I drink vodka all the time.”

“Don’t care. I’m not getting fired over your sorry ass. Go drink at home.”

“I’m not allowed vodka at the home.”

“And you’re not allowed here either.” He drops the rag back into the sanitizer and leans his elbows on the bar. “Now, are you here with something interesting or just to pester me?”

Jiang Cheng looks like he’s about to interject, but Wei Ying waves him off.

“I can multitask,” A-Qing says before pushing her glass back across the bar. “More sugar first.”

“Diabetes on the rocks, yes madam.”

She takes a long slurping pull, and he folds his arms, waiting.

“Got a new TV at the home. Real big one.”

“A-Qing, I’m waiting.”

Jiang Cheng squints at her. “How do you know how big the TV is?”

“I just know, okay. Anyway. One of the older kids got it. Bought it himself.”

“Yeah, right,” Wei Ying says. He needs to challenge her if she’s going to give him the whole story. If he seems too interested she’ll draw it out just to fuck with him.

“He did. Wen Changming.”

“A Wen?” Jiang Cheng asks.

Wei Ying rolls his eyes. “Lots of Wens in the children’s home. I wonder why.”

Jiang Cheng makes a sour face at him.

“He’s got cash to burn, suddenly. Pockets full.”

“Gee, I wonder how you found that out.”

A-Qing grins at him. “He’s not gonna miss it. He’s in the club now.”

“The club?”

“You know, the club. What do you call it? Do crimes, get money.”

“Mob? Syndicate? Criminal organization?” Jiang Cheng offers.

“So they’re recruiting at the home, that’s what you’re telling me? Is it Xue Yang?”

A-Qing blows bubbles in her soda. “I don’t know, maybe.”

“Must be desperate.”

“You do the same thing.”

“I do not.”

She holds out a hand. He sighs and passes over a couple of bills.

“You staying there tonight?” he asks, all casual.

“Maybe. The girls are annoying. Should be nice outside.”

“Starting to get cold.”

“Not really. Only if you’re a pussy.”

“You call me if you need to crash. Here.” He drops a couple of coins in front of her. “I’ll be home after midnight.”

“Sure thing, boss,” she says, pocketing the change. She gives a little salute and hops off her stool. “So long, Wen Ning!” she shouts, walking right at him and making him hop out of the way.

She’s not really blind, of course. Wei Ying’s never brought it up—he knows, but he’s not sure she knows that he knows. One of the nights she crashed at his apartment, months ago, he caught her reading through one of his binders of old clippings—‘91, back before the start of the war, when he was still in Gusu. It kind of kills him, because he wants to ask her what she thought of them. What she remembers from back then, if there’s anything. But they don’t talk about anything serious, not if they can help it.

“Please tell me you don’t have a teenage girl staying at your place,” Jiang Cheng says. Wei Ying gives him a great sigh and grabs his rag again.

“Only when she's got no other place to go. Oh, I have a futon now! You’d see it if you ever came over.”

“Wow, great, you're thirty years old and you have a secondhand futon. Mother would be so proud.”

“I didn't say it was secondhand.”

“Wei Ying, trust me, you do not need to.”

(Four pints.)

Wei Ying makes a face at him. “So mean.”

“It’s weird that she stays with you.”

Wei Wuxian sighs again. “Jiang Cheng.”

“It is. It’s weird.”

“If it’s a bad night at the home then she sleeps outside. I don’t like her sleeping outside, so she stays with me. When she’s not being ornery.”

“She’s a teenage girl.”

“She’s a baby.”

“Not your baby. Why would she sleep outside anyway? Yiling sucks.”

“The home sucks. Look, it’s an orphan thing. You wouldn’t understand.”

Jiang Cheng pouts. “Hey, I’m an orphan.”

“No you’re not, you’re a grown up.”

(Whiskey, neat.)

“You’re a grownup. My parents are dead; I’m an orphan.”

“Then everyone’s a fucking orphan in this country. The word’s lost all meaning. From now on, if your parents were alive when you were ten, you’re not an orphan. Find a new word, leave ours alone.”

“You’re such a jackass.”

“Jackass! Yes, that’s a good word.”

Jiang Cheng sighs and gets off his stool. He tosses cash down on the bar, though Wei Ying tries to wave him off.

“Oh, you’re going to want to get a flag up in here,” he says, off-hand as he turns to go.

Wei Ying freezes. “Excuse me?”

“Coming down from on high, it’s going to be a new ordinance. To keep the liquor license.”

“The fuck does a flag have to do with our liquor license?”

Jiang Cheng holds up his hands. “I’m just the messenger.”

“I’m not letting the Sunshot flag through these doors.”

Jiang Cheng turns back to him, serious. “Look, I know you have your own . . . feelings—”

“Feelings?” he almost spits, spreading his hands out on the bar.

Jiang Cheng winces and does not look at them. “You have your reasons, I’m not arguing that. But Yiling’s a part of the Republic and people need to get used to it. You don’t have to like it, but your district rep is going to announce the policy in the next week, and I don’t want to see you— Don’t go out of your way to make life difficult, all right? It’s hard enough already.”

Wei Ying says nothing, just leans back and watches the rag twist and untwist between his hands.

“See you Saturday,” Jiang Cheng offers, hesitates, then leaves.

Wei Ying will close up. They close early, still, kick everyone out before midnight. Old habits. He’ll go home and work on his column, the one corner of the paper Wen Qing leaves for whatever he wants. (Literally, the column is called “Whatever.”) Maybe A-Qing will find a pay phone and call him, if she hasn’t spent or hidden the change, or maybe she’ll just show up and lean on the buzzer until he lets her in. He’ll sleep better, if she’s there. He was never meant to live alone.

And he’ll wake up tomorrow, and try to do it all again.

Part Two

#the untamed #cql #assorted writings #pick up every piece

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a-spectacle-in-the-morning · 4 years

Text

“Right in Front of You” -- Rafael Barba

Because I’m in the mood for some sweet stuff here’s a date with Barba that doesn’t go as anticipated, incredible street food, and Barba being the grumpy gentleman that he is.

Notes: This is a *sort of* follow up for this fic (not a necessary read for this one!) since people had very kind things to say about it despite all the grammar errors. Not that this is in any way free of grammar errors. Is this a weird jump in the relationship from the last one? Perhaps. Are you suddenly and inexplicably more sardonic in this one? Mhm. Did I give myself the time or have the energy amidst all my school work to fix these discrepancies? No, not really. In other words: apologies in advance.

It takes you a while to decide what to wear when you go out, and that decision is only worsened by the fact that your nights are usually unpredictable as a professional bar hopper. It’s a science, really. The block you start on, the weather, the friends you’re with; all factors. Tonight, however, you know exactly what to wear.

Mostly because Barba sent you a very detailed itinerary for the evening. Dinner at a ridiculously expensive restaurant, Broadway show at six thirty, and home by ten. You both have work tomorrow and that means an early bedtime. After sorting through your pile of button-ups and dress pants there was really only one option.

It’s a gamble of an outfit and could easily be over the top, but it’s the most expensive thing you own. And if you’re being honest with yourself you’ve been hoping for an opportunity to wear it.

Despite how incredible you look on the outside you’re a complete bundle of nerves on the inside. By the time Barba rings the doorbell to your apartment you feel like you’re going to throw up. Who takes a raincheck on drinks and turns it into dinner and a show? The kind of man that waits outside your building in a three-piece suit with flowers, apparently.

“Hey,” you say, nodding your head towards his suit. “You look nice.”

“That was going to be my line,” he replies, standing a bit stiffly. He holds the flowers out for you to take.

“Thank you, sir.” You take the bouquet from him and press it up to your nose. “I’m a little afraid to ask how you knew that I like dahlias more than roses.”

Barba reaches up to scratch at the back of his neck as he says, “You just seem like a dahlia kind of person.”

“What? A little spiky but with beautiful and deep coloring?” you joke.

“Something like that,” he smiles and relaxes a bit.

“I’m gonna run these up and put them in a vase. Do we have enough time?”

“You’ve got five minutes,” he says, fiddling with his watch like he’s going to set a timer.

“I’ll be back in four,” you nearly yell over your shoulder as you rush back up to your building. “I ran cross country in high school!”

You’re back in seven and out of breath, but Rafael wasn’t really counting. He just grins when you return and the two of you begin the walk to the restaurant. When you get about a block away you start to worry.

“Is that a line for the place we’re going?”

“Probably, but I made a reservation weeks ago.”

So that’s why this date was so delayed.

When you get indoors Rafael goes up to the hostess and confidently says, “I have a reservation for two under Barba.”

The woman scrolls through her tablet and shakes her head. “Sorry, nothing under that name.”

Barba presses his brows together. “Oh, well, they should have been made around two weeks ago.”

She shakes her head again. “Sorry, sir. I don’t see anything here.”

He nods curtly and thanks her, turns, and leads you back outside by the small of your back. Once you’re on the sidewalk again he starts to rub at his right temple.

“I’m sorry. I thought I made the reservation. Damn it...”

He starts to mumble something about Carisi and intrusions so you grab both of his hands and squeeze.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens to everyone.”

When he nods his head but doesn’t respond you add, “That was nice of you not to badger the hostess. Harvard douchebags have a tendency to do that when things don’t go their way.”

He shakes his head at your quip. “I’ve worked plenty of part time jobs. I know not to be an asshole when someone doesn’t deserve it.”

“But you were an asshole to me the first time we met,” you shoot back.

“Exactly.”

“Hey! I was perfectly-”

“I know, I know. There's another place I’m thinking of, but it’s in the Bronx. We’ll have to take a cab.”

“Lead the way.”

In under half an hour you are once again following Barba’s lead as he swiftly presses through the streets. He walks like everyone you pass is trying to get in his way even though the foot traffic isn’t particularly bad tonight. The smell of garlic and spices suddenly overwhelms you and your stomach grumbles.

“I hope that smell is coming from wherever we’re going and I hope it’s close,” you whine a bit exaggeratedly.

He laughs. You’ve never heard Barba laugh enthusiastically. It’s kind of beautiful. “Right in front of you.” He points to a food cart across the street.

La Kubanita, you read. There’s a short line, but nothing like the one from earlier.

“How do you know about this place?” you ask, making some conversation as you wait.

“I grew up a few blocks from here. My mom would give me some money every once in a while and I would bring her back tamales.”

You give Barba a sideways glance. “I didn’t know you grew up in the Bronx.”

“Well, that’s because I didn’t tell you,” Barba says sardonically. “And nobody ever asks.”

“Rafa!”

Rafa?

“Dios mío,” Rafael mutters. “Cómo estás, Isabel?”

You look up a bit to the window of the truck to find an older woman absolutely beaming at Barba.

“Tú sabes que estoy bien. Quién es?” she asks, pointing in your direction. “Por fin conseguiste una cita?”

“Stop it Isa,” Rafael lightly scolds. “This is my coworker.”

“Alright,” she relents with a grin. “You want the usual?”

“Por favor,” Rafael responds.

You’re handed a couple take out boxes of warm food within minutes and you thank Isabel with a smile. You find a picnic table to sit at nearby and open the food to find three steaming hot and perfectly wrapped tamales.

As he opens his own box Barba says, “I’m not a huge fan of street food-”

“Shocking.”

Barba squints at you then continues, “But, I love this cart. I even brought some of their arroz con pollo home to my abuela once and she gave it her stamp of approval.”

“Alright, that is really high praise. I don’t think my grandma has approved of anything I have ever cooked or bought her. Or really anything I’ve ever done. You should have seen her face when I told her I wanted to work in law enforc-”

“We can unpack that later,” Barba interrupts, “but right now you’re going to stop thinking about your problems and try that tamale in front of you.”

You throw him a look, but pick up your fork and dig in. It is, undoubtedly, the best tamale you’ve ever had.

“You win this round, Barba,” you concede between bites.

He looks up from his food. “I wasn’t aware this was a competition.”

“It’s always a game with you.”

“Is it?”

You pause, trying to decide if you want to maintain your nonchalance or admit something a little more personal. Fuck it.

“You’re tough to keep up with sometimes. Everything is in order. No nonsense. You’re effortlessly and brutally sarcastic- which is very sexy, by the way. Every conversation is a mini battle. I’m not saying that’s a bad thing. It’s just new. I’m not used to guys like you.”

You hold his gaze for a second longer, then busy yourself with unwrapping your second tamale.

“Very sexy, hm?”

You snap your eyes back up to him to catch his shit-eating grin. “Really? That’s what you picked out of that?”

His smile somehow grows, and you can’t help the one spreading on your own face.

“You should know after today that I don’t have it all put together,” he says, going back to his meal.

You gently kick one of his feet under the table. “Yeah, I finally have some proof that you’re human.”

“Aside from the fact that I’m fueled entirely by coffee like the rest of you?”

“Yes,” you nod in agreement. “Aside from the coffee.”

The two of you finish your meal while making casual conversation. When Rafael returns from throwing the garbage out he stops to look at his watch.

“It’ll take us about 30 minutes in this traffic to get back to Manhattan. We should probably head out. Are you ready to go?”

“Damn. I was just starting to get comfortable being totally, inappropriately overdressed. Maybe we should just skip the show.”

Barba rolls his eyes but holds out his arm for you to take. “I’ll leave you here if that’s what you want. I’m not missing Anastasia.”

You laugh, taking his arm and walking out towards the street to hail a taxi. As you wait you notice the sun is beginning to set and is casting the loveliest shade of yellow over everything. You catch Barba looking at you with an entirely contented expression and a slight smile ghosting his lips.

That look alone is better than all the whiskey in the world.

Here’s the thing folks, I haven’t written anything in Spanish in probably three or more years. I know there have got to be mistakes. I apologize. Blame my senior year Spanish teacher for making us watch soap operas more often than actually teaching us anything. And the name of the food cart is borrowed from a real Cuban food cart that I have never been to. I wasn’t creative enough to think of my own.

Hopefully this was a decent follow up for “Woeful Wins and Whiskey”. I’m trying to get more confident with writing Barba. Trying being the key word. I’m always happy to read feedback, comments, and criticisms. And if anyone wants a third part let me know! I’m thinking more shenanigans with the SVU, maybe some struggles with defining the relationship.....

#rafael barba x reader #rafael barba x you #rafael barba imagine #rafael barba fanfiction #rafael barba fanfic #law and order: svu #Law and Order: Special Victims Unit #law and order: svu imagine #law and order: special victims unit imagine #fanfiction #fanfic #rafael barba

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imnotwolverine · 4 years

Text

Dear Bear

Henry Cavill x OC Lisa - multi-chapter fic

Author’s note: Oh this chapter is so sad. I’m sorry - but could not keep it from you all the same. Also, on a side-note: I’ve finally created a masterlist and baptised this storyline to go by the name ‘Tea for Two’.

Word count: 4.706

Disclaimer: angst, sadness, fluff, party drugs

---

This is part 7 of the Tea for Two story.

Find the masterlist here.

< Go back to part 6

November 1st. I held the paper calendar in my hand, looking at a picture of the Witcher crew from past year. Everyone happily gathered around a large buffet celebrating Thanksgiving. It did not take long to spot Henry on the far right, looking overly excited, his arms raised in joy while looking straight at the camera. Not surprising, since he was a foodie for sure. The more food, the merrier the Henry. My finger traced his over excited face as I let out a sigh, folding back the previous month and hanging the calendar back on our office wall.

It had been exactly 3 weeks since I last saw him and I hated every single day of it. Not only had it been crazy busy at work now production was nearing its end (the time pressure to finish the season was on and the press tour had started), it was also hard to find the mental peace and quiet to keep contact with each other. A few minute calls here and there is all we could manage in between our tight schedules. Not enough to really, really talk. And I fully understood that this was just what it would be like sometimes, when dating Henry. It would mean I would have to miss him. Having to miss him, a lot.

I sighed again while plopping down on my chair, brushing my fingers through Kal’s thick fur. He was too fast asleep to even care, yet I was glad to have him there. Henry had left him with me, since it was more peaceful for Kal to not have to travel everyday. Besides, it was good for me to have something so dear to Henry near me at all times. In these three weeks Kal and I had become best buddies, for sure. We found a rhythm of him sleeping next to my side of the bed, waking up with morning cuddles, going for a walk, then eat breakfast together. Next we’d take a cab to work, and he’d be sticking to his side by my feet (at my desk or on set) until we’d get back home again, followed by his big walk, dinner, some working out or reading and.. back to bed. Rinse and repeat.

I sent a picture of Kal sleeping at my feet to Henry, followed by a heart emoji. The message didn’t come through. He probably had bad cell reception again. ‘HEEYyy, I was thinking.’ My colleague awoke me from my intense phone-screen-staring. I looked up. ‘Hmm?’ I said. ‘You know. It’s Friday. We’re off tomorrow. How ‘bout we go out for some drinks. Just a..girls night out?’ My colleague pouted her lips in a pleading look. I laughed half-arsed. ‘Ange, I don’t know..I’m quite..tired actually.’ ‘Oh come on! You sound like an old hag. Besides, Henry’s in Asia now, so he’ll be sleeping by the time you get off. Let’s just have ONE drink. Come on!’ Ange, or Angelica as her full name goes, nodded her head excitedly, in hope that her bobbing head would convince me to also nod in agreement. I looked back at my laptop screen, noticing another 532 unread emails, realising there was no winning any of these fights. Be it working all night, or going for that one drink. ‘Alright then.’ I nodded, shrugging in defeat. ‘GREAAAT. Oh my god I found this great bar that just opened. Such great cocktails. And there’s this..’ She rattled on, making me realise I sure had turned into a bit of a homebird over the past year. In previous years I wouldn’t have hesitated about going out whenever someone suggested it. No matter how busy the workweek, I would always love myself some dancing and sipping on half decent wine. Perhaps it’d be a good thing to go for a night out on the town.

—

Ange came to pick me up at my hotel room. We were just two floors apart, but it was still a sweet gesture. I opened the door, finding her standing there in some very slinky deep blue minidress and dark eye make-up, her waist-long dark hair falling sleekly around her curvy figure. ‘Well, hello minxy.’ I laughed, letting her in. I almost felt underdressed in my simple midi-length black dress with halter neck. She smiled a cheeky grin, then in turn looked me up and down. ‘You don’t look so bad yourself girl.’ She purred, immediately striding towards my small fridge. ’Help yourself.’ I said, already knowing full well she was about to pour us some generous glasses of wine. She came back pressing a glass of rosé in my hands, then plopped down on the small sofa. ‘You know. Perhaps it’s better. Not having any men around. Then we can have some..real..fun!’ She raised up her glass in cheers. I joined her in the sitting corner, sitting down on a small pouf and clinked glasses with her. ‘Do you really feel you can have no fun with men around?’ I asked, sniffling, before taking a large sip of wine.

‘Naaa.. They always have a motive. Double intentions. Blaa.’ She stuck out her tongue before also taking a large swig of the wine. ‘So. Are you still dating that Joseph guy?’ I asked, looking at her as she pulled down her obnoxiously short hemline that kept creeping up. She smiled. ‘I think me and Joseph are…done..for now. Maybe for the odd bit of fun. But he just REALLY wasn’t my type.’ ‘And what is your type then..?’ ‘Oh don’t bother. No men tonight! Just us, ladies, wanting to have a good time, okay?’ She clinked her glass against mine again, stretching out her long neck while smiling a victorious smile. And honestly, I hoped that would be true. The way I knew Ange, there was very little chance she would not, at some point during the night, get desperate for some attention. Attention she’d eventually seek from some tall dark stranger with just the same double intentions. It’d be just another Joseph guy. Another guy who’d disappoint her, pushing her to the point she’d become even more desperate and insecure.

‘Yea..let’s just have some fun.’ I winked, pushing away those thoughts and taking another sip of wine while seeing she had already nearly finished her glass.

—

The club Ange had chosen was, well, interesting. It was Berlinesque in mood. Dark, neon-lit and gritty with lots of bare concrete and sinister looking hipster folk afoot. The music was great though. Deep bass tones that tore through your whole body like a heartbeat, strumming melodies that made your hips shake and balkan-esque folk tunes were thrown in the mix for good measure. We ordered two dark and stormies and wandered to a corner of the club, casually dancing and giggling at some of the other party goers that were obviously a bit further in their drinks. It felt a bit like that matrix club scene, the lights glimmering a green hue over the sweaty, almost gimpy dressed people.

