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samuel-de-champagne-problems · 3 years

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And I Will Hold Onto You

Summary: They’ve never been apart for holidays since they started dating. That was until Spencer Reid found himself behind bars for a crime he’d never think of committing. Growing and healing, Spencer realizes that it’s not the holidays that matter, it’s the person. Because with that special person, who’s laugh he can recognize anywhere, even cleaning up the empty bottle the next morning is magical.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author’s Note/Warnings: Body Image Issues (Male) nothing too descriptive, prison arc is mentioned/is central issue; loosely based of New Year’s Day by Taylor Swift

Also this is technically a part 2 to Drag Me Head First but it doesn’t have to be read that way.

And I Will Hold Onto You

There’s something special in the way that the first midnight of the new year feels. All that hopefulness and excitement packed into a 10 second countdown. The energy in the room slowly bubbles up, culminating as the ball drops. It fizzles out as loved ones share chaste kisses and friends hug. But all that remains are last year’s bottles and this year’s dreams. Maybe it’s something that Spencer always took for granted.

The cold midnight air is jarring, compared to his warm and cozy house. Spencer walks quickly, taking out the trash, filled with bottles of beer and wine. The snow crunches under his shoes and Spencer can see his breath in the air as he huffs to toss the bag in the black trash bin. Spencer, despite the way the cold air nips his nose, stops in his tracks and gazes up at the stars. It’s unfortunate living where he does, you can never really see all the stars. Maybe Y/N would like to take a trip in their cabin the next time he can get off? He could show her all the stars. But Spencer doesn’t need to go to the middle of the woods to see the stars; he can simply look into Y/N’s eyes and see all the magic the universe has to offer.

Spencer lets himself back into his house, just as Garcia and Derek are putting their shoes and coats on to leave. Y/N comes out of the kitchen carrying two trays of leftover food for their friends to take home.

“Penny, please kiss those sweet babies for me,” Y/N says, handing Luke the trays of food. She leans over to kiss Penelope on her cheek.

“They can only sweet when they are sleeping,” Penelope says, rolling her eyes and putting her coat on. It’s more of a cape in a spectacular plum purple color with cream colored faux fur trim.

“Don’t act so surprised, mi amor, look who their mother is,” Luke says, cheekily. He hugs Spencer and Y/N before grabbing Garcia’s hand with his empty one.

“Happy New Year!” Garcia and Luke call as they leave, shutting the door behind them. Spencer locks the door and heads back to the kitchen to help Y/N clean up. The plates sit in the sink piled high, with tall champagne glasses resting next to them on the counter. Glitter scatters on the floor, confetti in the shapes of “1s” and “6” lay littered on the tiles, remnants of the festivities just moments before.

Y/N stands over the sink, her hand rests on the ledge. She turns on the water and starts washing the dishes. Spencer walks up quietly behind her, nuzzling his hand into the corner of her ear and shoulder. He hums, the vibrations echoing into Y/N’s neck, causing her to giggle. He joins his hands together around Y/N’s waist, holding her tight.

“Happy New Year, my love,” Spencer whispers, his voice hardly audible above the stream of water. Even though Spencer can’t see Y/N, he can feel the way her cheeks grow against the side of his head. She’s smiling.

“It is a very happy, new year,” Y/N says, her voice strong, yet Spencer can tell it’s hard for her to keep it together. It’s not their first new year, far from it, it’s their 13th. But this time, it feels different to hold her in his arms and kiss her as the clock strikes 12.

They wash the dishes in silence, a comforting silence where certain things don’t need to be said. Like a well oiled machine, Y/N washes, Spencer dries. The sudsy dish soap smells like home and Y/N’s quiet hums sound like peace. Spencer really forgot how much he could love even the most mundane of tasks when Y/N stands next to him.

“Come on, Y/N we can do this tomorrow. Let’s just go to bed,” Spencer says, tugging on Y/N’s long sleeve of her thermal shirt.

“Hmm, I can’t argue against your cuddles, sweetheart,” Y/N murmurs tiredly, easily pushing the thoughts of clean up to the next morning. Her hand joins his, like a key finding it’s matching lock. They are cold from the water, but Spencer doesn’t really mind.

A tangle of limbs and hands, they make their way up the stairs to their shared bedroom. They pass the wall filled with pictures of their smiling faces or candid countenances in mismatching frames hung against the wall. It’s just a testament to how long they’ve been together, going back to their first date right before Y/N’s college graduation and Spencer’s fifth, leading up to their most recent Halloween. Each photo stuck in time, frozen with utter happiness and unadulterated joy. But there’s a gap in the collection, a gap that Spencer rather not talk about. A gap where, for the first time since they met, Spencer and Y/N were separated. Sitting in jail, all Spencer could think of was the personal mental prison that Y/N must have confined herself too.

They don’t like talking about the gap, but he knows they have too. Spencer knows that Y/N is proud of him, she tells him that everyday. Proud of him for keeping up with therapy, proud of him for letting go of the little things that he can’t control, proud of him for trusting her with his secrets and fears. It’s the strangest thing, to have someone be proud of you for just living.