‘This place feels like a movie set of its own.’ I laughed in her ear. She nodded, sipping her drink, laughing beguilingly. ‘Lots of famous people come here.’ She returned, having to lean into me to make herself heard over the loud beats. ‘Haa..’ I said, looking around me to see if I recognised anyone. No familiar faces. I shrugged. ‘Guess not tonight.’ She took another large swig of her drink, twirling around in happiness. ‘I love this music. I love this!’ She exclaimed, almost pouring some of her drink on the floor while raising her arms. I laughed, following her while she moved onto the dance floor.

We squeezed our bodies through the dancing crowd. The bouncing, sultry bodies around me made me drink with great haste, not wanting to spill any of it on the floor. ‘Another?’ Ange gestured, holding up her not-yet-finished drink. I shrugged. ‘Let me get this round.’ I said, winking at her. She nodded, immediately turning her attention to a handsome man standing next to her. Oh gods. It has already started, I thought, quickly forcing my way to the bar, in order to get back to her as quickly as possible. The bar tender however was more then a little occupied. I leaned against the sticky edge of the bar, looking at the cocktail list hanging on the far back wall.

‘Hello there sugar.’ A deep voice rumbled in my ear. I looked around. A man that could best be described as a balkan viking was leaning into me, smirking a devilish smile. Slightly tanned skin, a beard and brushed back hair that fell over a crisp white shirt. I squinted my eyes at him, deciding what action best to take. ‘You know, you’re cute and all, but.. I’m not interested.’ I said, turning my attention back to the board with chalked-on cocktail names. ‘And you know, you shouldn’t be so mean to me.’ He said, leaning even closer. ‘..Or you might just get set-up..’ His body pushed further into me as his hand painfully wrapped around my neck as he pushed his bearded lips against mine. I instinctively tried to pull away, but before I could even think of such a thing, I saw a large flash. FUCK. NO. FUCK this shit. Photograph. Fuck. I didn’t quite know what to do once he let me go, my cheek already sore from his painful grasp. I gasped, looking from the filthy viking, back to his photographing accomplice. ‘What is wrong with you?!’ I scolded, my voice slightly trembling. The viking man crossed his arms. ‘Oh sugar, no worries. I have a DEAL for you.’

My eyes quickly moved towards the bar tender. He hadn’t seen a thing. To the door man in the far back. Too far away. Fuck. Then I turned around, looking for Ange. And… There was no Ange. Oh no, shit, fuck, no. I quickly grasped for my phone, texting Ange, keeping half an eye on the two smirking idiots in front of me. ‘Where you at?’ I texted. She didn’t respond. No, no, no… My eyes flashed back at the two men, still grinning menacingly, slowly leaning closer towards me. I felt myself almost pant with worry. It couldn’t be this bad right? I was just overreacting. This was nothing. These idiots were just drunk. And Ange probably just went to the toilet. The toilets. I let my gaze fly over my shoulder to the bathroom sign. I turned back towards the men. ‘You know what. I’ll hear your deal in a bit, I really have to go to the toilet. If you’ll excuse me.’ I quickly squeezed myself through a group of drunk men whom were trying to order some beers to get out of the reach of the viking and his henchman, hastily making my way to the toilets. Thankfully there was no queing line.

‘Ange? You here?!’ I exclaimed, offering an apologetic look at some of the girls who gave me a begrudging look while they plastered on some more make-up. No Ange. Dammit. I grasped my phone again. She still hadn’t responded. I looked under the bathroom stalls, seeing if I recognised her feet. Nope. Shit. Dammit! I quickly made my way back to the dance floor, only then recognising her in the crowd. She was surrounded by a whole pack of men. Oh come on Ange, not cool. I squeezed myself in between the men, grasping her arm. She turned around, a wide, slow grin on her face. ‘What?’ She said slightly annoyed. I noticed her eyes were a bit strange, unfocussed. I looked her in the eye. ‘Did you …take drugs?’ I asked, raising my eyebrows. She slurrily laughed. ‘WhaAAATT?!’ She exclaimed, thinking it funny. ‘What what what what…’ She lulled.

‘Ange.’ I folded my hands around her cheeks, trying to make her look at me. ‘We need..to go.. okay?’ Her eyes glazed over as she fell over forwards into my arms. I looked at the men around us. They did not seem to care, they just kept laughing. And it was only now that I noticed how they were touching her, groping her actually. One of their hands firmly squeezing her ass. I gasped. What the ..fuck..was going on. I shot the men a most menacing look as I dragged a half-conscious Ange to a more quiet corner of the club, out of their grasp. Thankfully they didn’t follow.

She was surprisingly heavy as she leaned into me. ‘Whaat….’ She mumbled once more, having difficulty even looking at me. Did someone lace her drink? She surely couldn’t get drunk like this, this fast, right? I desperately pinned her against my body, leaning against the wall for support, then flipped out my phone again. Uber. No rides available at this moment. Oh. Come on. What was this place even. Google. The page kept reloading while I tried to look for a local taxi company. My eyes desperately flew across the room, interlocking with the luring looks of the viking and his accomplice again. I felt tears burn behind my eyes. Okey. I couldn’t fix everything, I guess. But I had to get Ange out of here. Yes. With all my might I dragged her wobbling, half asleep body through the sweating mass of dancing bodies. It seemed like nobody noticed us. Nobody voluntarily moved and it felt like hours before I finally had managed to coach us back to the entrance. I picked up our jackets and after what seemed like days, we got back outside.

The night was freezing cold and gloomy, the stars veiled by thick grey clouds while the occasional gush of rain drops blew in our faces. Ange had fallen asleep by now. A drug induced, hopefully not too uncomfortable, sleep. She was breathing steadily against my chest as we sat on a bench near a bus stop. It’d be another 45 minutes before the next night line bus would stop here, but it was all I could figure out at this point and time. I shivered into my jacket as I squeezed Ange tightly against me, making sure she continued to breath by keeping my left hand on her pulse. With my right hand I opened my phone again. 2.15 am. It wasn’t even that ridiculously late, but it sure felt like it. What time would it be for Henry? 6 hours later. That means… He might be up. Should I text him? I hesitated, opening Whatsapp and noticing I wasn’t the only one thinking that.

Henry is typing…

Morning dear. You’re probably sleeping right now. But look at this *a picture of a large breakfast he had made himself* Made me and my team some breakfast, thought you’d be proud of me ;) I miss you, i miss your cooking, i miss being with you. Give Kal a good hug from me and enjoy your Saturday <3

My lip started to tremble and I felt my eyes sting as long overdue tears started rolling hotly over my ice cold cheeks.

I miss you too :( so so much. :( :( :(

I sent back with half frozen hands.

Can’t sleep?

He responded. I snickered sadly, realising it’d be weird for me to respond so soon, in the middle of the night.

Actually having a seriously messed up night :/

I typed, hesitating to send it. I looked back at Ange and tried to figure what was best. Not tell him? It’s not like he could do anything about it, other then get worried sick. I knew he’d do that. I knew he’d get fed up and feel bad all day. I sighed, deleting the message again. I looked at my screen, thinking of what to type.

You okay babe?

He typed. I instantly felt more tears billow over my cheeks. Oh how I missed him. He had seen me type, then remove it again. Best just come clean. He was no fool. No secrets. I had to tell him.

Having a messed up night. Was going out for drinks with Ange at a club. No fun though. Some idiot laced her drink. Another idiot forced himself upon me :( going home now.

I pressed send and it took about a millisecond before he called me. I answered.

‘Sweetheart..’ I heard his low voice, alongside his footsteps on a stone floor as he probably moved away from his crew whom were now munching away on that breakfast. A door closing. I felt my lips tremble, and decided to just, wait a moment. ‘Sweetheart are you okay?’ He continued. I shook my head no, my lip trembling even more fiercely. ‘..It’ll be okay…’ I said quietly, feeling more tears well up. He could hear me cry. I could hear him choke up in turn. Had he ever even seen me cry? I don’t think he did. At best I’ve had a grumpy day when he was around. No crying though. I felt even more guilty. ‘Are you safe?’ He finally said, his voice laced with worry. ‘I’m safe. Just waiting for the bus.’ ‘Tell me what happened. Is Ange with you? Are there people with you?’ His words tumbled out, making me feel how confused and worried he was. I felt so bad for even telling him. Poor Henry…

‘I’m sorry for crying. Don’t worry. I am safe.’ I sniffled softly, taking another shivery breath. ‘..And Ange is with me, asleep. There’s a few people sitting near us. The bus should be here in a little while.’ I muttered. ‘Don’t be sorry sweetie. Oh..’ I could hear his mind race from the other side of the line. I could hear that door crack open again as someone called for him. ‘I’m sorry guys, can’t join..please.’ His voice sounded tight. The door closed. I could hear him breath out, making me imagine how he’d probably be standing in the hall of his temporary apartment, hesitating at what to say, the phone lingering in his hand. ‘Henry?’ I asked. ‘Yes baby.’ He immediately answered. ‘I’m a big girl. I can handle myself. Please don’t beat yourself up on this.’ I said, trying to keep my voice level. The tears had faded by now, and I was glad I didn’t have to look into those big blue eyes of his. Those surely would have cracked the roaring storm of emotions right open again. We were both quiet for a moment. Until I finally realised what was happening. He was crying. I could hear his muffled cry on the other side of the phone. Oh..no…sweet bear..

My eyebrows knitted together as my eyes drifted to some of the other drunk folk that were leaning on the pavement, waiting for the bus as well. They were not even remotely interested in my call, instead swigging down some more booze from a small drinking container. I drew in a deep breath. ‘Hey bear.’ I said gently, a silent tear rolling down my cheek. ‘Remember the day we met? ..that very humid, sweaty morning in the LA hills? Hmm..I was very much used to being alone then. Solving my own shit. But I guess that changed once I heard Kal panting in those bushes. It all changed when I rang that phone number on his tag. It all changed when I met… you.’ I spoke quietly, reminiscing that moment. I heard him break into even more tears. ‘Henry.’ I continued, ‘I knew that no matter how hard we’d try, we’d sometimes be apart. And it’s hard. And it sucks..’

‘…I miss you so much.’ He finally breathed into the phone, his voice shaky and fragile. ‘I miss you too.’ I said, looking down at Ange as she was quietly sleeping against my chest. I took another deep breath as I heard his breathing also calm a bit. Dear Henry…I thought. Then I heard that darn door open again. ‘You alright mate?’ A voice sounded. More silence, then the door closing again. ‘Please forgive me.’ He finally uttered, quietly. ‘What?’ I asked, not sure what he meant. ‘Forgive me.’ He whispered. ‘What should I forgive you for?’ My voice felt empty. ‘That I make you go through all this. That we have to be apart because of my..work….’ He drew a deep breath. ‘..Fuck this shit..’ He ended quietly. ‘Henry. Bear. That is life. There is naught to forgive. Please bear. I love you. Please hold on.’ I felt shivers run down my spine. Was this how we’d end? The thing that would break us apart? More tears started to well up in my eyes as I heard him cry through the phone. I couldn’t manage any more words, my lip trembling from both the icy cold and my emotions. We were both quiet for a long moment, the only sounds reaching my ears being the draws of shivery breaths as his crying tempered down. My heart was bursting with pain and fear. Please, don’t break up with me. Please please please.

’Never.’ I heard his voice. ‘What?’ I stammered. ‘I would never break up with you.’ He said, his voice more clear then it had been this whole phone call. I realised, belatedly, that I had spoken my thoughts out loud. I closed my eyes. In a way I felt a bit more at ease, but I also felt so very helpless. I wanted to hug him, kiss away his tears, crawl away in his strong arms. I took another shivery breath. His crying had stopped, I think, as his breathing sounded more calm. ‘Babe..’ He started, hesitating. ‘Henry?’ My heartbeat rushed in my chest. ‘..thank you for telling me. Thank you for trusting me.’ His voice sounded calm and honest. ‘Why..but..of course I trust you..’ Why would he say that? ‘I’ve gotten so used to people hiding their issues from me, because they’re scared it’s too much for me. I care about you. I want to know what’s going on in your life, in your head. I really do.’ He spoke gently. I sucked in a deep breath, a bit overcome with those words. With exes I had often hidden away my feelings and not spoken of my experiences, because I felt embarrassed or simply that it wasn’t a good moment. In the end there barely ever was a good moment and I distanced myself from them until I was more of a mom to them, then a girlfriend. Henry’s words struck a cord I didn’t even know was strung so tightly in my chest. It had snapped, just like that.

‘You still there?’ He asked. ‘Yea. Uh. Sorry. I guess I’ve never had someone say that to me before…hmm.’ I smiled meekly. ‘You are the best boyfriend I’ve ever had I think.’ I said, feeling little pangs of joy in my stomach as I heard him chuckle softly. ‘And you..by far the best girlfriend. I don’t want to lose you dear. Please know that…’ His voice swam in my head as my attention was drawn to a bus pulling up to the bus stop. ‘Hen..bear..I’ve got to go. The bus is here. Love you.’ I hung up the phone, awkwardly pushing it back in my pocket before hoisting up Ange, who was still very much knocked out.

At the hotel I hadn’t even bothered to get Ange to her room, instead plopping her on my bed and falling almost instantly asleep besides her, clothed and all. It was about 8 am when I was awakened by an irregularly buzzing phone next to my head. I drowsily looked up, noticing a whole bunch of messages that were popping up. I sat up, seeing Ange had turned on her side, still sleeping. I opened the messages. Long story short. Tickets. He had managed to get me off the schedule for some meetings I’d be having this week and gotten me plane tickets to a few of the next destinations he’d be flying to. Followed with the text. ‘I thought you could maybe answer all those emails in an airplane too?’ I smiled, rubbing the sleep from my eyes, before taking a better look at the messages and emails. DARN. First plane would leave tonight. Tonight. That means I’d see him..by breakfast. Oh my. My heart started pounding as I shot out of bed, being greeted by a yawning Kal. ‘Oh KAL! What news I have!’

——

The plane had landed and taxiing to the airport of Gimpo International Airport, Seoul, seemed to take forever. I eagerly looked out of the window, brushing my fingers through Kal’s fur to ease my mind. Just a few more minutes and I’d see him. Oh my. I felt butterflies in my stomach, my heart pounding and my hands clammy. The captain’s iron voice was shrieking through the speakers, but I couldn’t really make much of his heavily accented english. I sat back in the beige seat, keeping my eye trained on the window, barely registering as one of the flight attendees carefully shook me from my stare. ‘Miss? Are you ready?’ I sat up, realising first class could leave the plane first. Like. Right now. I nodded, a quick smile turning on my face as I quickly picked up my bag and followed her, being able to walk straight out after the sealed door was opened.

It got even crazier when I found a small man waiting for me outside the plane. He held up a small clipboard with my name on it, already recognising me before I realised what was going on. ‘Miss! Welcome. Please.’ He reached for my bag, which he took from me. Kal excitedly wanted to jump up at him, making the small man jump back, laughing awkwardly. ‘Bear dog! Ha!’ He said with a cute accent, his eyes squinting in a wide smile. ‘Now, follow me. Quick route.’ He gestured, as his small legs shuffled off in lightning speed. I even had to set a serious pace to keep up with him. Darn fast little man! But on the other hand, I was overly glad he was fast. The faster I’d see Henry. Once more my heart started to pound loudly in my chest as we quickly strided through customs, picked up my bags and he escorted me to the exit hall. Staying at his side of the sliding door he bowed me a goodbye. I thanked him and dragged Kal from him, before Kal could attempt another tackle on the poor man. I swished my suitcase into the exit hall, a happy Kal looking up at me, curious what adventure would be next. But all I had eyes for was him. It was hard to miss him, since he was towering at least a foot over the other people. Wearing his usual incognito sweater, sunglasses and baseball cap, he waved at me. I pulled Kal and my suitcase along, wishing I could just jump into his arms, stifle him with my kisses, heck, I’d make love to him right here if I could.

‘Hi.’ I breathed, slightly out of breath as I halted before him, dropping my suitcase - but thankfully not Kal’s leash. He smiled, quickly pulling me up into one of those big, big bear hugs. ‘Hmmmmmm.’ He hummed, not lowering me down, pushing his nose in my neck, making me giggle. I wrapped my legs around his hip, settling back in his arms a bit so I could remove his sunglasses. Green eyes meet blue eyes. We kissed. Oh how I missed this. Him. His scent. His scruffy chin. His laugh. We kissed and kissed and kissed to the point that Kal was getting impatient, jumping up at us, wanting to get in on the action. We finally let go so Henry could greet his trusty pal. ‘Hi! Hey! Been a good boy? You’ve been a good boy? Oh Kal! Kal! Kal!’ He laughed as Kal rolled on his back, offering Henry his belly to rub to mighty delight. His paw was even kicking in excitement. In between belly rubs Henry looked up at me, his face melting in what I could best describe as pure love. I could have died happily on that spot right there.

Part 8 >

#henry cavill #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #fluff #angst #club #spikeddrinks #sadness #teafortwo

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writingformadderton · 4 years

Text

Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself - Prequel (2)

PART 1

Ship: Madderton

Word Count: 11,348

Summary: This fic is one of the two requested prequels for Don’t Be So Hard On Yourself. Richard is struggling with his Eating disorder and Taron tries to support him as good as he can. Richard has a hard time mentally, which affects him and his relationships with Taron and his mother. A friend of him, who’s also his stylist does her best to help him while Taron is away shooting. Taron and Richard take a trip to Scotland, visiting Richards parents.

Author's note: TRIGGER WARNING!!! This fic mentions an eating disorder. Please READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!! If you or anyone you know is suffering from something you don’t like to talk about often because you may not feel comfortable, please do no hesitate to message us! Whether it be anonymous or not, we are here for you and will gladly be a listening ear. We promise to be discreet, attentive, and empathetic. We love you all dearly! Stay safe and stay home!

Based on this request:

Richard styles his hair and tries not to give the rest of his body all too much attention looking in the mirror. He has to pick up Taron from the airport in half an hour and he has very mixed feelings about it. On one side, he’s happy to have him back. He needed his boyfriend and missed him dearly. But mostly, he is afraid. He hadn’t been doing all too well these last three weeks and was able to hide it during phone calls. As soon as Taron would step out of the gates, he would realize what’s really been going on.

Taron was extremely talented in seeing how Richard feels. Richard tried to hide it, using his acting skills. But Taron’s observant eyes see even the tiniest trembling of his hands and smallest hesitation in his answers. He knows him inside and out, and Richard became an open book to him. Which was a relief because he never had to explain much, but it was always scary in bad times.

The ringing of his phone nearly gives him a heart attack and he jumps slightly. Looking at it shortly and seeing it’s his mother, he considers just missing the call and texting her later. He bites his lower lip nervously and plays with his hands while looking at the phone lying at the sink. Ugh, screw it. “Mom?” he takes the call and breathes in deep to control his tired voice.

“Hey, how are you?” Pat asks and listens closely. Richard hasn’t been texting or calling her for the last three weeks. This was never a good sign.

“I’m doing okay. How are you and dad?” he asks and sees he bit his lip too long, a drop of blood slowly spreading over them. Shit.

“We are fine. Richard, are you okay?” she asks again, firmly this time.

“I just told you that.” he says a bit harsher than he wanted to. Richard rubs his face and rolls his eyes at himself. Now his mother was on to him.

“And I told you a hundred times before to be honest to me. Especially about this little problem.”

Richard just laughs pejoratively and walks out of the bathroom. “You still can’t give it a name, huh?”

“What?” Pat asks confused and thinks back to what she said. “You hate talking about it. I don’t wanna call you and ask how you’re handling your eating disorder.”

“Sounds better than always labeling it as my problem, struggle or whatever. That sounds like I’m a problem myself, mum.” he explains and opens the window in their bedroom, trying to breathe in some fresh air. The weather is way too warm and beautiful for his mood today.

His mother remains silent for a short while before speaking again. “I never heard you saying that to Taron. He doesn’t put it into words as well, am I right?”

“What does that have to do with it? T is around me all the time and helps me out when it gets too hard to handle. Of course he won’t put it into words when I’m around him. He knows how hard it is, because he’s helping me.” Rich states and frowns slightly. Where was this conversation going?

“Well I would love to help you, but your boyfriend is the only one you talk to about it. So, don’t come at me with this.” She sighs a bit and stares out of the window. “Taron is coming back today anyway, right? I’ve got nothing to worry about then.”

“Oh, for fucks sake, mum!” he groans and rubs his face. He hates fighting about this with his mother. She would never understand how hard it has been for him to open up to Taron, taking that step to being his boyfriend and actually let Taron in when it hits him the hardest. He gets his mother’s viewpoint but what she forgets was how it made him, a 33-year-old grown man, feel to struggle with something like this and admit it to people.

“What? I know Taron is the only one you let inside and help you to fix it.”

“Seriously, you need to work on your vocabulary for these conversations. I’m not having a problem and I don’t need to be fixed. I’m not broken, mum.” He rests his forehead on his arm, trying to keep his breath under control and cool down with the air from outside.

“That’s what you like to believe.” She hears the annoyed groan of her son. “You know Taron’s help won’t be enough sooner or later. What are you gonna do then? Push it until it’s too late?”

Richard feels himself getting pushed into a corner and he hates it. He needs to stop this immediately before it has an even worse impact on him than it already does. “I need to work.”

“No, you don’t. You have a day off to get Taron.” Pat shakes her head slightly. Her son always tries to get out of their conversations, giving excuses for why he can’t talk right now. “I’m serious, Richard. How long do you think Taron will deal this, huh?”

Richard draws a sharp breath and feels himself getting sick. “What?” he asks lowly and sits down on their bed heavily.

“You heard me.”

“Mum, you-.” Richard takes his phone away from his ear and feels tears burning in his eyes. His mother knows exactly how much Richard worries about the effects it has on Taron. “You can’t just throw the thing I’m most afraid of into a conversation when I’m not doing well.” he says and ends the call without a goodbye. He throws his phone aside and gets up, feeling his chest getting tight. The Scottish feels panic taking over his body and he starts pacing the room, trying to stop it somehow.

His phone rings loudly and he just ends the call without looking at it. Fuck, she did it again. Whenever his mother realized he wouldn’t listen to her or try to get out of the phone call, she did it. She hurt him over and over again, making him believe that Taron would take a step back and break up with him. He knows she doesn’t do it on purpose, but it wrecked him every single time.

Three declined calls later, he slides down on the floor next to their bed and tries to stop himself from crying. His thoughts are racing, but he knows he has to pick up Taron. He doesn’t even know how late it is now. His phone rings again and this time he takes it. His eyes are full of tears and he can’t see who called him. Suspecting it’s his mum, he takes it this time. “Stop calling me, mum. You messed it up and I feel like shit, happy now? I told you a thousand times to stop using Taron to get to me and you’re still messing it up.” There’s a moment of silence, and suddenly Richard fears it isn’t his mother on the line.

“What happened?” he hears his boyfriend ask and curses under his breath.

“Nothing, just got into a fight with my mum.” Richard says slowly leaning back and looking up at the ceiling, shaking his head. Fuck, fuck, fuck! Now Taron knew he wasn't doing so well mentally and started falling back into his disorder behaviors.

“Yeah I got that. I’m at the airport now, should I take a cab, or-?” Taron sits down on a seat and leans against the wall behind him.

“No, I’ll pick you up. I’m sorry, I lost track of time.” Rich pushes himself up and grabs a tissue, walking into the bathroom.

“Richard, are you feeling well enough to drive? I can take a cab, it’s no problem.” Taron urges him softly.

“No, I-.” Richard shakes his head and sniffs when the tears start running his cheeks down rapidly. He buries his face in his hand, taking deep breaths and trying to calm down. He can hear Taron talking to someone and tries to focus again.

“I’ll be home in ten minutes, it’s okay. Whatever happened we can talk about it. There’s nothing that will change anything between us, alright?” Taron says softly and closes the door of the cab behind him. He tells the driver the address of his neighbor a street around the corner, a safety measure they made up with this particular neighbor. Richard just hums a hesitant yes and Taron leans back in the seat. “I love you, Richard. I’ll see you soon.”

“Love you too.” Richard says with a shaking voice and ends the call. “Fuck!” he shouts and slams his hand onto the sink. He changes into sweatpants and a wide sweater quickly. Rushing back into the bathroom, he nearly drops his phone. Richard turns the water on and washes his face. He looks at himself in the mirror and grumbles. “Get yourself together!” he takes advantage of his acting skills and stops himself from crying, clears his throat and blows his nose.

---

Taron opens the front door anxiously and steps inside. His mind is racing, nervous for what mindset he’ll find his boyfriend in. “Rich? I’m home.” he shouts and slides off his shoes. He looks up when he hears him coming down the stairs, appearing in comfy clothes. Taron can see he had gone through a panic attack. The controlled labored breaths, his slightly messy hair, and the way he keeps his hands in his pockets to hide the shaking. “Hey.” He says, voice wavering just slightly.

“Hey.” Rich just says and takes a deep breath smiling a bit at him. “You need something to drink or eat?”

“I need a hug from my boyfriend who I haven’t seen in three weeks.” Taron slowly says and steps closer, hesitating as Richard looks at him a bit startled.

“Ugh god, I’m sorry.” Rich breathes out and wraps his arms around him. “I’m such an idiot. I really wanted to pick you up. I was already ready in the bathroom.”

“It’s alright.” Taron says and holds him close, breathing in his cologne. Rich buries his face in his shoulder and holds him tight. T decides to remain silent and give him the reassurance he needs.

“I didn’t mean for you to find out what happened in such a way.” he says and lifts his head.

“That’s okay.” Taron chuckles softly and his eyes wander all over his face. “How did your mum use me to get to you?” he asks softly.

Richard bites his lower lip. “Whenever she has the feeling I’m not doing well, she tries to make me talk about it. You know how hard this is for me.” Taron nods understandingly. “And then we always get to the point where she doesn’t know how to continue with me.” Rich shakes his head and avoids Taron’s look. “’How long do you think Taron will do this?’ ‘How long do you think he’ll watch it?’ ‘You think he’ll stay if you don’t change something about it?’”

Taron swallows hard hearing that. His mother confronted him with his biggest fear in all of this. “I’m sorry, Rich.” he says and tries to make eye contact again. “Look at me, love.” Richard does, hesitating because of the new formed tears in his eyes. “Your eating disorder isn’t a reason for me to leave you. You are fighting it and that’s all that matters. Sometimes it kicks your ass, but you get back on your feet again.” He lifts his hand and fondles over Richard’s cheek. “I fell in love with you before I knew it. I still loved you when you told me about it. That won’t change.”

Richard nods and blinks away the tears. “I’m just scared of hurting you because of it.”

“One word from you and I’ll drive you to your therapist. We didn’t visit regularly because I wanted to give you the choice to decide when you need an appointment and when not. I’ll only step in if I recognize it’s getting out of control.”

“That’s why I open up to you. Because it’s still my choice afterwards.” he admits and leans his forehead against Taron’s.

Calm down, you're in your safe space again. Taron is the one you can talk to, even on your darkest days. He understands how much pressure work puts on you and what it does to you.

“Take your time and then talk to your mum about it.” Taron suggests and lifts his hand, fondling over his hair.

“Okay.” Richard closes his eyes for a moment and takes in the safety and comfort radiating from Taron. “Hey.” he says softly with a smile and kisses him lovingly.

“Hey.” T whispers and kisses him back sweetly.

“Okay, you want to-.” Richard gets cut off by his phone ringing. He looks at Taron before taking it out. “It’s...my dad.”

“Maybe it’s better to talk to him first.” Taron says and looks at him waiting. “What?”

“I’m gonna put it on speaker so you know what’s going on.” Richard says and Taron agrees. He walks into the living room, pulling T with him. They sit down and he answers the call, putting him on speaker. “Dad?”

“Hey, Rich. Listen, I’m not trying to tell you what to do or get involved in it. But your mum seemed upset.” His father starts and is silent for a moment. “Even though she doesn’t tell you, she feels like you don’t trust her because you don’t talk to her about it.”

Richard leans forward and braces his head on his hands before rubbing it slowly. “Dad, I told her before, it isn’t easy for me.”

“I fully understand it, son. And I respect you for getting help when you need it and opening up to Taron. I’m lucky you two have such a connection. You know I’m glad that you’re brave enough to talk to him about it.” he explains and Richard lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding in. “Maybe you could just remember your mum and give her a call sometimes or text her.”

“That has the same outcome every time.”

“What outcome?” he asks confused.

“Me having a panic attack or feeling like shit. Then I get rude and she gets hurt. It wasn’t the first time she said I would lose Taron if I don’t change.” Richard says and glances at T shortly, who’s listening closely and caught up in his thoughts.

“Didn’t know that. - Rich, T won’t leave you. I hope you know that. You’ve gotten better since he’s been here.” he says soothingly, and Taron grabs his hand lovingly. “Are you free next week? You could come over for a few days. We could spend some time together.”

“I-I don’t know. Taron just got home after a three-week shoot. I don’t wanna leave him already again.” Richard looks at Taron, who watches him observantly.

“Well if Taron has nothing against it, you can bring him with you. Haven’t seen him in a while as well.” His father suggests, not letting him go so quickly. Richard looks at Taron who nods, and so he tells his father they would come over. “Take care of yourself, Richard. I’m proud of you.”

“Thanks, dad.” Rich says and they say goodbye. He looks at Taron and sees the thoughtful look he gives off. “What?”

“How were you feeling before your mother’s call?” he asks and watches him closely.

“Do I need to talk about this right now?” Rich leans back and looks up at the ceiling, remaining silent as Taron says nothing. “Fine, what gave it to you this time?”

“This.” Taron carefully strokes his finger over Richard’s a bit bloody lower lip. “This.” He strokes his thumbs over the dark circles underneath his eyes. “This here.” T grabs his shaking hands and squeezes them a bit. “And your blue eyes tell me a story before you can even think about hiding it. The night you stayed up too long after going for dinner with Zoey, who knows about it as well.”

Rich just laughs weakly and opens his arms. He pulls him onto his lap and buries his face in his neck. “I really don’t wanna talk about the last three weeks now. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Okay.” T says and remains quiet for a moment. “Anything I can do to make you feel better?”

“No, it’s enough to be able to cuddle with you.” Rich sighs and gets quiet again.

---

That evening, Taron is confronted with how bad the last three weeks were for Richard. While cooking, Richard opens the window, even though it’s terribly cold outside. He runs around in the kitchen nervously, contorting his face whenever he lifts the pan lid and smells food. When they finally sit down to eat, Richard barely eats and tries to engage him in conversations.

After a while, he stops fully and looks down at his plate shaking his head. “I’m sorry, I can’t finish it.”

“You sure?” Richard nods and looks up with a pained look on his face. “Okay, no problem. You ate something, so that’s all that counts.” Taron says and takes the rest of it onto his plate, sharing a wink.

“I’ll be in the bathroom.” he says and sees how Taron stops chewing and looks up to him. “I won’t throw up, I promise!” he calms him down with a light chuckle and watches him relax in his seat again.

He closes the bathroom door and leans against the door for a moment. He walks over to the window and opens it, breathing in the fresh air. The smell of the food made him sick and turned his stomach upside down. When he feels better he flushes the toilet, closes the window and washes his hands. He avoids seeing his own reflection in the mirror and focuses on the sink and towel in front of him.

Back in the kitchen, he sits down and smiles at Taron who finishes his glass of wine.

---

Richard opens the public bathroom door and stumbles inside of one of the stalls. He closes the door quickly and leans against the door taking deep breaths. Taron was outside talking to his parents and if he took too long either Taron or his dad would come and look after him.

He slides down the wall and wraps his arms around himself. Looking at his watch, he gives himself three minutes. Seeing his mother hugging Taron brought it all back and he feels the panic lying under the surface.

Richard buries his face in his hands and takes deep breaths, telling himself it would be okay. After three minutes he gets up, flushes the toilet and opens the door.

Taron is leaning against the sink countertop with his arms folded in front of his chest. He watches him with a knowing look and it makes Richard freeze. "Told them I'll wash my hands."

"Mm." Richard steps out slowly and turns on the water to wash his hands. "I don't know if this was a good idea." he mumbles and washes his face, cooling himself down.

"I knew you were thinking that. That's why I came looking for you." Taron says and rubs his shoulder lovingly. "Listen, if it gets too much we'll stay in a hotel the next couple of days and enjoy a vacation in Scotland. Just us two."

Richard looks at him and chuckles. "Fine."

"Deep breaths and don't let anything freak you out, babe."

"I'm trying, bub."

---

Having dinner with his parents isn't easy at all. Richard doesn't feel like eating and just shakes his head when his mother wants to fill his plate.

Taron takes over the situation and sits closer to him, putting his plate in the middle of them. "Eat a bit of mine, alright?" they share a small, yet loving glance and Taron sees the agreement in his lover’s ocean eyes. T wraps his arm around him and fondles his hair while pressing a kiss onto his temple.

Rich smiles at him bravely and picks up his fork to try and eat as much as he can without pushing it too far. He stops soon after and Taron assures him it's okay. Richard nods and leans back while chatting with his parents. Hearing that its okay not to finish his plate when he was at least trying, was exactly what he needed. He needs reassurance. He needs to know that his efforts are seen. And that was always easy around Taron.

After dinner, Taron leans against Rich. T wanted Rich’s parents see that he needed Richard and loved him just as much. Letting Richard hold him sent the message that the love was mutual and constantly growing. His boyfriend presses a kiss to his hair and he smiles, grabbing his hand. Taron closes his eyes and feels himself getting tired.

"Tired?" Rich asks and looks down at him. The way Taron is sinking more and more into his arms gave it straight away.

"Mm. I'm still a bit jet lagged because of Tuesday."

"It was two days ago, that's normal." Richard states and runs his fingers through his hair calmingly. "I'm tired as well. Let's go to bed earlier today." Taron hums agreeing and opens his eyes again. He looks up to him and Rich leans down to kiss him softly. Richard wraps his arms around him and pulls him on his lap.

---

They lie down and Taron turns to his side watching his boyfriend, who's staring at the ceiling and tapping his fingers on his chest nervously. "So far so good, don't you think?"

"Yea." he says and bites his lower lip.

Taron pushes himself up on his elbow and taps his finger on Richard’s lips. "You're gonna bleed again." Richard stops and looks at T who's hovering over him now. "What's going on in your mind?"

"Nothin'." Richard says and avoids his look again. "Can we sleep now?"

"Hm okay." Taron says and moves to kiss him goodnight, but Richard turns his head to the side and reaches out for the light. T pulls back a bit startled and watches him sitting on his knees. The light goes out and Taron lies down frowning.

"Night." Richard says and turns around.

"Night." Taron mumbles and stares at the back of his boyfriend. He decides to let him be and give him his time. Today was more emotionally stressing for Richard than he cared to admit. "You know you can talk to me right?" he says after a while.

"I don't wanna talk about it right now." Richard spits out harshly and cursed at himself immediately after. "Sorry."

But Taron just turns around and pulls the blanket closer around himself. He doesn't answer to this and Richard doesn't try it again.

---

The next morning, Richard locks the bathroom door behind himself as he goes for a shower and Taron remains in bed staring out of the window. There was no hello or good morning kiss for him today and it made his heart ache a bit. He could cope with it better had he not been away for a while before.

When Richard steps out of the bathroom, he's fully dressed and pretends to search for something in his suitcase when Taron gets up and passes him to go for a shower.

"Morning to you too, Richard." Taron just says and closes the door behind him before he can say anything.

Rich looks up a bit confused. It wasn't Taron’s normal behavior to call him Richard. It happened rarely and always had something either calming, important or some madness behind it. He sighs and steps out of the room, going downstairs to greet his parents.

His father starts to talk him into walking a bit in the hills when Taron comes down the stairs. Richard gets distracted looking at his boyfriend wearing tight black jeans and a white shirt. T sits down next to him and greets Richard's parents. Rich can smell the shampoo and sees his hair is still a bit wet in the back of his neck. He lifts his hand to stroke over it and T flinches at his touch.

Richard’s father notices the way Taron grabs his coffee tightly and how his son pulls back his hand bracing his head on it now. Something was wrong between them. "Why don't we go and take Taron with us?"

"Huh? Where do you wanna take me?" Taron asks confused and looks at Richard shortly who remains silent.

"I asked Richard if he wants to go for a walk in the hills at the cliffs."

"I think that's a good idea. Some fresh air." Taron says and finishes his coffee.

Richard glances at him and nods slowly. Fresh air. The question was who needed to calm down? "Fine."

---

An hour later, they drove to the cliffs and start walking through the green hills. Taron actually enjoys the fresh air and green landscape around him. It takes his mind off yesterday. Richard and his father are talking beside him and he barely listens. Richard’s father asks him questions on occasion and they talk for a bit, but Taron is quiet most of the time.

They sit down in the grass after a while and Richard’s father recognizes once more the hesitation between those two. "I don't want to invade your privacy, but did you two get into a fight?"

"Not yet." Richard says and looks down at the grass. "We'll see how it goes."

Taron looks at him with raised eyebrows and feels his blood starting to boil. He pushes himself up and looks at Richard’s father. "I need a moment."

Rich looks after him and rubs his face tiredly. "You two should talk." he hears his father saying and shakes his head, still watching Taron walking away. "Come on, go and talk to him." he pats his back and Rich gets up groaning, following Taron.

---

Taron stops walking after a while and shakes his head angrily. He puts his hands into his pockets and stares at the ocean in front of him. "What do you want?" he spits out as Richard comes closer.

"Can we talk?" Richard asks and steps next to him.

"'Bout what?" T asks and doesn't look at his boyfriend standing beside him.

"Okay, seriously. What's going on?" Rich growls a bit and watches Taron closely.

"Everything was alright when we were around your parents and as soon as we were alone, you shut me out. I get it that you didn't want to talk but no goodnight kiss, not even a good morning? And now this here." Taron says and feels himself getting upset. "Listen, you didn't tell me what was going on in the time I was away, but somehow you expect me to get it immediately." he feels tears burning in his eyes and takes a deep breath. "And I don't know if I did something wrong because your last comment sounded like I did." he throws his arms in the air helplessly and looks at Richard, who remains silent watching him. "Please don't go silent on me now." he says and presses his lips together.

"What do you want to hear?" Rich asks and turns towards him fully now.

Taron lets out a weak laugh and looks up into the sky. "Okay, sure." he just says and shakes his head a bit.

"I'm sorry, Taron. I told you that yesterday." he says and folds his arms in front of his chest as if to protect himself. "What should I do?"

Taron turns towards him now and watches him with tears in his eyes. "I have no problem with you going through a rough time and needing space, you know that. But is it really too much to ask from you to say good morning or give me a kiss before going to bed?"

Richard swallows seeing Taron’s trembling lips and shakes his head. "No it isn't. I'm sorry, T."

"We've been apart for a few weeks and I need you close at the moment. You're my safe space and I just need my boyfriend." A tear escapes his eyes and rolls down his cheek, tightening Richard’s throat. "Please don't push me away and then search for me as soon as others are around. If you need me, I don't want it to be because of others, but because we're in love and stick together." his voice gets thin and another tear rolls down his cheek. "You and I, right?" he asks timidly.

Richard feels himself getting emotional and just wraps him into a hug hesitantly. Taron wraps his arms around him and waits for a moment. "I'm so sorry, love. I didn't mean to hurt you." he nestles his face in Taron’s shoulder and holds him tight. "Of course it's you and I." he whispers and Taron relaxes in his arms, burying his face in his shoulder.

"I didn't wanna cause a scene, but it just got too much after all this time we spent apart." Taron explains and lets out a relieved sigh from being in his arms again.

"It's alright. Your feelings are important as well." Richard rubs his back smoothly. "I'm sorry I got so weird. I need you just as much." he pulls back and looks at Taron who does the same. Richard cups his face and leans his forehead against Taron’s. "Please forgive me." he whispers and his thumbs stroke over the tearstains on Taron’s cheeks.

"Already did." T whispers back and bops his nose against Richard’s. "Let me help you, please."

Rich says nothing and kisses him softly. He continues stroking his cheeks and kissing him tender. "I'll try."

Taron plays with the hair at the back of his neck and looks deep into his lover’s blue eyes. "That's a good start."

"You wanna walk for a bit and I'll tell you what happened?" he asks and watches his boyfriend closely. "My dad is taking a nap anyways."

"Okay." Taron says and lets go of him.

Richard looks at him and stretches his hand out hesitating. "Can I hold your hand?"

"Of course, love." Taron chuckles softly and interlocks their fingers. They start walking around a bit and Taron remains silent, giving him time to think about what he wants to tell him.

After a while, Richard seems to make his mind up about it and starts talking. "It was more mentally challenging than physical this time, which scared me. You know I can handle feeling sick or throwing up and getting better slowly throughout the day. But this time was different."

"How do you mean mentally?" T asks and stops walking when he sees the tears in Richard’s eyes.

"I'm a mess at the moment." he presses out, thinking back at the time he spent alone.

***

Richard comes home from dinner with Jamie and groans softly while taking off his jacket and shoes. He didn't eat all too much the last days, so a normal dinner was way too much for his body. But Jamie doesn't know about his eating disorder and he didn't want to skip it. Jamie was flying back home tomorrow.

He feels full and his stomach hurts badly. Richard takes a glass from the kitchen and fills it with water, walking upstairs. He gets rid of his jeans and sweater, falling into bed only wearing a shirt and boxers. Richard covers himself with the blankets and runs his fingers through his hair, turning on his side. The loud ringing of his phone interrupts the silence and Richard quickly takes the call to make it stop.

"Hey, love. I hope I didn't wake you up!" Taron says worried.

"No, it's fine. Just came back from dinner with Jamie. What's going on?" Richard asks and turns onto his back again.

"Just needed to hear your voice." Taron admits softly and leans back against his pillow.

"Rough day?" Rich asks with a soft smile on his lips and gets up to open the window a bit.

"Let's call it hectic." Taron giggles. "I just miss you."

"I miss you too, bub. But we already have the half behind us." Rich calms him down and goes back to bed.

"Yeah, how are you?"

"Pretty tired." Richard says and he isn't lying. He is tired, but he doesn't want to worry Taron with how exhausted he really is.

"Aw, I should let you sleep then. I'll call you tomorrow, I love you!" Taron says and tries to sound happy.

"I love you too and we'll see each other soon." With that Richard ends the call, turns to his side and switches the app.

Taron looks at his phone a bit sad and lies down with it in his hand. He opens his photo gallery and searches for the album with all their pictures. But before he can watch them to calm his mind, Richard’s name appears on his screen again. This time it's a video call and Taron takes it immediately.

"See you soon." Rich says and winks at him. Taron’s eyes light up as he lies on his side and watches him on his screen. "You're so cute looking like that."

"You're cuter wrapped up in the blanket looking sleepy." Taron mumbles adoringly.

They keep on talking sleepy nonsense and Richard slowly falls asleep. T starts singing when he notices and it doesn't take long for Richard to be in a deep sleep.

Taron knows Richard’s phone will turn itself off in 15 minutes and so he cuddles into his blanket and watches him sleep peacefully. He falls asleep before the 15 minutes are over, the image of his boyfriend giving him complete peace.

---

Richard wakes up in the morning with a hurting stomach and stays in bed after turning off his alarm. He feels sickish while getting up and brushing his teeth. Taking a shower isn't helping. The steamy air in the bathroom only makes him feel worse.

Seeing himself in the mirror while taming his curls, he swallows hard. He shouldn't have looked at all. His reflection in the mirror was one of those things he hates the most whenever he slipped back into his old behaviors. It disgusts him seeing himself and sometimes Richard genuinely wonders how Taron could love him this way. Taron’s lips wandered over all his most intimate spots and never has he ever looked at him the way he did at himself. A secret to Richard. He can barely draw his eyes from the mirror even though he doesn't like what he sees and he realizes once more that people can't stop staring at stuff that they don't like.

He dresses himself for the day and goes downstairs into the kitchen to drink some coffee. But as soon as he takes the first gulp, he retches afterwards and contorts his face. "Okay, no coffee today." he groans and pours it down the sink.

He puts on his shoes and jacket, grabs his keys and leaves the house. In the car, he listens to Taron’s version of Tiny Dancer. Hearing his voice always makes him feel a bit better. Richard sings along to the tune bored, and he knows Taron would squeak around now and look at him with his big puppy eyes. Richard giggles at the thought, knowing T loves his singing.

Arriving on set, he has ten minutes to get ready for make-up. Then the costume for today and off he goes to deliver a good performance. He's wrecked before lunch break. His sickness had gotten worse and he feels dizzy because he hasn't drank anything yet. The tight suit isn't helping and he's lucky to take it off during the break. While the rest of the crew goes out to eat, he goes back to his trailer. Inside, he just slides down the door and leans against it. He wraps his arms around his stomach and taps his left foot nervously on the floor.

Don't give in. Don't just throw up. It doesn't make everything better. You're nervous about this stupid role, about mean comments from people and that's all. No need to stop eating whenever no one is around.

Twenty minutes later, he's pacing the little bit of room he has in his trailer trying to stay away from the bathroom. He gets his phone out and dials Taron’s number, but his boyfriend doesn't take the call. He was probably busy on set as well.

Another twenty minutes later he lies on the sofa, tucked up legs and closed eyes. Trying to relax and sleep, with an set alarm, could help him to get his head off it. But after what feels like five minutes he has to turn the alarm off and go back on set.

He walks into the dressing room and takes his suit from Zoey. Richard gets it on and lets her do the rest. She has a preferred way to close the buttons of the shirt and jacket, pull at the sleeves, and check the trousers.

She frowns a bit looking at him. "I think I got a suit that's too small. Look at the sleeves, way too short. Isn't it a bit tight?"

"It is." he agrees and Zoey watches him frowning.

"Give me a second." she disappears into the adjoining room and comes back with the same suit but a size bigger. "Try this on, Rich."

Richard changes the suit and can finally breathe properly again. He steps back in the room and Zoey nods agreeing, showing her thumbs up. He lets her close the buttons and watches her doing it.

Zoey worked on set often with him and she recognized the changes his body went through whenever he wasn't feeling well or fighting against his eating disorder. So one day, Richard opened up to her and she promised she would tell no one. That was five years ago and now she works on every set he’s in and takes care of covering up his insecurities whenever he had to attend any premiere or event since then. Taron met her a few times and is glad that he has somebody who takes care of him with the clothing.

She finishes the last button and looks up to him. "I hope you know I meant its too tight. The sleeves were too short and you couldn't move properly in it."

"I know, don't worry." Rich calms her down.

She takes his left arm and fixes the buttons on the sleeve. "You're going through it at the moment, am I right?" he raises his eyebrows at her surprised. "The suit sits perfectly everywhere." She points at his stomach. "And here it's a bit loose." she looks at him shortly. "And you can't keep still for a bloody minute."

Richard nods slowly and says nothing as she fixes the other sleeve. "I'm trying not to slip back into it." he finally admits.

"Does Taron know about that?" she asks and gets on her knees to look if the trousers are the way she made them to be.

"Not yet. He should be able to focus on his work. He'll be back in 10 days anyways."

"You do know how long 10 days can be? If it helps, we can meet up for dinner today." she suggests and checks his hair.

"We could." Richard says slowly and nods. Maybe this wouldn't be a bad idea and Taron wouldn't interpret anything in it if he knew about it later. He knows about Zoey and knows she's just a friend trying to help.

"You look a bit pale. You sure you're okay?" he just nods and avoids her look now. "Well then, off you go."

---

The afternoon is horrible and the urge to throw up gets stronger. As soon as Zoey got him out of his suit, he felt like throwing up right there on her floor. They go out for dinner in a lovely little restaurant and Richard can barely cope with all the different smells. After eating enough to get through with it, he excuses himself and goes to the bathroom. Luckily no one is inside and he crouches down in front of the toilet.

"Please don't." he begs himself and tries to stop himself from retching. "Don't." he buries his face in his hands and his breathing gets faster. Panic is settling in. He doesn't want to fall back into it. But it doesn't take long and he throws up, getting rid of everything he kept in today. Afterwards, he gets up groaning and flushes the toilet. He washes his hands, drinks water to get rid of the taste in his mouth and slaps his cheeks a bit to stop himself from looking pale. "Come on, you can do it."

Getting back, he sits down heavily and tries to blend out all the different smells around him.

Zoey watches him closely and stops eating. "Please tell me you didn't."

"Sorry." he mumbles and avoids her look now.

"You really thought you could fool me with patting your cheeks after being away for ten minutes?"

"I guess." Richard just says and looks at her finishing her wine.

"You're staying home tomorrow."

"Zoey."

"No. I'll tell them you looked sick yesterday and need the rest of the week off. You should focus on yourself, talk to Taron, get some fresh air. Eat." she says and takes out her phone.

Richard grabs it softly and shakes his head. "Isolation is the most stupid and risky thing you can do to me."

She looks into his feared blue eyes and sees he means it. "You can't keep on doing everything like nothing's wrong."

"And you can't stop me from living a normal life. I need a routine, contact with people where I have to act normal."

"Don't say normal, you're not a freak." she squints her eyes and grabs her phone back.

"Yes I am, it's okay. I can cope with it." he says firmly.

"What does Taron say about this? You think he'd be with a crazy person?" she asks honestly, but bites her lip when she sees his look.

"That was mean towards the people who suffer from an illness that drives them crazy." he states and leans back. "And I don't know what's going on in his head."

"Richard, you are loved and you can get help wherever you want to."

Richard looks away from her and shakes his head, feeling his throat getting tight. "I don't deserve to be loved. Especially not from him." he simply says and can barely look at her.

Her face goes blank and shock settles in her eyes. "What? Stop that bullshit right now. Taron loves you with all of his heart. You deserve to be loved. More than many other people I know." she leans forward and looks at him seriously. "Richard, you are not broken or a problem, you hear me? You have the right to feel shitty and fight against something, just like any other person. Don't drag yourself down that way."

He blinks away the tears that brimmed his eyes and takes a deep breath. "I don't think about it that way. And that's the main problem."

"Then you need therapy and work on your self-esteem."

Richard just lets out a dark laugh and stares out of the window. Of course. "What exactly do you think I'm doing on the days where I can't appear on set because of an appointment?" he slowly looks back at his friend and raises his eyebrows, challenging her statement.

"Hm, I don't know what kind of appointments an actor like Richard Madden has to attend to most of the week. Probably the same as other actors in his range." She raises her eyebrows challenging him as well.

"Fair point." he just grins and rolls his eyes. "I'm trying, Zoey. I do everything I can about it." She watches him and he sees the worry in her eyes. "Please don't." he says softly.

"What?" she asks confused.

"Please don't look at me like that." he sighs.

"Like what, Rich?" she laughs a bit and gets out her purse as she sees the waiter coming towards them.

"Like you're worried about me. There's no need to worry." he says and moves to get his wallet but realizes it's gone and lying next to Zoey.

"You're my friend. I'll always worry about you, dumbass." she smiles at the waiter in front of her. "I'm paying."

Rich rolls his eyes when she quickly hides his wallet and pays for them both. As soon as he's gone, he looks at her annoyed. "I told you before not to pay for my meals."

"I'm paying because I brought you to a restaurant where the food is so shitty you don't wanna keep it in." she throws him back his wallet and gets up.

"Ouch." he just says and sees how she realizes what she just said.

"Oh god I'm sorry." she says and presses her hand in front of her mouth.

"Forget it." he laughs and hands her her coat.

"That's the second rude thing I said today." she says and giggles a bit.

---

Richard can't sleep that night and paces through his bedroom. He stares out of the window, looks at the stars, taps bored and nervous rhythms with his fingers on the window or scrolls through his phone. Nothing helps until Taron, who's one hour ahead of him, sends him a voice mail. He gets his air pods and connects them with his phone.

"Morning, love. Hope you're alright and your dinner with Zoey was fun yesterday, already in the news." he giggles shortly and Richard lets out a groan. "I'll have to be on set the whole day so I thought I'll send you something. I'm so sorry that I missed your call. You're probably asleep, or at least you should be at 4am." Taron goes on rambling something about his upcoming day and Richard lies down listening to his still a bit sleepy sounding boyfriend. "I love you and I miss you so much! Can't wait to see you again, baby."

Richard texts him "I love you!" and stares at the ceiling. Only a second later Taron calls him and Richard takes it. "Yeah?"

"Richard. Madden." His tone is meant to be stern, but it’s not working very well.

"What?" he laughs.

"Why the fuck are you awake? You don't have to be on set before nine!" Taron says shocked. "Did you just wake up or never went to bed?"

"You'd prefer me lying now." Rich giggles and Taron groans.

"Ew go to bed. You're gonna be so fucked on set later." Taron giggles as well now and rolls his eyes.

"You think I should stay home?" Richard asks, thinking back to the previous evening.

"That's your choice. If you feel like staying home, do it." T is interrupted by talking to someone. "Gotta go, I love you!"

"Love you too, bubs. Stay safe." he says and Taron ends the call.

---

Back on set, he drinks a coffee while Zoey fixes his trousers. She sees the way he contorts his face and tries to convince himself that he needs it. "Didn't sleep?"

"Not really." he says and takes another swallow. God this was disgusting!

"You look like you hate coffee! What's wrong? I know you love it usually!" she laughs when he makes a funny face and sticks his tongue out at her.

"Yeah but not when I'm not doing well. Ugh that's so gross." he puts it aside and shakes his head.

She just laughs and watches him closely. "You should let somebody from the makeup team cover up those rings under your eyes."

"That bad?" he asks and contorts his face.

"Let's say you're close to a panda bear." she ducks away as he punches her playfully before laughing.

***

Richard tells Taron everything and opens up completely. They sat down in the grass facing each other. Taron has his legs tucked up and his head is resting on his knees while he listens closely.

Rich gets lost sometimes or takes a break thinking about how to continue. He focuses on his boyfriend’s eyes. The softness and understanding in them is the reassurance he needs. He tells him about the nights he stayed up, the talk he had with Zoey, the times he couldn't look at himself or felt like giving up.

When he's done he looks at Taron who watches him with a sad smile. "Do you really think you don't deserve to be loved?"

"Sometimes." Rich nods and bites his lower lip.

Taron sits between Richard's legs and looks straight into his eyes. He cups his face soft and hesitant.

"What are you doing?" Richard mumbles and lets his eyes wander all over his boyfriend’s face.

Taron leans forward, looks at him for one last time and connects their lips for a sweet and loving kiss. He pulls back and looks at him closely. "Does this feel wrong?" Richard shakes his head. He fondles over his cheek. "This?" and again he shakes his head. Taron lifts Richard’s hand and lies it on his cheek. He strokes over his hand that's cupping his face now and places a tiny kiss on the palm of his hand. "This here?" Rich shakes his head again and looks at him a bit confused. "As long as this here doesn't feel wrong, you fully deserve my love." Taron says and Richard sees the tears in his eyes. "I love you and you are worth every second I spend with you."

Richard bites his lower lip and feels tears burning in his eyes. "But you're not worth of my love." he studies Taron’s face which goes blank for a moment. "I am here for you on one day and then I push you away on others. What kind of love is this? You absolutely deserve better."

"Stop saying you're worse than me. Because you clearly are not. And you're right, I don't deserve it because on good days you show me so much love and on the bad ones you're trying to protect me." Taron shakes his head slightly and makes eye contact again. "But I told you the night before we got together, you don't have to always protect me. Not from yourself." he catches a tear with his thumb and looks at him smiling softly. "Come here." he says barely audible.

Rich pulls him into a hug and buries his face in his shoulder. He starts crying and lets go of all the stress and loneliness he felt the last few weeks. Taron soothes him while holding him close and, once more, he realizes it's important to open up and talk about what's going on in his head.

---

That evening, Richard lies awake next to Taron, who already fell asleep a little while ago. Their hands are tangled underneath the blanket and they're closer than ever. It takes him a while to fall asleep and he's glad when he recognizes himself drifting off finally.

He wakes up later when he hears Taron whimpering next to him. Richard pushes himself up on his elbow and carefully strokes over his shoulder. "Taron?"

But T doesn't give an answer and pants softly. Richard turns on his bedside lamp and sees that Taron is still deep asleep. "Oh shit." Richard curses as Taron starts panicking in his sleep. He sits up and leans over him fondling over his hair. Sometimes he managed to calm Taron down in his sleep.

"No, no, no." Taron begs and single tears roll down his cheeks. Then he screams his name and Richard jumps shocked.

It scared him every time Taron tried to reach out to him in his sleep and screamed for him full of panic. The bedroom door gets opened abruptly and his father looks at him shocked. "What's going on?"

"Nightmare." Rich just says focusing on his boyfriend. "Taron love, wake up." he says and rocks him softly. He doesn't want to bring him back into reality in a forceful way, but he can't leave him trapped in his nightmare. Taron sucks in air and jumps up, his head crashes against Richard’s chin, who lets out a pained groan. "Careful." he moans and sees the panic in his boyfriend’s eyes. Richard sits between his legs now and cups his face. "You're back. Everything is okay. You're with me now."

"I-fuck, Rich." Taron sighs and sinks his head against his chest.

Richard fondles over his hair calmingly and places a soft kiss in his hair. "It's okay, you're safe now." he assures him and Taron wraps his arms around him longing for his touch. Richard hears his father closing the door and focuses on Taron again. He's covered in sweat and trying to get air in his lungs. "Hey, breathe."

Taron sniffs and holds him closer as he starts shaking. He cries silent tears into his chest and feels Richard pulling back.

"Oh love, don't cry. Everything's alright, it was just a dream." Rich promises and wipes away his tears.

"I lost you." Taron chokes out and can't look into his eyes. He feels Richard cupping his face and turning him back, so he's facing the baby blue eyes of his boyfriend.

"You won't. I'm here." he says and kisses him softly. "Come on, you need a shower." He carefully helps him out of bed and into the bathroom. Richard undresses Taron carefully, along with himself, and steps into the shower. He turns it on and Taron searches his touch, leaning against him exhausted. The Scottish shampoos him, holds him close, mumbles soft words in his ear and rubs loving tiny circles on his back.

Afterwards, he dresses Taron with a shirt of himself, knowing T needed this after such a dream. He dries his hair and Taron hugs him as he dries his own curls. Richard puts the dryer aside and looks down at Taron who is staring up at him. "Alright?" T nods and looks deep into his eyes, his own filling with longing. Richard starts stroking through his fluffy warm hair and kisses his forehead, nose, down to his lips. They share the sweetest kiss they had in a while and Taron cups his face, keeping him where he is. After a while, Richard walks him back into the bedroom and lies down with him. He wraps the blanket around his boyfriend and let him lie on him fully.

---

Taron wakes up in his boyfriend’s arms the next morning, still cuddled into him and he smiles to himself. He rolls off from him carefully and moves to get up when he feels Richard wrapping his arms around him and pulling him back. He falls back laughing and lies on top of Richard again. "I need a shower, love."

"Don't care." Rich mumbles and holds him tight. "We can shower together later." he turns them on their sides and buries his face in Taron’s neck.

"It's already 9am. Your mum wanted to have a nice breakfast with us all." Taron says and smiles brightly. It feels good to have Richard wanting him near and by his side.

"You do realize that my parents don't eat breakfast at 9am when they are off work?" he giggles softly. "They're gonna set up the table at 10, believe me." T lets out a soft groan and relaxes in his arms. "Enough time to cuddle."

Taron turns around in his arms and looks at him with raised eyebrows. "Someone's needy for cuddles."

"Fuck off, you're staying here." Richard says and looks at him with a bright grin as Taron cracks up. He closes his eyes again and enjoys the comfortable cuddle they share.

Taron studies every inch of his man's beautiful face and feels proud. He was the one that won Richard’s heart and kept it. It still amazes him that out of anyone a guy like Richard could have he picked him. "I really don't get it." he mumbles thinking out loud while stroking his finger down Richard’s nose and bopping the tip of it.

Rich opens his eyes and looks at him confused. "What?"

"Why I'm your boyfriend." T says caught up in thoughts and continues bopping his nose. "You could have had anyone. I mean you look stunning. You're a cutie and those blue eyes...Well pour hot soup in my lap I would apologize to you."

"What?!" Richard starts laughing now. "You started so cute and then you showed me once more how crazy you are."

"Crazy bout ya." T says and giggles softly when Rich fondles over his nose just like he did before.

"Why are you my boyfriend? You're a great listener, a real softie. You can somehow read my current mood from my eyes which I hate because that means I'm shitty at acting." he makes a funny face knowing T would react to the last statement.

"That's not true! You're amazing at it and you know that. You and your golden globe." Taron protests laughing.

"You can be the cutest, cuddly puppy sometimes but when I need you to help me, you're there and focused. You have a very beautiful voice, my favorite smile in the world, and your eyes are so gorgeous." Rich smiles at his blushing boyfriend who has tears in his eyes. "And I love it when you blush and start crying when I say something nice." he whispers and T giggles softly. "And I guess those are some of the reasons you're my boyfriend."

"I love you." Taron breathes out and starts playing with Richard’s hair.

Rich leans forward and connects their lips. He places soft and loving kisses on Taron’s lips, being gentle but longing. "I love you too."

Taron leans his forehead against Richard’s and cuddles into him. "Thank you for taking care of me last night."

"Of course." Rich just says and kisses him, needing to feel his lips again.

---

Downstairs, Richard can't help himself and looks towards the stairs as Taron comes down, wearing his dark green sweater and a pair of sweatpants. He absolutely adores it when Taron wears his clothes, he looks so good in it. He pulls him on his lap and presses a big kiss on his lips, smiling.

"What put you in such a good mood?" T asks curiously and watches him happily.

Rich kisses him again, not giving a care in the world that his parents sit opposite them. "You." Taron looks up to him adoringly with dreamy eyes.

"What would you do without him, huh?" his mother asks and Richard thinks about a suiting answer.

"That's what I'm asking myself so often. What would I do without you, cutie?" Taron says and strokes his cheek, kissing him again. Rich tries not to laugh at that and buries his face in Taron’s shoulder shortly, which gives him enough time to use his acting skills and stop himself from laughing.

His mother comes back with some coffee and pours her son a cup. "No, thanks mum." he mumbles and gets a confused look from her.

"I thought you love coffee?"

"Yeah, just not now." he says and avoids his parents looks. "Upsets my stomach at the moment."

T looks at him shortly and grabs his hand underneath the table. So he didn't only throw up once while he was away. The problem about all of this was that Richard sometimes started to eat a bit less every day, which goes unrecognized by both of them. It usually happens when the pressure on set gets too much or a certain scene or event is coming up. If he eats a bit more again and feels too full, he starts restricting and then it becomes dangerous. When he's at that stage, he'll start eating normal amounts in front of others and next to nothing as soon as no one's looking. This leads to the terrible stomachaches and throwing up when it becomes too much.

"Okay, then don't drink it." his mother says with a soft smile and takes it away.

---

Later that day, Richard is sitting on a blanket underneath a tree in their garden, Taron between his legs. He has his arms wrapped around him and T has his head rested comfortably on his chest. Taron fondles over his arms and Rich places a kiss in his hair.

"Something's wrong with me." Rich mumbles.

"How do you mean?" Taron asks confused and turns his head to the side a bit, looking up to him.

"I mean, it isn't normal what I'm doing to myself over and over again, even though I hate it and I don't want it in my life." Richard looks down at him now and shrugs his shoulders. "Makes no sense."

"Do you trust me?" Taron asks and sits up now, turning to his side and rests his head on Richard’s lap.

"Yeah, of course I do, stupid." he says lovingly and starts playing with Taron’s hair, who's grinning at the "stupid".

"Good. So trust me, there is nothing wrong with you."

"Don't say that, you know it's not true. You have no single flaw, you're normal." The Scottish says and runs his fingers through Taron’s hair now, massaging his scalp a bit.

"Who is the one that hits his boyfriend in his sleep because he has a nightmare? Who stays up for hours because he can't calm down?" Taron raises his eyebrows at him, trying to show him he has flaws as well. "Or being clumsy as hell, being messy as soon as you aren't around and so on."

"It happens. And you're actually adorable when you need me to hold you." Rich chuckles softly. "Or when you hit your head and need a hug. It's cute."

Taron starts laughing. "What?" he shakes his head furiously. "No stop it."

"Why should I?" he asks giggling.

"Listen, Richie you are who you are. And I fell in love with you a long time ago." Taron states and grabs the hand that's lying on his stomach. He relaxes into Richard’s gentle touch on his head and smiles up to him. "Don't worry so much about it."

"I just don't wanna feel this way anymore." he sighs and leans back against the tree. "I think I should meet with my therapist again. I don't know how long I'm able to fight it alone anymore. I don't need a hard phase right now."

"We'll call him as soon as we're back home." T says and Richard smiles thankful.

---

Two months later, Richard is pacing his dressing room and feels sick again. But this time it's because he's nervous, like always before a premiere.

"Richard, I swear, sit down!" Zoey lets out a frustrated groan while searching for something in her bag. Richard just rolls his eyes and continues his nervous behavior. "Taron, please." she begs T who sits on the sofa not stopping Richard.

"Come here, love." Taron says and pats his lap. He knows Richard starts running around when he's nervous and he always lets him do it. But with Zoey trying to focus, it wasn't the best option at the moment. His boyfriend falls into his lap heavily and sinks against him. "Everything's alright. No need to be nervous." he soothes him, rubbing his back calmingly.

Zoey finally found what she was looking for, puts it aside and gives Taron his suit. "Just put it on next door. I'll have Rich ready by the time you finish."

Taron leaves the room and Richard puts on the suit she handed him. He sees himself in the mirror and hates it. It looks awful and he just wants to get it off again. But Zoey starts pulling at the sleeves and gets him ready. "I'm not ready for this shit." he mumbles and feels panic welling up in him.

"What?" she asks confused and looks at him shortly. "They can't postpone the premiere just because you're not feeling like it today." she says and fixes the tie.

"I look like shit, Zoey. What are you even doing?" he suddenly says and the panic closes his throat, tears burn in his eyes. If he goes out like this, he would throw away two months of hard work with his therapist and Taron. He started feeling more or less okay not so long ago and he wasn't ready to give it up already.

"What?" she looks up now and sees a single tear dropping down on the light green suit jacket leaving a stain. "Oh, Rich, don't cry on the suit now. We have five minutes left, I don't have time for this now, hun."

"What's going on?" T asks as he steps in and sees his upset boyfriend and his friend’s frustrated look.

"He doesn't like it." Zoey groans and rubs her face.

"Zoey, honestly, what color is that? Definitely not his. Who picked that?" Taron asks, his face twisted in disgust. Zoey wouldn't pick such a color for his boyfriend. The light green was a strange mixture and it made Rich look pale and tired, his eyes becoming dark compared to it. He could see why Richard hates it.

"The management because it fits with the posters of the movie. I wouldn't have picked it as well." she admits groaning and looks at her slightly panicked mate. She couldn't do this to him and after all, she was his stylist. "Take it off. I'll get something else."

Richard watches her leaving the room and tries to open the buttons with his shaking hands. "Can you help me?" he asks shyly and looks at Taron.

T sees the fear in his eyes and steps before him quickly. "Calm down, love." he says lovingly and opens the buttons of the jacket and continues with his shirt. "We'll have a lovely evening and I'll be right by your side." Taron wipes his cheeks clean and gives him a quick kiss. "Deep breaths." he gets him out of the jacket and his shirt and opens the button of his trousers. Zoey comes back and hands him a dark blue suit.

T takes it and helps him to get it on. He closes the buttons calmly, knowing his boyfriend’s friend is stressed now. Putting on the blue jacket, Richard’s eyes are calmer and brighter almost instantly due to the fitting color. He closes the buttons, fixes his sleeves and kisses him softly before kneeling down and fixing the trousers. "One day I'm going to do this again, but not for fixing your trousers." Taron says and winks at him. Rich raises his eyebrows trying to find out which one of the things going through his mind is the right one. "I don't mean it in a sexual way, baby." Taron promises giggling. "Will you marry me?" he says and winks up to him again.

"Dork." Rich says and both start laughing. But if Taron knew what he just did to him saying that he probably would grin. His heart is racing and warms at the thought of Taron asking him that. Taron gets up and Richard kisses him softly, smiling about the fact that Taron decided to spend his life with him. And he was ready for it, whenever he would ask him.

Zoey looks at them as they step outside and raises her thumb at Rich. "Happy now?"

"Yea." Richard says and looks at himself shortly. It was better than before no question. He sees Taron stepping next to him and grabs his hand.

"Ready?" Taron asks caring and gives him a kiss on his cheek, standing up on his toes.

"Now I am." he pulls him into a soft kiss, taking in all the love Taron has for him. It would be a good evening and he would be okay one day.

@taron-eggmcmuffin @anxiety-at-the-classroom @multicoloredchicken @primaba11erina @sarahegerton96 @naptitimadderton @maddertonmyheart @madderton-obsessed

#trigger warning #taron egerton #Richard Madden #madderton #taron egerton fic #richard madden fic #madderton fic #eating disorder #comfort #emotional hurt #vomiting #argument #angst #fluff #soft #kisses #vacation #friendship

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amydancepants-peralta · 5 years

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So here we have it - what happens when you get a Taylor Swift song stuck in your head and the rest of your brain is only mildly obsessed with Peraltiago. 🤦🏼‍♀️ I give you this ... a Jake & Amy/fwb fic based on the lyrics to Cruel Summer. ❤️🎶

it’s a cruel summer with you

The bar is noisy tonight, a rambunctious crowd of newly turned 21 year olds taking up court in the centre of the venue as they sing along loudly to a song she doesn’t know playing on the jukebox.

Amy slams another shot glass down on the bar, wincing as the strong liquor burns her throat along the way. She revels in the ache - it’s weak after all, compared to what her heart is feeling - and she looks up to watch her partner laugh along with their friends, blinking slowly as his mega-watt smile cuts through the crowd, hitting her square in the chest.

Her feet tap restlessly against the metal edges of the barstool, a dull clinking sound barely reaching her ears as she gestures to the bartender for another shot. She can hear more laughter coming from a booth to her right and she ducks her head until another glass is shoved in front of her, making quick work of the drink and looking up just as things begin to spin.

His eyes catch hers, and the tears begin to well up again. She can’t do this. Not tonight. Her head shakes, hands reaching blindly into her purse and shoving bills onto the bar before pushing herself away, unsteady feet carrying her far from everything with a surprising speed.

The air outside is warm, as it has been for months now, and she runs into the street with her arm raised high, hailing the first cab she sees. Through the intoxicated haze Amy swears she can hear her name being called out, and it’s a voice she knows (it’s a voice she loves), and for that reason alone she clambers into the car without a second thought, rattling out an address as the tears cascade down her face.

She had been crazy to think that this could ever be something casual.

Two months earlier …

Amy can feel his hand heavy on her back as she sits up slowly, fists clenching the sheets close to her body while she draws her knees up. The room is quiet, a heavy cloud of unspoken words hanging over them as they both fight to catch their breath.

Dropping her head she uses the length of her hair as a curtain, hiding her face behind it as she listens to Jake’s breathing start to regulate. There are a thousand things she wants to say, but in this moment she daren’t let herself speak.

“So … what is this, exactly?” His voice cuts through the silence, confusion clear in the tone.

Amy shakes her head, throwing in a shrug of her shoulders for good measure in case he missed the first response. His hand is still resting against her skin, the warmth of his fingertips searing through her muscle, and it slips slightly as her shoulder blades lift. He doesn’t readjust, and with a quick sniff she moves, scooting her body to the edge of the mattress and reaching for her shirt, thankfully one of the few items still within reach.

Once, is a mistake. Twice is a habit. Tonight makes three.

She knows his eyes are watching her move about the room, sliding on the pieces of underwear as she recovers them, and she’s careful to keep her face turned away. Jake has known her and worked with her for so long that she knows if she were to turn, he would read her like a book.

The next sentence takes a lot of courage. “How about we just stick to what you suggested last time?” She speaks to the wall, wrestling with the band around her wrist until her hair is up and away from her face. Buttoning her shirt carefully as her hands begin to shake. Putting on her best version of a relaxed face, she turns to face him. “No rules.”

He sits up, eyebrows raised in surprise. “No rules, Santiago?”

“Yeah. It’s cool.” The words feel foreign on her tongue. It’s not what she wants, but she knows it’s what he wants to hear.

He nods, dropping his gaze to the tangled mess of sheets surrounding him. “Yep. Cool. Keepin’ it light and breezy. Cool cool cool.”

It hadn’t even been a particularly special day the first time it happened. Just another Wednesday, except this Wednesday they were spending their night at Shaw’s celebrating because after three long months they had finally managed to catch their perp in the act, putting an end to his chain of felonies throughout the city. Impressed with their work, Holt had given them the following day off, and in hindsight they both should’ve headed straight home - they were exhausted, after all - but the fluorescent lights of the bar were beckoning and before they knew it there were five empty glasses on their table.

They had both been quick to blame the alcohol when they’d woken up the next morning, skin feeling cool against the sheets in the absence of clothing, confused eyes searching for answers amongst the trail of garments that led to Amy’s bedroom. It had been a stressful few months, and their inhibitions had been low, and it didn’t mean anything.

It was another two weeks before it happened again - the longest two weeks of her life, because for the first time in years she was avoiding her partner as much as humanly possible. And then a missing person’s case had turned into a manslaughter, and she’d been drowning her sorrows in their booth when he’d looked over at her, and next thing she knew her clothes were on his apartment floor and he was telling her that we should just keep this simple, no rules, just sex and in that moment she would have agreed to anything if it meant that he kept kissing her.

So now, as the afterglow of three begins to fade, she puts on a brave smile, shrugging her shoulders in what she prays looks like casual indifference, sliding her jeans back on while her eyes scour the floor for her purse. From the corner of her eye she can see him flop back onto the pillow beneath him, palms resting against his forehead as his fingers rake through his hair, and she wants it to be her hands running through them, like they were just a few minutes ago, but she can’t because he doesn’t want that at all, and so she grabs the strap of her purse, clearing her throat and calling out a farewell. The door is slamming closed behind her before she can hear his response.

He finally catches up to her in the break room two days later, both of them pretending that the distance between them hasn’t been deliberate.

She hears him before she sees him, body already stiffening as she listens to the tell-tale signs of sneakers scuffing across the tiled floor. Suddenly, she is incredibly invested in knowing the entire contents of the vending machine, eyes glued to the familiar reds and yellows of a Clark bar when he approaches.

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were avoiding me.”

She winces slightly at the obvious hurt in his voice, and even though she can’t yet tear her eyes away from the machine, she shakes her head quickly. “No, not really. Work’s just been crazy lately.” It’s a lie, and a bad one at that, and she knows he can tell. She’s grateful when he doesn’t push it.

“Look, I just want to make sure after everything - ”

“It’s fine, Jake. Really.”

His hand rests along the top of the vending machine next to hers, and he releases a heavy sigh as her head turns curious towards his. The cheap bulbs behind the glass light up his features, the suitcases under his eyes growing obvious now that she’s really looking at him. A tiny pang runs through her heart that she could be the cause for any of his exhaustion and her hand clenches by her side, resisting the urge to reach up and rest a palm against his cheek.

“I just think … with the work we do, what we face every day, and let’s face it - my track record, keeping things casual is the best option.”

And she’s trying. She’s trying so very hard not to let him see how much this is killing her, how difficult it is to plaster on a smile and tell him that light and breezy is a great idea. That he is right, that trying to be more will only lead to disaster. It kills her that he already thinks he’s going to screw this up. She knows, she already knows, that if they ever did this for real, there’s no way he could ruin it.

But he doesn’t want it to be real; and while sporadic, these tiny fragile pockets of heaven were worth the wait, so she nods in agreement to everything he said. Friends, with benefits: the only rule being that there were no rules - no attachments, no feelings.

She’s at his apartment by the end of that very day, running hands over a body that is beginning to feel so familiar, so precious, and for the first time in her life, Amy begins to break the rules.

Like a sucker, Amy waits by her phone each nightfall, fingers hovering over the glass time and time again. Their arrangement has been working for close to a month now, so she should be confident enough to beckon him to her, but it’s been three days since she last saw him, and logically she knows that it was work that pulled him away, but also maybe he’s decided to move on. Maybe, he’s found somebody that makes him feel the way she feels whenever she looks at him.

All the words she wants to write sound desperate, because she is, still craving another fix of him, even though the week before had seemingly provided her fill. Nearly dropping her phone in shock when it vibrates against her skin, she’s quick to unlock the screen, heart jumping up to her throat as she races to her window, face cracking open with a giant smile when she sees him standing on the sidewalk. He’s here - everything she needs is waiting for her on the street below - and then she’s pressing the buzzer to release the front door and he’s here and her clothes are falling to the ground.

His kisses are different. Maybe it’s her, maybe she’s projecting, but his kisses feel different, like he’s a starving man in the desert and Amy’s a mirage he refuses to let disappear. She lets him drink her in, returning his touches with her own, and the couch cushions are soft underneath her bare skin and she has a newfound hatred for the word casual.

Jake doesn’t stay - they never do, an unspoken rule amongst the nonexistent - but he lingers, fingers gliding softly along her back and she closes her eyes, safe in the knowledge that he cannot see the look of contentment on her face. She wants him to stay, but cannot bring herself to say it, and eventually he moves, throwing a hand up in a casual wave as he leaves. It’s another few minutes before she hears his footsteps fade down the hallway, and the couch is cold without him there, but her bed is so large and empty and she can still smell his aftershave, so she drops her head back onto the throw cushion to breathe him in.

She waits until the sound disappears before letting her tears fall.

It’s been another month (making it three in total, not that she is keeping count), and they’ve almost got the whole thing down to an art.

There are signals and messages and systems set in place, and it rarely stretches past a day or two before one is reaching out to the other. The neighbourhood that separates their apartments holds home to a relatively well maintained park, and Amy has walked through it so many times that she’s begun to track the growth of the wildflowers, often stopping to admire the blooms along the way. Sessions between the sheets have extended to takeout dinners and the occasional Netflix session, but nothing ever builds past that, and it’s killing her slowly, but the alternative is far worse.

Today is Boyle’s birthday, and in true Charles fashion he’s thrown a party that promises endless drinks under only one proviso - that everyone turns up in costume. Despite their greatest of protests, the benefits had inevitably outweighed the costs, and one by one they filter into the apartment, each heading straight to the bar in a desperate need to forget what they are wearing and just have fun.

It isn’t long before the room is filled with a myriad of characters, faces unrecognisable behind masks, conversations fading into the background as the music grows louder and louder. Charles, in his element, flits between pockets of people, encouraging his guests to try the more obscure appetisers being passed around. Amy adjusts her outfit, a simple black and white dress covered in a crossword pattern, smiling at Terry as he describes at great length Cagney and Lacey’s recent ballet recital. It was the end of a long week, and if she hadn’t been surrounded by her friends she would have left hours ago.

At the back of the room she sees Rosa, smirking at the crowd surrounding her before rolling the dice for a game of Snake Eyes, the red sequinned horns of her devil costume barely peeking out from her mass of dark curls. She rolls a five, and Hitchcock cries out in victory, clearly unfamiliar with the concept of the game.

To the right of them, Jake stands tall, looking remarkably accurate as Robin Hood, plastic archery set still tied safely to his back. He’s laughing with a beautiful dark haired woman, who in a vague memory she thinks may be named Sophie, and the woman flips her hair and Amy’s eyes narrow. She knows that move. She’s made that move. This chick was getting her flirt on with Jake, and there was nothing that she could really do.

Her eyes narrow as she struggles to lip-read, trying and failing to seem casual about it all as she tunes out the sound of Terry’s voice. From beside her, the glittery halo attached to Gina’s head catches the light and her eyes roll, exasperation obvious as she turns back to Amy, muttering something about being ‘the worst kept secret’ and briefly Amy wonders if perhaps she and Jake haven’t been as covert as they’d thought. Not that she minds, really - she’d shout this all from the rooftops if she thought he would be okay with it.

And there are times when it feels like maybe he would be okay with something more than what they have now, when his hands linger more than normal over her skin, or his eyes hold her gaze for longer than a beat and she can almost swear that she can see feelings underneath it all.

But then he pulls back, and it’s another day or two before they’re back to old habits, and while she’s almost certain there hasn’t been anybody else there was always the threat of somebody, a somebody worthy of a title like girlfriend, and when she watches him talking to women like this (Sophia! That’s her name. Sophia) the danger of losing him becomes a little too real.

She excuses herself from the conversation under the guise of needing a refill, quickly downing the remaining contents of her cup as she heads towards the bar - an area that also happened to be conveniently near Jake and this Sophia. He breaks the conversation with her as Amy nears, and the other woman watches on before stepping back with a raised eyebrow.

“Found a new friend?” She tries to keep her tone light.

“She’s a D.A. I actually don’t even know how she got invited.” Jake answers quickly, reaching for the nearest bottle and pouring the contents in as he speaks. “We were talking about Boyle’s latest arrest.”

“The flasher?” He nods. “Well, I could be wrong, but I’m pretty sure she wants to flash you.” The smile she wears is so forced, desperate to keep the tone light, knowing that one wrong move could bring this arrangement of theirs crashing down.

He doesn’t respond straight away, eyes staring at the bottles of liquor, the grip on his cup a little tighter the only giveaway that he’d heard her at all. And then he’s looking at her, a careful gaze that she doesn’t quite know what to do with, one that makes her feel entirely exposed. It feels like it stretches on forever, until finally he shakes his head - “Nah. She’s a D.A., Ames. That’s like … the closest thing to evil in our world. And besides, I -”

A cheer erupts from their left, snake eyes finally landing on the table, and Amy is grateful for the distraction as she lifts the red plastic cup to her lips. He moves a little closer, lowering his voice the way he does during other things and a tiny little tingle runs down her spine. “Meet me at mine in like … half an hour?"

Her teeth feel sharp against her lower lip, a surprising sensation that cuts through the alcoholic haze, and she nods quickly, ignoring the flush of red that washes over her cheeks.

He falls asleep before she’s even had the chance to leave, laying stomach-down on the mattress, one hand still resting against her abdomen while he snores softly. Revelling in the moment Amy follows the lightly coloured freckles on his skin, playing connect-the-dot along his arm until she reaches his hand, linking their fingers and trying so hard not to cry when his hand grips hers. She stays, longer than she probably should, but moments like this are what she craves the most, and even if it’s only an hour, it’s already better than she imagined.

When he opens his eyes again it is daylight, and Amy is long gone. She’s left a note on his bedside, neatly spaced out in her careful handwriting, and he reads it over and over but the message never changes. That she can’t do this, that it’s all become too much, and please don’t talk to her about it because she doesn’t think that she can.

And just like that, it was over.

Present day

The grass is surprisingly cool against Amy’s bare feet as she runs through the park, shoes gripped in one free hand while the other wipes tears away from her face.

She can hear Jake calling out her name from behind, but she just can’t bring herself to turn around. There’s a part of her that still isn’t sure how she got here in the first place, doesn’t understand why she gave the cab driver this address instead of her own. She should have just asked him to drive on, rising number on the meter be damned.

But she’d stepped out onto the sidewalk outside Jake’s apartment, and her eyes had still be trained on the window she knows to live just to the right of his bed when another taxi pulled up, and this time Jake got out, calling out her name as he slammed the car door behind him.

He had moved so quickly towards her that she hadn’t had a chance to prepare herself for his arrival, heart still pounding somewhere outside of her chest because not tonight, because in vino veritas, because all of the things she had been trying so desperately not to say were bubbling up inside of her, and she still isn’t sure just how she got here.

And then she was running. Turning on her heel and heading straight for the park she knew so well, ready to cover the same path she had taken almost every night this entire summer.

He’s faster than her, calling out her name as he follows, and not for the first time she’s resentful of her shorter legs. The grass spins, alcohol catching up to her mind and she slows, exhausted by the sprinting but more so because she’s tired of hiding, tired of pretending that everything is fine when it so clearly is not.

His breath is ragged and his hands are gripping his sides when he stops in front of her. His confusion is obvious, but more than anything he looks concerned and it’s enough to make her the tears start back up again. She pushes her head up towards the sky, unfocused eyes trying to make out the glittering dots as she blinks, a quiet sob escaping her throat.

“Ames?”

She doesn’t trust herself to speak.

“What the hell happened back there?” Her head shakes, shoes dropping to the grass with a soft thud so that she can cover her face with her hands.

“It doesn’t matter, Jake. It’s stupid, really.”

There’s a shocked tone to his voice. “Of course it matters, Ames.” It’s so sincere, so sweet the way he speaks to her, and she doesn’t want to love him but she really, really does. He clears his throat. “I know I haven’t spoken to you tonight, but you told me not to, and I wanted to show you that I respected your decision, even though I .. anyway. Next thing I know you’re running and you’re outside my place and I’m so confused-”

The words are bubbling up inside of her and it’s driving her insane, how quickly he makes her say all the things that she doesn’t want to say, and she snaps at him. “Just leave it, Jake.”

He matches her exasperation, raising his voice and it carries out over to the edges of the park. “You ended this!” She can hear the rustle of his jacket as he throw his hands to the side, and his persistence just frustrates her all the more. “Just …. tell me why you’re running, Amy!”

“I love you! Okay? I love you. You’re a pain in my ass sometimes, and you cannot clean to save yourself, but for whatever it’s worth, I love you.” She laughs, a short self-deprecating bark. “Ain’t that the worst thing you’ve ever heard? But there it is. It’s true. I love you.”

She doesn’t want to look at him, terrified of what she’s certain will be a look of horror on his face. Damn the alcohol, and damn the feelings that had been building up and just had to explode here and now. Everything could have stayed just as they were, if she hadn’t opened her damn mouth.

But, the voices in her head reasoned, you didn’t want things to stay as they were.

“Ames.” His voice is soft again, but still so loud in this dark garden with only them around.

Her head stays low. “I know. We’re partners, and we both went into this knowing it couldn’t be anything. It doesn’t make sense to change things. And it was stupid of me to - ”

“Ames.”

Amy holds her breath, but raises her head anyway. Time to face the music.

His head is lowered, one hand resting along the back of his neck, and at her silence he looks up, and her heart may as well have stopped completely. He’s grinning. That devilish, incredibly handsome grin that has never failed to make her feel completely at home.

He’s grinning, and she can feel her defences start to kick in, but it’s not in a ‘I’m about to make fun of Santiago’ kind of way. He looks like a kid on Christmas Day, opening that one present that he knows will make the day amazing.

And then he speaks. He’s telling her about how long he’s been biting his tongue, his own declarations of love threatening to make an appearance so often that he’d begun to just stop speaking altogether unless he was certain the topic was safe.

That he dreamed about holding her hand as they walked down the street - about waking up and making breakfast together; of nights at home in their rattiest clothes, falling asleep on the couch while a terrible movie plays in the background. Nights that aren’t about sex, but just being near each other, knowing the other will still be there when the sun rises again.

His hand reaches out for hers, and she takes it without hesitation. She’s never been one to take risks, and certainly not to break the rules, but sometimes you just have to take a chance, and she would throw everything away in a second if she could just stay here in this moment. He tugs her forwards, lips landing on hers as his arms wrap around her so tight, and finally, everything is as it should be.

The sun is warm against her back when she wakes in the morning, his arms still wrapped around her and legs tangled together underneath the sheets. And they stay together through it all - while the leaves turn brown and begin to fall; as the days grow cool and everything is covered in a tiny white dust.

The park between their apartments blooms florals bright and strong with the coming of spring and they cross the grass together one last time, the final box of his possessions tucked under his arm as they head towards the home that was once hers but is now theirs. The memory of shouted drunken confessions pale to the feeling of his hand in hers and she smiles up at him, squeezing his fingers as they pass through the gate and already she is home.

Whatever came next summer, they would face it together.

#okay I don't know where that came from but I needed to write it #but I hope you all enjoy it #mine #myfic #b99 fanfic #b99 fanfics #peraltiago fanfiction #taylor swift fanfiction #brooklyn nine nine fanfic #fwb

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yourdeepestfathoms · 5 years

Text

Gift-fic for bessie-bass (because she has all the best headcanons)

She’d barely given two minutes thought to the tweet- that was the really frustrating thing. She’d meant it as a joke- it’d been born from a moment of mild frustration, sure, but she hadn’t meant anything bad by it, she’d typed it out in less than a minute before tossing her phone aside and going back to work.

‘Love having my costume purloined at the last moment- perhaps I’ll grab a spare queen dress next time I need to do laundry lol’

It had been barely a day later when the director had pulled her aside and asked if she’d looked at her feed lately. Of course she hadn’t, and said as much- she’d been working more or less nonstop to ensure everything was going smoothly with the new alts….and when he’d brought it up on his own phone, she felt suddenly sick.

People were so ANGRY- so many tweets, direct and indirect, all telling her that she was awful, rude, disrespectful, that she was trying to ‘erase’ the queens and their alts, that she was giving herself undue importance, that she should be GRATEFUL that she could be of help to someone so much more important than herself….

And then the others, wishing her every sort of pain, graphic descriptions of what they wanted done to her in retribution….

Watching her face, the director closed the tab after a couple of minutes but she’d had more than enough time to get the gist of it. She felt light headed, like she was in freefall.

What had she done?

Perhaps her distress was obvious- the ticking off was brief, but it still stung: not least to be scolded like a child but to be blamed for the response, as if it had been something she wanted.

The injustice of it all roared in her ears and drowned out at least half of the lecture- when she realised that input was expected from her, she mumbled and apology and fled to the dressing room, grateful at least that it was a Sunday and that the theatre was relatively empty aside from her and few others putting in extra hours.

Sitting down at her station, she tried to refocus herself back on her work but thoughts buzzed round and round her head like angry bees- humiliation, guilt, anger….and under all of it, she just felt sad.

People she didn’t even know, would never know, were somehow angry enough at her to want everybody to know….and the thought made her feel very alone.

Suddenly, she wanted Cathy- to see her or even just hear her voice, to be able to remind herself that at least one person wasn’t angry with her, that at least one person didn’t think she was bad. The strength of her feelings was surprising and disconcerting too. She wasn’t used to needing people (she wasn’t used to having people to need) and it made her wonder if she’d become weak, if getting used to having Cathy smile at her and ask about her day had stripped away some of her self reliance.

It made her wonder if she should resist calling or texting- if she should push through the sadness like it was an addiction until she just stopped feeling altogether….but after a few minutes of pretending to make notes, she had snatched up her phone and was keying in a message.

‘Hi. Sorry to bother you. I hope you’re not busy.’

Her hands shook as she pressed send- and then it occurred to her that perhaps Cathy wouldn’t even have her number saved and added a quick ‘This is Joan btw.’

It was only after she sent it that it occurred to her that not identifying herself would have allowed her some leeway to make comforting excuses to herself if (when) Cathy didn’t reply….but almost immediately, her phone buzzed with a message.

‘Not busy and not a bother- what’s up?’

Then, quick on its heels: ‘I knew it was you silly, I have your number saved!’

It was nice, she found, the image of Cathy actually saving her number into her contact list (the idea of her number being included in the list of Cathy’s actual friends, as if she was no different from any of them).

She agonised over what to put- she didn’t want to explain exactly but she wasn’t sure if she’d be able to put up a good front and pretend she was only texting to chat. Besides, she never texted for nothing. Still though-

She composed and deleted half a dozen responses- and then her phone started ringing, surprising her so much that she nearly dropped it.

‘Hi!’ Cathy sounded bright, cheerful- not as if she needed her free afternoon ruined by Joan’s stupidity and neediness. ‘What’s up? Thought I’d just call rather than waiting for you to reply-’

The chiding was of the very lightest, most friendly sort- and yet it was also much too much for Joan’s current state: the implication that she had annoyed Cathy on top of everyone else (the idea that she was frustrating her, irritating her, using up her patience) was something she just couldn’t deal with.

She gave a little gasp and burst into tears.

Straight away, she tried to find the button to end the call- she didn’t want Cathy to hear her being so pathetic (Cathy wouldn’t WANT to see her so pathetic)- but her tears made everything blurry and her hands were shaking too much to work properly.

‘Joan? Joan? Are you there?’

Cathy’s voice sounded tinny through the speaker but her tone was unmistakably frantic. It gave Joan pause that she sounded so concerned- and she immeadiately mentally berated herself for (selfishly) giving her closest (only) friend worry over something so stupid.

She tried to take a deep breath as she pressed the phone to her ear.

‘I- I’m here- I’m sorry, I-’ Another sob almost choked her.

‘What’s the matter sweetheart?’ The warm concern in Cathy’s voice was like honey. ‘Can you tell me what’s wrong?’

She had intended to lie and pretend to be ok (she had surely forfeited her right to comfort for being so dramatic) but instead she found herself pouring out the whole stupid story in a teary, hiccupy rush, while Cathy hummed and made soothing noises of understanding into the reciever.

‘-and now everyone hates me, and it’s just-’ She pressed a hand to her eyes as she finished, already dreading Cathy’s reaction. ‘- it’s just all ruined….’

‘Oh you poor poor thing.’ Cathy sounded so very loving, it was enough to bring fresh tears to her eyes- it was unbelievable to Joan that she didn’t sound even a little bit cross or annoyed. ‘That all sounds dreadful sweetheart, I’m so sorry-’ There was a pause and some tapping and Joan realised she must be at her laptop. ‘I haven’t even looked at twitter in days-’ Suddenly her voice was louder, indignant. ‘Oh my GOD….they- Oh Joan! I can’t believe they- it’s so-’ The fact that Cathy was speechless made Joan feel a tiny bit better: it was nice to know that perhaps she wasn’t overreacting, that other people were horrified too, that Cathy was clearly not holding her to account for how things had turned out (perhaps Cathy didn’t think she deserved it).

‘They’re…..a bit irate….’

She wanted to sound funny but it just came out as a flat little whimper. It was too hard to mask how absolutely crushed she felt- as if someone had pulled out her insides, as if she was collapsing in on herself.

‘They’re AWFUL!’ Cathy sounded angrier than Joan had ever heard her. ‘The fact that they think they can treat you like this, especially under the guise of ‘protecting’ us….I’m going to write a tweet right now, let them know EXACTLY what I think of them….’ From how fierce she sounded, Joan almost felt sorry for anyone to catch her ire. ‘I wish I had them here now so I could really make them sorry-’ Suddenly, she paused, perhaps remembering that she was still on the phone.

‘Joan, sweetheart, where are you?’

The question took her by surprise. ‘The theatre- why-?’

Cathy sounded a bit surprised. ‘Well I’m coming to get you. Obviously.’

There was nothing obvious about it to Joan- she tried to protest.

‘It’s your free day though- you shouldn’t have to waste it on me!’ She brushed at her swollen eyes with her sleeve. ‘I’m fine really- I just needed to tell someone but I’m ok, I don’t need-’

‘Joan.’ Cathy’s voice cut through her rambling. ‘You’re definitely not fine. No one would be fine.’

‘Yes but-’

‘I’m coming to get you. You don’t have to talk to me if you don’t want to and I’ll take you straight home if you like, if you want some space but….you really should take some time to relax.’ Cathy’s voice was insistent but soft, fond. ‘You work too hard. You need a break.’

‘Honestly you don’t have to, I can get a cab or walk or-’

‘Now-’ Cathy carried on talking as if Joan hadn’t even spoken. ‘Why don’t you go and wash your face, get some tissues and a drink of a water and make yourself comfy in my dressing room until I’m there? I think I left my sweater on the sofa- did you remember to even take a coat with you?’

There was an embarrassed silence that answered her better than words and Cathy laughed quietly. ‘Thought not. Put it on, if it’s there and get yourself settled and I’ll be with you in a little bit ok? And then I’m going to get you home, run you a nice hot bath so you can relax, make you some hot chocolate and we’ll pile up some pillows and blankets on your bed and watch a movie or something ok? Something to take your mind off things. Sound good?’

It sounded so very good that Joan found herself actually nodding into the phone, as if Cathy could see.

‘-and you’re going to actually eat something for dinner that’s real food’ Cathy continued. ‘Because I know you haven’t been taking proper care of yourself lately, what with all the new cast and everything. And you’re going to get some sleep at some point, because if you haven’t been eating, you probably haven’t been sleeping-’

(It occured to Joan that Cathy could perhaps be compared to a bulldozer. A very tiny, very soothing blue bulldozer.)

‘-and I’m not going to leave until I’m sure you’re ok again. And then….’ Cathy’s voice takes on a slightly sinister edge. ‘I’m going on twitter because I REFUSE to let them treat you like this. And also at some point there is a tv series I want your opinion on. But that can wait til you’re up to it.’ She takes a breath. ‘Sound like a plan?’

Joan wanted to protest again, to tell Cathy not to waste her time, to enjoy her free day and not worry…. But somehow she heard herself giving a very quiet assent to Cathy’s plan, and when the other woman arrived at the theatre half an hour later, slightly breathless and armed with a thermos of hot tea, a tube of eye gel and a bag of Joan’s favourite Malteasers, she found Joan wrapped up in her big blue cardigan and sipping a glass of water.

Just as she had ordered.

#HOLY F U C K OH MY GOD I LOVE THIS SO MUCH #THIS IS SO CUTE #YOU WROTE THEM SO WELL!!!!#first of all #the subtle nods to the recent drama was 👌 it honestly fits joan really well #the director fucking griping at joan for it was also a nice touch #she doesnt deserve that at all but I love that angst #then her wanting to talk to her friend 🥺🥺#I absolutely LOVED cathy’s reaction!!#like oh my god she is gonna kill someone #and I am HERE FOR IT #everything about this is perfect and adorable and I love it so much!!#thank you so so much I dont deserve you or this 🥺🥺#this was really sweet of you to send it #it made me so happy #thank you 💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗💖💕💘💗#submission #not my writing #six the musical fanfiction #six the musical fanfic #six the musical tour #uk tour six #tour catherine parr #tour joan on the keys

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fanfiction-inc · 5 years

Text

“But Of Course.”

Title: “But Of Course.”

Verse: Dracula (2020)

Characters/Pairings: Dracula/ Reader

Warnings/Tags: Mentions of sex, mentions of alcohol, alcohol, mentions of blood, blood, body disposal, flirting. Not really that worrisome.

Word Count: 1607

Summary: A request for a friend about the reader meeting Dracula in the bar. Oh, the bonding.

Rating: Mature (for mature themes)

Note: I was requested from a good friend to write a thirst story for her without truly going into smut. So here we are. Thank you to the always lovely @yancy-trash on Tumblr for proofing this fic and giving me feedback before I post it.

Link to Ao3 Version: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22781278

Saturday night, prime time for the clubbers and mingling masses. Lovely chaos of the clubs that spill out into the streets and spread among drunkards and horny bastards. Too much noise, too much glee and happiness. Sickening stench of club-rigged drugs and bathroom sex. Boring, always so boring, and yet those that were unfortunate enough to be dragged along must endure. A tap to the mahogany surface of the clubs bar top, the bartender sending a light nod to the woman sitting alone near the end of the bar away from company of the gathering university masses, spilling drinks here and there and getting into petty squabbles over who fucked who and whom and who called dibs on the next hot piece of ass. Distasteful, this generation had always been so distasteful.

Whisky on the rocks, straightforward with no questions asked, that was what this world needed. No guesswork, just something to numb the pain and drown out the noise that has been so festering at the ear drums. A single sip was taken before the weight of a college lad slammed against the back of the woman sitting alone, drink spilling all over the bar top and coating the mahogany and spilling over the edges onto the bottles below holding various other liquors. She groaned, gaze looking back at the lad who gave a cheeky smile and threw that look that only said selfish prick. “Hiya baby d-” “Don’t even fucking try, mate. If you’re this much of a light weight, stumbling around, I’m rather sure you wouldn’t last two seconds in bed. Scram.” The lad was about to argue before catching sight of a new skinnier and more viable, even drunker than him, option of a woman. Long legs, legs for fucking days. The woman sighed, surprised when a new glass was set before her on the semi-cleaned bar top, napkin beneath holding neat lettering. “Who?” Was all the woman had to ask, a finger pointed to the man at the other end of the bar top, glass raised in greetings with that look that simply said ‘enjoy’. Another glance to the napkin below, note neatly written yet beginning to smear from the remnants of the whiskey that had been spilled before.

“It’s quiet over here. Care to join me?”

It was an invitation from a man far older yet far different from the crowd lingering within the confines of the club. It seemed he held a far more confident air, and he didn’t seem like the drunkard party boy type much like the others standing about trying to catch a new lad or lass for their five second sexcapades in the handicap stall of the club's bathroom. Slowly the half-drenched napkin and glass of newly poured whiskey was moved along to the end where the man sat, the shadow in the back of neon lights and drug induced dancing. He looked near pleased when the woman sits with him, looking on to the was she stretched to straddle the seat before crossing her legs in a far more lady-like manner. “Either this was given to the wrong woman or you have me gravely mistaken.”

A moment where the man smirked against the rim of his glass, stealing a slow, savored sip of the thickened red of a wine that didn’t smell too sweet, nor really smelled much like a wine. But who was to say what it really smelled beyond the scent that clashed within the mass of bodies. “Oh, it was meant for you, I do promise you that. No one as lovely as you should be alone, and for that same token, hit on by boys thinking they’re men.”

“And do you consider yourself the lucky man who will score tonight?” The man shrugged, sending a small chuckle to the woman at his side. “No one is quite able to determine the outcome of the night, not nearly so early into the evening when things are just starting. So, no, I do not consider myself lucky in such regards unless you are to change my mind on such.” A wink that could have been missed with a blink of an eye caught the woman off guard, a soft smile tracing her lips.

“You seemed quite lonesome, my dear. All alone with no party to keep your interest?” He inquired with a raised brow, wondering why someone with such a steady heart and lovely gaze would be alone in the epicenter of drunken and lust induced chaos. “Oh, m’party left a while ago. No fun, those posh bastards. All they want is to dance, drink, and fuck. The same rinse and repeat every weekend. It gets bloody boring, especially when I’m not much for dancing or bein’ pressured to find some sod to bring home.”

“Ah, I believe I understand. I’m rather, how should I say, picky with my preferences in people. Like a fine connoisseur of wines, you have to pick through the crowd to find the right flavor.”

“You’ve got that right.” A glance over the mans features, he grinned at her lingering gaze. “Sometimes the right vintage is in order, though I’m far more a whiskey connoisseur than wine. It’s never done much for my taste.”

“Or is it a matter that it simply doesn’t give you the right numbing buzz?”

She paused at his words, wondering just how the man could figure such. Was she that visible, that see-through? “Of course I mean no offense by such, my dear. You just simply seem tired of the same grind, the same motions like a creek that always floods. You appear prone to it.” A stifle of a saddened chuckle. The woman knew he hit the nail right on the head. “You know, if you’re gonna hit that close to home, you might as well get my name first.” He blinked before placing a hand on his head with a chuckle, his dramatics almost charming in a way. “May I ask the name of such a ravishing creature?” She actually blushed at his words, startled to be called ravishing by such an extraordinary man who could read her like an open book. “(First name). Her hand was extended to shake his own and yet the shadow of a man surprised her when he grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, a delicate kiss given to her knuckles. “I’m Dracula. Count Dracula if you must.” The air around them seemed to shift to a far more comfortable setting, even as the club began to grow tighter and tighter, far more suffocating then one would prefer. The drinks kept coming, the world numbing to a dull buzz and the gentle drone of her mystery man's voice as he spoke of many things. Art, music, the culture of the modern world. It was to the point that a glass of water was taken and sipped before a final invitation arose.

“(First name), would you care to join me before I retire for the night? Perhaps a stroll in the park?” It was truly an innocent offer on his behalf, the crimson liquid that had dwindled to mere drops left behind on the bar top and arm offered for the other. “I don’t know, Drac. I think I should call a cab and make my way back to m’flat. Perhaps a rain check?” He smiled at her words. His dinner plans had been thrown out the window the moment he realized the water was beginning to work its way through her system and she didn’t seem to nearly sway as bad. Oh well, ‘fast food’ was in order for tonight, and she may serve as a sweetened dinner on another night. “Ah, yes, of course.” He offered a hand once more to the woman, a soft peck yet again dropped to her knuckles before a card was tucked against her palm. She turned it over to see the Counts number, a faint smirk meeting her lips. “I’ll make sure to m-” A glance up and the man was gone, leaving the other to wonder just where he could have squeezed his lengthy frame off to in the middle of such a chaotic crowd.

A cab was called as the night grew later, back hitting the worn leather of the interior seat and sigh falling from painted lips.

[You never told me you were a magician, Mr. Count. - (Y/n)]

[I never said I wasn’t, my dear. ;) - D]

The Count smirked as he glanced down to his phone, the odd little device bringing that same excitement as the thrill of the chase when he captures his next meal. Indeed, this one truly had been fast food. He lightly wipes at the crimson that had beaded and rolled from the corner of his mouth down his chin, the cloth tucked away within his suit pocket as the corpse before his feet was nudged off into the water of the Thames. Oh, how lovely London was for its disposal services. Such a body of water provided the loveliest of cover ups.

[Care to meet me for drinks next week? Maybe we could find something a bit more to your selective flavors. - (Y/N)]

[Oh, how that sounds delectable. Consider my schedule free for that night, my dear. -D]

[Always a charmer, aren’t you? - (Y/N)]

A snicker fluttered among the air when he looked at the brightened screen, a lick to his lips following as he followed the familiar streets leading to his own flat, quiet steps that would normally echo silent as he thinks of a reply. Oh, this one way playful when not in person.

[But of course. -D]

#Draucla / Reader #Dracula 2020 #cleas bang

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backtothestart02 · 5 years

Text

Mixed Drink - 3/? | westallen fanfiction

A/N: I’m suuuuper tempted to change this back to ‘Mixed Drinks’. lol. The metaphor sounds better in my head somehow. But we’ll see if I change it eventually. I feel like I will, but also...lazy. *shrug* Lol.

Enjoy! This was the result of my match-the-line-to-the-fic post I put out a little while ago. The 3rd in the series before I resumed my regular schedule. In addition though, I’m dedicating this to the handful of people that kept me going last night and restored my faith in myself and enthusiasm for this story.

Big thank you to @mspurple23 @valeriemperez (and also for beta’ing like the dear you are!) @flightofthestars96 @allaboutmybucks @instantsaladartisan @summervibes8.

You guys are the best!

...

Synopsis: AU - Two strangers meet in a bar. One spells danger, the other, desperation.

...

Chapter 3 -

She watched as he dressed himself, biting her bottom lip before the last of his ass disappeared beneath his pants. Despite her best efforts, despite everything screaming inside her that she could not afford one more bad decision, she’d gone and slept with a criminal not once, but twice – and the second time she’d known he had a bit of a record. She restrained a sigh and focused on the present. She’d worry about the implications of this in the future later. After all, she was very good at beating herself up. The only thing that would truly annoy her was the look Teddy would give her the second she walked into the bar later on, which was inevitable at this point.

“Like what you see?” Barry teased, zipping up his pants and facing her after he’d slipped his head and arms back through his shirt.

Iris flushed, feeling a tingle between her folds just from the sound of his voice. Curse him. Low and velvet and the perfect drawl, it was completely her undoing.

“So, what are your plans for the rest of the day?” he asked casually, coming to stand beside her so he could check his appearance in the mirror.

Her eyebrows narrowed, and she remembered exactly why she didn’t take a liking to him when he wasn’t gazing lustfully at her or standing before her naked or kissing her or…

“No.” She stopped her mind from wandering into recent memories.

“No?” he asked, amused. “No, you don’t have plans or no, you won’t tell me what they are?” She opened her mouth to answer, but he interrupted. “Or no, you don’t know what your plans are because your future is a mess and you’d prefer I fuck you through Sunday to make you forget about just how far down you’ve fallen in your life?”

Well…

“Asshole,” she whispered harshly instead, though she certainly wouldn’t mind a few more orgasms to get her mind off her disastrous present; especially the kind he gave her, because damn.

“Just a question,” he said innocently, straightening out his shirt and then glancing at her. She still looked angry. “So, what’s the answer?”

“The answer is none of your business,” she spat.

“I bet I could get it out of you in bed,” he whispered seductively, leaning towards her. She ignored the delicious shivers ripping up her spine.

“You are unbelievable!” She pushed past him and out the door, ignoring his lingering stare on her backside.

Relieved and disappointed that she’d successfully gotten rid of him once she was a block away, Iris realized – regretfully – that she’d left her phone at the coffee shop.

Or maybe he’d stolen it, she thought bitterly. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.

She stopped, turned around and found herself staring at him just outside the shop, waving her phone in his hand.

Ugh. She hated herself. How could one person possibly be this much of a mess?

Reluctantly, she trudged forward and tried to snatch the phone out of his hand, but he used her impatience to wrap his fingers around her hand, and for a moment she truly thought he was going to dance with her. Here, in the middle of the sidewalk outside one of her favorite coffee shops.

“Let go,” she demanded, trying to yank her hand free – and the phone with it.

“Mmm, not really feeling it, actually.”

She huffed and gave up the fight, grinding her teeth. “Why. Not?”

“Let’s just say…” He took the tiniest of steps closer. “I don’t want to let you out of my sight just yet.”

She raised her eyebrows, appearing amused even though her heart was racing.

“You’re just one bad –” He raised his eyebrows. “Two bad decisions,” she clarified. “Both of which I’m done with. So, if you don’t mind?”

He relented – amazingly – and she nearly fell back as the lack of resistance left her a bit unbalanced. He caught her, of course. And the warmth of his arm around her waist nearly made her lose her breath.

Damn, she wished she hadn’t burned so many bridges. It would be so good to confide in her roommate about this…this guy that set her on fire the way no other man had.

“T-Thank you,” she said, standing evenly on her feet after he’d let go of her.

“I know a way you can thank me,” he said.

“No,” she immediately retorted.

“Calm down,” he placated, despite the return of her narrowed eyebrows. “Maybe I just want to show you around.”

“Aren’t you new to town?”

“Aren’t you so absorbed in all your problems that you haven’t really taken the time to see what Central City has to offer?”

She blinked.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” He whistled for a cab, which came to a stop right beside them.

“Wait, Barry, no-”

He opened the door for her.

“Oh, look, you remembered my name.”

With a sigh and a glance and a brief complaint from the cab driver, Iris reluctantly slid into the backseat.

Barry wasn’t even touching her, but she could feel the heat rising off his pant leg and wondered how in the world she was going to survive even an hour without jumping him again.

He caught her gaze at just the right time – when she was licking her lips and eyeing his crotch – and smiled slowly.

“Plenty of time for that,” he said, making her go wide-eyed and turn away.

“Where to?” the cabbie asked, now a good way into the next block.

“Jitters.”

She frowned. “Another coffee shop?”

“You know it?” he asked, intrigued.

“I worked there in high school and college. Paid my tuition with those paychecks.”

“Time well spent, then.”

She thought back on when her boyfriend of three years had dumped her in front of a room full of customers who had gone quiet, and how every job she’d used her major for had ended in her voluntarily leaving or getting fired.

She said nothing.

“It’s not about the coffee shop,” he whispered, leaning close. “It’s about what’s above it.”

“Offices?” she guessed half-heartedly.

“The roof.”

A vision of the two of them standing wrapped in each other’s arms, gazing out at the view of the city flashed before her eyes. She felt butterflies exploding inside her, not to mention her panties dampening again.

“Oh,” she said – and made a point of looking out the opposite window until they got there.

She could feel him smiling from his side of the car, but no amount of money in the world would get her to indulge his twisted humor.

“Are you staying with Theodore again tonight?” he asked innocently when they were a block away from Jitters.

Her mouth fell open. Was he jealous?

“I- N- Maybe.” She abandoned truth for lie. He deserved to feel conflicted after all he’d done to her.

The cab came to a stop, and Barry paid the driver before getting out and rounding the vehicle to help her out of the car. She thought of snatching her hand away and declaring her independence but decided that if he wanted to be gentlemanly, then why the hell should she deny him?

“You won’t want to by the time I’m done with you,” he said, as he guided her into Jitters.

She looked amused. “Because of all the sex?”

He smirked. “Because of the view.”

She didn’t understand what he meant by that, but one thing she was certain of: in all her years working at Jitters, she sincerely regretted never coming up to the roof.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

…

Iris leaned her elbows back against the stone wall, staring out at the city once more before meeting Barry’s mysterious gaze.

“So, what’s the occasion?” she asked.

He had the nerve to look confused. “What do you mean?”

“Well.” She pushed herself off the wall and started coming towards him. “Sex twice-”

“Consensual sex,” he corrected.

“Consensual,” she allowed before continuing. “Tracking me down for breakfast-”

“Inviting you to breakfast.”

“A free breakfast.”

He smirked. “A free one.”

“And now a ride across town to see one of the best views in the city. What’s your game, ex-con Barry?”

His eyes narrowed in a sudden, unexpected spurt of anger before it dissolved.

“No game. Just wanted to show a pretty girl a good time.” He smirked again.

“Oh, yeah, just that,” she said, amused. “Except this pretty girl is broke, homeless, unemployed, and an alcoholic.”

“We all have our baggage.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “What’s yours?”

“Ah-ah-ah, you don’t know me well enough to get that information.”

She’d stopped, so came to meet her halfway.

“You mean, there’s something other than stealing in your checkered past.”

He said nothing, but cupped her face with one hand, then leaned down and kissed her. It didn’t escalate. It was sweet. And Iris hummed contently when it was over before opening her eyes into his.

“You’re beautiful, Iris West,” he whispered softly.

She sighed aloud despite herself. God, how she wished this was real. She had nothing going for her, but to have a charming stranger giving her his undivided attention in the best way would be a great thing to hold onto.

Still, reality was hammering away in the back of the mind, reminding her of everything she’d lost and that she’d probably lose this too if she fought too hard to hang onto it.

“When are you leaving town?”

He raised his eyebrows. “What makes you think I’m leaving?”

Her heart leapt into her throat, but she forcefully shoved it back down.

“Just a feeling.”

He stared at her for a while before answering.

“At the end of the week.”

She took a step back and returned to the wall, trying to get her bearings.

“I’m an idiot,” she muttered under her breath.

“I’ll be back next month, though,” he said, coming up behind her. She refused to look at him as he lowered his lips to her ear and kissed the top of the shell. “And the month after that. And the month after that. And the month after that…”

“On business?” she asked, weakening from his touch.

“Something like that.”

She turned around and found herself immediately in his embrace, his hands lightly gripping her waist.

“You like me, Barry?”

“Oh, yeah.” He smirked. “From the moment I saw you.”

She hesitated. “What is it…that you do exactly? What are you in town for?”

“Mm…can’t tell you that. It’s classified.”

She frowned.

“I can tell you it’s legal, though.”

She was doubtful, but the small fire lighting in her said maybe he was telling the truth.

“Can I trust you?”

“Absolutely.”

She sighed. “Can you tell me anything about yourself?”

“Hmmm,” he contemplated, drumming some of his fingers on her back. Then his eyes lit up. “I know.”

“What?” she searched his eyes, hating the thrill that was pumping through her.

“I’ve got a hotel room at the tallest building in the city.”

She rolled her eyes. Thinking about sex again, I see.

“The Charlton,” she acknowledged.

“Mhmm.” He began smoothing his hands over her lower back.

“What about it?” she asked, ignoring the excitement speeding down her spine and the implications of this entire conversation.

“It’s got an even better view than this one.”

“Of what? A bed?”

He chuckled, sounding sexier than ever.

“Sassy. But no. Of the city.” He could see the suspicion on her face refusing to remove itself. “It’s truly spectacular…” he teased, leaning forward.

“What’s your last name?” she asked, just before his lips brushed hers.

“Allen,” he said, surprising her by actually answering with something believable. “Bartholomew Henry Allen.”

“Bar what?”

But he kissed her, silencing the predictable question.

“If you come with me now, I’ll even let you google me.”

She was dumbfounded as he started to pull her towards the stairs in the center of the roof.

“Where are we going?”

“Shopping,” he said, sounding so chipper. Under other circumstances, Iris would have fought to suppress a giggle.

“Shopping? What do you need?”

“Not me. You. You’re going to need a fancy gown for the gala we’re going to tonight.”

She came to a sudden stop. “The what?”

He turned around. “It’s for my job. The reason I’m in town this week.”

She blinked.

“Come on,” he tugged her hand, and reluctantly she started walking again. “I don’t know a single female who doesn’t like getting a new dress for free.”

For free?

A smile tugged at her lips, because, well… Why the hell not?

...

*Also posted on AO3 and FFnet.

#westallen #westallen fanfiction #backtothestart02 fanfiction #mixed drink #chapter 3

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kinetic-elaboration · 5 years

Text

August 8: Bellarke, I Know Who I Want to Take Me Home

Bellarke, Modern AU, ~1100 words, for anonymous

90s/2000s song inspo: #32, Closing Time - Semisonic

Gotta be honest, I was not up for writing tonight, but you know what, I was up for self-introspection even less. So here we are. Barely edited because I’m just not in the mood.

Currently taking requests for 90s/2000s inspired fics; send me a pairing and a number between 1 and 217 and I’ll write a scene based on a song from my Nostalgic Childhood Music Playlist

My tag list: @ciewill @dealingdreams @shadowheron2013 @julyrubyrose @wonderland-promises @hanav @rycewritestrash @thelittlefanpire @musicnote902 @stonybnatural @earthgay2052 (lmk if you would like to be added to or deleted from this list)

Bellamy and the blonde woman are the last two kicked out when the bar finally closes at 2 a.m. He's been watching her all night: first drinking with her friends at one of the tables, then by herself at the bar after the rest of her party leaves. She has short hair that reaches not quite to her shoulders, and she keeps running her hands through it and then frowning, a cute little pout that he feels in his heart, as if she expected it to be longer. She spends a little while looking down at her phone, then puts it away in her jacket pocket and doesn't take it out again, which surprises him. Either she has some impressive self-control, he thinks, or she's studiously avoiding something or someone.

Instead of mindlessly scrolling, she leans on the top of the bar and drinks her vodka on the rocks slowly, twirling it around sometimes to hear the ice clink against the sides of the glass, watching the other patrons or staring, instead, at the array of bottles and glassware behind the bar. She does look over at him sometimes, once even looks him up and down, a good boost to his ego, but she never makes eye contact long enough to show real interest. Every time someone else tries to approach her, she brushes him off. In these interactions, she has a particularly tired air about her, as if swatting away flies on a hot, muggy, summer afternoon.

Bellamy came in tonight mostly to talk to Miller, but the bar is crowded and understaffed and Miller is too busy, for the most part, for chatting. Bellamy stays until closing time, thinking maybe they can talk then, but Miller shoos him out with the other stragglers, claims he's tired but Bellamy knows better. Miller probably has his boyfriend coming over and doesn't need to waste time on some rehashed old conversations. Fair enough.

Through the windows, he can see a light drizzle has started to fall. The blonde woman takes her time sliding down from the bar stool, not because she is unsteady on her feet but as if she had wandered, in her thoughts, far from her own body, and she's stunned now by the difficulty of returning to it again, of finding herself a real person in the flesh and blood world. About to be shoved out the door and sent on home.

Bellamy's been amusing himself all night, trying to figure out what's going on in her head. She's beautiful but the creased and lightly purple hollows beneath her eyes and the way her fingertips scratch absently against her glass make her look worn. Bad breakup? he wonders. Just fired? Obvious possibilities but he thinks her troubles are something else. She has a sorrowful and tragic air about her, almost guilty, like she's here to burn away some regret. Something she's done that hurt someone else. Maybe because she had to, maybe to help some other person, maybe just for her own selfish reasons, or some complicated combination of all three.

Complicated combination of all three is how it usually goes, in his experience.

Outside, he sees that the rain is slightly more than a drizzle, the sort of fine, cool, precipitation that can only be seen by the marks the raindrops make in puddles and by a fine distortion in the air, that feels like thin needles. Bellamy watches the way the rain slashes down through the fuzzed out glow of the streetlamp, how the light reflects in the small puddle that is growing in the uneven pavement at his feet. This neighborhood at this hour is quiet and nearly deserted, feels like a nowhere place stuck in a nowhere hour, and the blonde woman is making no move to go home. She's standing under the shelter of the overhang with her hands in her pockets, watching the rain.

"Hey," he says, gets her attention despite the creaky, disused quality of his voice. "You want to split a cab or something?"

She tilts her head. He can't tell if she's amused or bored with him. "We don't even know if we're going in the same direction."

He hears just enough challenge in her voice to think that, perhaps, this is a hint or at least a dare, so he takes a step closer, still a safe distance between them, and says, "North side. What about you?"

He wants to say, I'm going where you're going but that would only be a good way to get pepper spray in his face, and anyway he only feels, now, as if he were in a dream. The buildings form hulking, ill-lit shadows, the streetlights along the road burning.

She doesn't answer for a long moment. Then: "I was just going to walk." And: "I don't do the rebound thing."

This sounds to Bellamy's ears like some sort of impromptu confession about herself, and he wonders if his first theory, the breakup, was right after all. Then he realizes that she is talking about him.

"I heard you talking to the bartender," she adds. "About that Octavia."

That Octavia.

"O is my sister," Bellamy says, an unexpected fondness to his voice—fondness not for the prodigal sibling but for the woman standing with him in the rain, who has the grace and the self-confidence, despite her deep air of fatigue, to laugh at herself, not a trace of embarrassment about her when she smiles her first genuine smile.

"Your sister," she echoes.

"Yeah."

In the long, quiet moment that follows, the rain briefly picks up, a cacophony against the sidewalk and the street. Bellamy watches the woman's face, memorizes it: the steel blue of her eyes, the hint of a smile, still lingering, that lessens the brutality of her squared shoulders, her hands that she's been keeping in her pockets, curled up into fists. He's not certain that he'll ever see her again.

She reaches out, without warning, and fixes the collar of his jacket: a particular form of intimacy he has not felt in a long time, had mostly forgotten even exists. The bit of smile has faded now, a thoughtful expression, regret-tinged, in its place. She pats down the corner of the collar. His breath stutters.

The rain has let up again, the brief hint of storm over as quickly as it began, and now beyond the safety of the overhang is a steady but near-silent downpour.

"I'm Clarke, by the way," the woman says, as she pulls the hood of her jacket up and pulls her sleeves down over her hands. "Maybe I'll see you around."

"Bellamy," he answers, almost too late. He is too caught up in watching her turn away. "I really hope you do."

#the 100 #bellarke #bellarke fanfiction #bellamy blake #mine #my writing #modern 100 #the year 2019 #2019: answers #nostalgia songs #i honestly kind of hate this #i had it better in my head earlier i think #the pacing just seems so off #but aaaaaaah my brain just needs to rest #clarke griffin

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mystery-deer · 5 years

Text

When Did You Know

“I have a favor to ask.” Greg’s words seemed to echo back to him. He could feel how they stuttered and petered out, unconfident. There was the sound of pages turning, silence, then his voice. “I’m not in the habit of granting wishes, Inspector.”

He could picture him. Mycroft, dressed to the nines despite the solidarity of his daily routine. From what he gathered he WAS a sort of genie. Or a magic eight ball. Sherlock had told him once while smoking a cigarette that had a heady, sweet smell to it; “My brother IS the government. If it’s a body, he’s the brain. The one behind it all.” He’d then told him that the murderer they were chasing was feeding his missing wives to his dogs, which had kept him up for weeks. God, the carnage. The barking.

And every night, on every one of those nights after the barking had faded and the viscera had cleared. He saw Mycroft there, sitting behind his desk as always, still and stately as a statue. And his heart lurched instead of his stomach.

“You can call me Greg you know. Sherlock does.” “Sherlock has only ever referred to you as Inspector Lestrade or Lestrade.” “Will you come to my ex-wife’s thing with me?”

Silence on the other line again. He waited as Mycroft shuffled papers around and stapled something. “Why are you going to your ex-wife’s-” “It’s not- okay it’s more like my sister’s party but she’s friends with her. They’ve been friends forever that’s how we met.” Greg looked down at his scruffy boots, ran a hand along his jaw for stubble. “And she invited me. My sister, but I know she’ll be there.”

“...and why should I come?” “I don’t know. I just.” He breathed. “I need a date. And...I don’t really, I don’t have a lot of people who’d go right now.”

After the divorce he’d been a wreck. Drinking, showing up late to work, always tired. He felt like there was a dark, oppressive cloud weighing him down, blinding him. People had tried to help at first but it was too much, he was too much. So when the cloud lifted enough for him to see again he saw how alone he was.

“You don’t have to come you know, I know it’s been...hard for you.” His sister had said. He knew she’d said it because she cared, because she loved him but in that moment he felt nothing but rage roiling in his gut. It was so difficult to distinguish care from pity these days. Maybe the only difference was how you looked at it.

“I’m coming.” He’d said, and hung up.

“Fine.” Mycroft said. Greg blinked and looked up even though there was no way the other man could see him. He could see himself though, reflected in the window to his apartment. “What?” “I’m coming.” He said, and hung up.

John was a good doctor, friend, and conversation partner and so after this jarring phone call Greg immediately hailed a cab to 221B. He didn’t know of any other address that John resided in, despite him mentioning multiple times having an apartment and a medical practice somewhere in the city. He was always at Sherlock’s flat, and tonight was no different.

“Greg? It’s late isn’t it?” “Is this about a case?” Sherlock yelled out from somewhere behind the door. “No!” Greg yelled back, John wincing from being stuck between them. “Yes yes, no case!” The doctor grumbled, turning so that Greg could no longer see his face. “Sherlock, I’m going out to the pub with the Inspector.”

Greg half-listened to their hushed conversation. As John said goodbye he leaned back, the door obscuring him partially and his tone becoming a kind of syrupy he usually reserved for patients or young children.

They found their usual pub and ordered their usual drinks, settling into the booth tucked into the corner. Neither of them were showmen and the privacy, even amidst the somewhat rowdy bar crowd put them at ease.

“So, what’s this about?” John asked, looking tired. “Sorry, were you sleeping?” “No, no nothing like that.” He smiled to himself before schooling his expression. “This is about you! Don’t change the subject or I swear I’ll call Sherlock down here to deduce what’s wrong.”

He could imagine it. Sherlock swooping into the place, ignoring all the eyes on him and launching into a gleeful deduction about how he had the hots for his brother. Greg shuddered.

“God no, please have mercy.” They laughed. Somewhere in the bar the music changed to something slow and someone whistled. “I...do you think if you and Sherlock-” He paused, scratching his head. “Do you think if Sherlock was a woman you’d, you know...be interested? In him?”

John took a drink from his mug, looking off into the distance. Greg’s heart pounded, worried that he’d somehow figured something out. It was sometimes easy to forget how smart the doctor was in his own right when he was next to Sherlock.

“I don’t...I don’t think that the nature of our relationship would change.” John said carefully, and Greg wondered if it was the lights or the heat of the bar that made his face appear so red.

Watson coughed and looked away. “Why do you ask?” “I...Mycroft-” Greg started. “Sherlock’s brother!?” “Oh, have you met?” John made a noise that indicated that if they had met, he didn’t wish to meet again soon. In the booth behind them someone began speaking on the phone in french. “Oof, that bad?”

“He isn’t the most pleasant man. Gave me the creeps honestly, don’t know how Sherlock and him came from the same woman.”

Greg thought of Sherlock and Mycroft. The way they spoke too fast sometimes, how when they were in the same room together it was like they were in another, private world. He thought about their eyes. Sherlock’s piercing, brimming with curiosity and good humor while Mycroft’s were dull like pennies, brown jewels plucked and placed in a doll’s head. Mycroft's eyes... He remembered how he looked, surrounded by the ever-changing content of his office. Everything around him was as fluid as the river and he was a rock in the middle, letting the water run off him. Sturdy, calm, watchful. He couldn't think about that right now. Shouldn't. John was looking at him.

“Yeah. Uh, he’s going to a party with me.” Greg winced at his friend's startled laughter, his drink spraying across the table. “Jesus!” “God! Sorry! I just- a PARTY? What’d you do to him!?” “Nothing! I just - I asked, but it was a joke!” He felt his own face flush as he took a swig of his beer. Why had he even come here? “A joke…” he mumbled. He felt like he was being watched, like the universe was wagging its finger at him. "I don't know. Anyway..."

He and John continued drinking throughout the night and when they finally stumbled outside the sky was a light pinkish blue. “Uh-oh! The missus gonna be pissed at you?” Asked Greg, half-carrying John back to 221B. “Who?” “Sherlock!” “Ah, Sherlock? Oh! There’eis!” John slurred, suddenly lurching away from the inspector and into the arms of Sherlock, who was exiting the apartment building in a hurry. His face lit up when he saw the doctor approaching and Greg wondered if he was going to go looking for him.

“Hm? Watson! Good to see you in good health.” “‘Mso...tired.” “I can see that. Come now, up…”

Greg watched as the two of them held onto each other, Sherlock helping John up the stairs without glancing back at him. Neither of them did, too wrapped up in each other to notice. He felt his heart ache a little as he spun on his heels with a wolf whistle and vanished into the throng of people. The image of Sherlock’s gaze, so lovingly and completely focused on John, was nearly haunting in its intensity.

How lucky, he thought. To be so singular to someone in this crowd of millions. (this is a multi-chapter fic, check it out https://archiveofourown.org/works/20127160/chapters/47681659)

#mystrade #my writing #fanfic #mystrade fanfic

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paradisobound · 6 years

Text

I Want It, I Got It: Chapter 6

Summary: Phil Lester was a worker for the BBC in London. Working in the advertising department, he was content being alongside his friend and fellow coworker PJ during every shift. However, the BBC is temporarily being used as a film set for a new movie staring Hollywood ‘It’ star, Daniel Howell. Being stuck as an extra on the set, Phil finds it’s hard to ignore the famous star. And maybe, just maybe, Dan finds it hard to ignore Phil as well.

Word Count: 2.7k (this chapter)

Warnings: Occasional swearing

Rating: Mature (for right now)

Updates will be every Wednesday and Sunday

**MASTERLIST | READ ON AO3**

Thanks to my new lovely beta @thatphatdanussy who has already begun making some great edits to this monstrosity of a fic lol

Almost as if time didn’t exist, Tuesday came. Phil doesn’t quite remember how the past four days had gone by other than he spent majority of them with Spike on his couch or working on his computer on his assignment.

But somehow, Tuesday came, and suddenly, it was infinitely more real that he was going to be showing Daniel Howell around London. To say he was nervous was a total understatement.

Phil was borderline sick from nerves.

He didn’t sleep at all Monday night, and when he did manage to sleep, he somehow found himself waking up every twenty minutes or so feeling like he was going to be sick. He eventually resorted to getting up and taking a few melatonin pills before collapsing back into bed, at least a little bit more drowsy this time.

His alarm woke him up at half past eight and he slowly began to get up, despite his body’s protests to remain glued to his bed. He quickly showered, brushed his teeth, and put in his contacts before he checked his phone and saw a message from Daniel.

Daniel Howell: good morning my manager is saying that I should get to the BBC as stealthily as possible so im sadly already here ill be waiting just inside the doors.

Phil sighed. He knew that Dan had just told him not to hurry, but now he felt like he had to hurry up so he didn’t keep him waiting. They were supposed to meet at the BBC at around 10 and it was only a little after 9 now.

Phil quickly made himself an instant coffee to go and said his goodbyes to Spike before rushing out of his flat and down to the nearest tube station.

When he arrived at the BBC, it was a quarter to 10 and Phil honestly thought that the timing could be worse. But he was super relieved to not see the fangirls situated around the BBC anymore and having it look like normal. Phil was happy to see it as it’s normal building and not a mob of police tape and teenagers.

He walked inside, scanning his badge as he did so, and made his way towards the only area he could think of that Dan would be in. He turned a corner, and sitting directly in one of the lounge chairs was Daniel Howell, sitting with his legs crossed. He was wearing a pair of tight black ripped jeans, and even though he was donning a very expensive looking jacket, Phil could just barely make out a fuzzy black sweater underneath.

He looked down at himself and frowned as he noticed that maybe his red and white striped shirt and jean jacket wasn’t the best choice. But he shook his head and tried to not be self-conscious around Daniel.

Daniel was a movie star and probably a multimillionaire. He shouldn’t be comparing their outfit choices.

Daniel spotted him nearly immediately and looked up, flashing Phil another one of his dazzling smiles. On the right of Dan, Phil could see a massive guy stood with his arms folded over his chest. And just the other way, there was a short woman who was sitting in a chair next to him.

Dan stands up, and the man and woman follow suit. Phil suddenly feels intimidated, but forces a smile anyway.

“Hey!” Dan says with a smile again. “This is Joshua.” He points to the large man who just barely raises his hand in a calm gesture. “And this is my manager Marianne.” He points to the woman. “Please don’t be intimidated by them. They wouldn’t hurt a fly.”

Joshua grumbles and Phil feels his stomach sink. He definitely can see that Joshua is not one to mess around with. “If you say so,” Phil laughs cautiously.

Joshua chuckles to himself and Phil suddenly feels like he wants to collapse onto the floor and cry. But he won’t, obviously. So he chuckles a little bit―albeit awkwardly, and then extends his hand out in some haphazard form of a greeting. Dan raises an eyebrow and then extends his hand and they make contact for a brief second as Dan’s hand slots a little bit too easily into Phil’s.

His hand is warm, and soft. But it’s also gentle and strong at the same time. Phil doesn’t know why he notices this, but he does. And when they let go, he misses the feeling of it in his hand.

He shakes the thought away.

This was Daniel Howell. He can find him attractive but this little...crush...wasn’t going to do. He needed to shake the thought now.

“Are you ready to get going?” Phil asks Dan.

Dan nods quickly. “Yes! Do you fancy we could stop somewhere quickly for food? I’m quite starved.”

Phil was taken completely back by the natural, posh, London accent Dan spoke in.When he’d read about Dan online, he thought for sure Dan’s accent would be much more Americanized but in a way, his accent was more British than Phil’s. It was quite amazing.

“Oh, of course!” Phil said, his own coffee having gone cold in his hand. “We can go anywhere really. There are a few Gregg’s around and also some Starbucks. I also think there’s a Costa around here too.”

“We can just go to Starbucks.” Dan says with a shrug. “I’m not really too picky. I’m not much of a coffee drinker but I’ll take some tea and maybe a cake.”

“Okay!” Phil’s trying so hard to not be awkward about this. “It’s right down the street.”

Dan smiles at him and then they set off.

Phil watches as Dan says something to Marianne and she remains in her place, unmoving as they leave. Joshua is trailing behind them by a good few feet. But that still makes Phil feel a little bit on edge, knowing his every move was being watched.

They were fine walking on the streets as not many people were around on an early Tuesday morning. But once they stepped foot inside of Starbucks, it was over.

Phil kind of―well, not kind of, he did expect this―knowing he was going to be out in the open with Dan all day but he was prepared for the exact level of madness it was going to be.

Daniel had barely walked up to the counter when people started rushing to be around him. Phil could see people trying to take photos of him and try to hide the fact that they were doing so. He saw people immediately typing on phones and worse yet, he could see people staring at him. People were staring him down like he was an enemy.

Well, maybe to some people he was. He’d seen some of the not-so-nice things people wrote about him when people saw that Dan had followed him. He’d repressed those tweets, but he still remembered them. He could only imagine what was going to happen now.

“We can go somewhere else.” Phil says, his voice cutting through the air.

Dan shook his head and flashed a smile that Phil could see was obviously forced. “No, it’s gonna happen no matter where we go today.”

Phil gave a sad nod and watched as Dan tried to place an order while the barista was clearly having a major fangirl attack behind the till. He felt bad, in a way, for both of them. He felt like he shouldn’t but he did.

Dan eventually had his order placed and he paid quickly with what Phil could see was a black credit card and he immediately felt his face flush. But he moved quickly in line, placed his order for a tall chai tea, paid and moved on.

Joshua moved with Dan so Dan wasn’t in any danger by being in here. Phil was pretty sure Joshua would tackle any person who even dared to get near Dan. But that didn’t stop Phil from worrying.

He shouldn’t be worrying. Dan was probably used to this.

“Daniel!”

Dan’s head shot up and Phil watched as he quickly grabbed his order and then flashed a smile at Phil again and he and Joshua retreated quickly out of the door. Phil grabbed his order next and thanked the barista who was clearly still star struck. And then he left as well.

Dan was standing off the side of the shop, trying to mask himself into the building. Joshua was stood on guard around him as Dan slowly opened his Starbucks order and took a bite of whatever sandwich he was getting.

“Sorry about that.” Dan says once he’s swallowed the bite. “It’s going to happen no matter where we go today. It’s not something I can escape, sadly.”

“I’m sorry.” Phil spits out. “I’m sorry that you go through that.”

Dan shrugs. “Comes with the job, right?”

Phil tries to ignore the clear and present sadness that is laced in Dan’s words and he’s suddenly feeling extremely bad about all that he’s said about Dan to PJ and even Gemma and some other coworkers.

The first place that Phil decides to take them is the London Eye. They hail down a cab and they all get into it as the driver takes them to Westminster. Dan sits besides Phil on the bucket seat while Joshua sits across from them his arms folded.

When Dan caught Phil staring at Joshua, he chuckled. “I promise he’s not actually mean.”

“Has he ever had to tackle somebody?” Phil asks, his voice aa whisper.

Dan nods and takes a sip of his hot drink. “Multiple times.”

Phil sputters and Dan laughs again.

The laugh is almost angelic and Phil really wishes he could hear more of it.

They get to the London Eye and Phil takes them over to buy tickets. When he offers to pay for them both, Dan waves him off and shoves his card it the cashier instead.

“I was the one who asked you to take me around London. The least you can do is let me pay for some of the expenses.”

Phil blushes. “Only if you’re sure.”

“I’m sure!” Dan announces quickly as he grabs the three tickets and gives one to Phil.

They’re almost about to get in line when they’re being ushered by workers to go into an advanced line. Phil can almost see the pain in Dan’s face at knowing he was being treated differently due to his status but he didn’t deny the offer.

They made it to the front of the line before anyone else and they were given their own pod to ride in on the eye. Once inside, the doors shut, Dan walked over to the glass windows and looked out.

“I never got to experience London.” He says softly. “Even as a kid. I lived so close to here but my family never brought me or my brother here. I’ve been here for films but I’m normally so booked that I don’t even have time to go look around.”

Phil stands beside him and looks at him. He looks gorgeous in these lights. His brown hair is perfectly styled and curled. His cheeks are a perfect shade of rosey red. His eyes are gleaming but dark, like honey.

For the first time since Phil has seen Dan since meeting for the first time on set, he can see how stunning Dan is. Dan is stunning. He’s gorgeous.

And Phil is totally fucked.

“Is that Big Ben?” Dan breaks through the silence to point at the large tower in the distance.

“Yes it is.” Phil says, letting his clouded mind clear. “But it’s under construction right now so you can’t see any of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Dan says. “I’ve always heard about the bells.”

“It’s been weird,” Phil says, a small smile on his lips, “no longer hearing the bells in London.”

“How long have you lived in London for?” Dan asks, turning his back to the window now and resting his weight against the rail.

“8 years now.”

“8 years?!” Dan exclaims.

Phil nods. “Been working at the BBC for almost all ten as well.”

‘That’s mad.” Dan laughs. “I haven’t lived in the same house in the past 5 years for more than ten months, let alone 8 years. I’ve been having to move so often because fans keep finding my address.”

Phil furrows his brows and lets the smile he was showing all from his lips. “Your fans find your address?”

Dan nods, his expression solemn. “Nothing of mine is private anymore, Phil.” His voice is sad. “I can guarantee that if you go onto Twitter right now, headlines are already making waves that ‘Daniel Howell was spotted in Starbucks with mysterious man’. They never give up.”

“Is it hard?”

“Is what hard?”

“Is it hard being famous like you are?”

Phil doesn’t know why he asks that, but he does.

Dan shrugs. “In a way yeah.” He says. “It’s an interesting lifestyle but...”

The eye starts to slow down and when Phil looks, he can see they’re already beginning their descent back down.

Nothing more is said. It’s quiet and deafening and when the doors open, a mob of people and paparazzi are waiting. Phil isn’t prepared for the complete onslaught of cameras and phones and flashes to be thrown into his face until suddenly their is a hand resting on his arm, tugging him away.

When he looks down, his heart races as he sees Dan grabbing his jacket and trying to get him out of the mob of people. A car is waiting for them and Joshua immediately runs and opens the door just as soon as Dan jumps in and Phil follows.

Joshua climbs in with them and as they look, there are fans running for the car. Some are even running to try to climb on the car. But they’re driving off and away.

When Phil looks over to Dan beside him, ready to thank him for yanking him out of the mob, he notices that Dan’s eyes are glassy. He’s about to speak up when he sees a tear leak down Dan’s cheek and Phil feels the hurt. He feels that pain, even if it’s for a second. Because this lifestyle is...well it appears to be shit.

And suddenly, Phil gets it.

***

Phil sees all of the tweets and headlines before he goes to bed that night.

“DANIEL HOWELL SEEN WITH MYSTERIOUS MAN AFTER FINISHING FILMING MOVIE IN LONDON.”

“DANIEL HOWELL’S NEW BEAU? WE’VE GOT THE EXCLUSIVE PICTURES.”

“WHO IS THE MAN PICTURED WITH DANIEL HOWELL?”

Phil feels quite sick looking at them.

He also feels quite sick knowing that his day was cut short because of them. The driver had taken them back to the BBC following the awful fan encounter and Dan apologized profusely when he exclaimed he wasn’t feeling well and would like to return back to his hotel.

Phil didn’t argue. He saw the tears on Dan’s face when they stepped out of the car from when he silently wept after what had happened. Phil would never ask him about it.

He also saw the tweets from Dan that followed.

@danielhowell: I’ve said this more than once but please do not follow me. I appreciate you all so much but it’s not okay to follow me around. (1)

@danielhowell: also please do not follow my car once I get into it. It’s not only unsafe for you, but it’s unsafe for me as well. Please know that your safety means the world to me and that’s not okay (2).

to@danielhowell:

@softdaniel: was that the amazingphil guy that you were pictured with in London???

to@softdaniel:

@yasmin__road: it has to be! The photos of the guy lined up with the same guy Dan just followed on Insta! I bet it’s a secret relationship.

to@yasmin__road

@danielhowell: phil is just a friend but I would appreciate it if you left him out of tweets like this. Thank you.

Phil read though more of them and eventually shut his phone off.

#phan #phanfic #phanfiction #au #famous!dan #moviestar!dan #normal!phil #princesslexi763fics

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