“We’re going to need a bigger wall,” Spencer says, hoping that his attempt at referencing pop culture would land. Y/N stops to turn to Spencer, who in the moonlight that drips in from the window, looks much younger than he really is.

“Did you just make a pop culture reference that’s not from, like, 300 years ago?” Y/N says, her brow upturned in a quizzical stare.

“Come on, Y/N, you love when I recite all Sir Walter Raleigh to you,” Spencer says, reaching up to tickle Y/N sides, causing her to giggle and run up the rest of the stairs.

“Spencer! You know that I’m too ticklish,” Y/N says in between short laughs and gasps for air. She plops down on the bed, dragging Spencer down with her. He lays his head down on her chest and like a Rube Goldberg machine, her fingers come up and tangle themselves in his hair.

“Maybe our New Year’s Resolution should be to get some more exercise, Spence. Your heart is beating faster than mine and that run from the steps to our room is like a good 10 feet,” Y/N jokes as she continues scratching Spencer’s scalp lulling him into a peaceful, sleepy state.

“Two things, baby, one, we don’t exercise and two, that’s not why my heart is beating so fast, I think it has something to do with the beautiful girl laying so close to me,” Spencer murmurs quietly.

“Hmm, you certainly know how to charm a girl, even like 13 years later,”

“Actually it’s, 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 17 hours, 58 minutes and 31 seconds,” Spencer says with a quick glance at his watch.

“And I’ve loved every single minute of it,” Y/N says, reaching up to sneak a pillow under Spencer’s head. She moves to get out of bed, much to Spencer’s displeasure.

“No, no, Y/N you’re so warm and I’m freezing,” Spencer whines, shifting so he can look at his wife, who has shrugged off her thermal shirt and jeans.

“And who’s fault is that?” Y/N chides. Spencer, almost bashful at her teasing, attempts to hide his blush with the pillow that rests under his head.

“I only turn the heat all the way down at night so we’re forced to cuddle for body heat,” Spencer says, his voice muffled by the pillow.

“So you say,” Y/N tells Spencer, sitting down back on the bed. She pulls on Spencer’s legs, dragging him down the bed.

“Come on lazy boy, get your PJs on,” Y/N orders. Spencer, who under Penelope’s less than pure supervision, had enough shots to make up for all the college parties that he missed. There’s happy drunks, forgetful drunks, and then there're sleepy drunks.

Spencer stands in front of the mirror, inspecting his body. The low, yellow lamp light casts shadows on his naked torso. He’s filled out a little bit since they’ve started dating, especially within the last few months of Spencer’s healing. Y/N knew that it’s a sore spot for him, but there’s something about the way that Spencer’s dress pants sit tightly against his thighs or the way his shirt clings to his stomach that just makes him look so much older. Both of them, including their bodies, have changed so much since 13 years ago. Or 13 years, 7 months, 17 days, 18 hours, 5 minutes and 12 seconds ago. They’ve grown up together, and now Y/N can’t wait to grow old together.

But the look in his eyes is not pride over his growth or confidence over his physique. It’s confusion. Spencer stares at himself like he’s an unsolvable puzzle. Y/N knows he must hate that; Spencer hates things that he can’t find an answer to. Y/N walks up behind him, lacing her finger together so her arms clasp against his waist. For a moment, Spencer flinches. Even her gentlest touches and softest kisses can’t wash away the fear of much harsher contact. Their eyes meet in the mirror, but Y/N can feel that Spencer’s not looking at her. After all these years, she can still see the terrified young man who brazenly kissed her in her car in the middle of a rainstorm. After all these years, Spencer is still the only man she ever loved.

“Spencer,” Y/N says quietly. His name off her lips is more tender than any pet name in existence.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m being immature, it’s just,” Spencer closes his eyes, trying to focus himself in the present. It’s something that his therapist suggested. In moments of distress, find your anchor. Luckily for Spencer, his anchor has been his anchor for quite awhile.

“You can tell, I’m not going to judge you,” Y/N says, her lips leaving small kisses on his exposed shoulders.

“It’s just I thought this whole nightmare of prison was behind me. Therapy has been helping, I’m better on cases and I love teaching,” Spencer says, the pain in his voice leaking out.

Y/N doesn’t say anything, instead she guides Spencer to sit on the edge of their bed. She rubs her hand down his back, tracing his spine and around the freckles that collect on his right shoulder.

“I thought that the emotional healing would be the hardest part, I mean it is, but physically, I don’t recognize myself. I can imagine you don’t either,” Spencer says, he turns to lay on the bed, bringing his feet up to his chest in a textbook self-protective position.

“Spence, your body is gonna change, baby. God, mine has changed so much since we met,” Spencer gives Y/N a confused look, like he’s not thoroughly convinced by her explanation.

“It has Spencer. We’re not 22 years old anymore, we’re going to be like 35 in a couple of months. But you know, this is something we can work on together, I’ve gone my whole life not loving the skin I’m in. But being with you makes it easier, Spence.” Y/N says, running her fingers across the bridge of Spencer’s nose and down to his lips, that always a ridiculously gorgeous shade of pink. Spencer doesn’t say much, he’s still trapped deep inside his mind.

“I don’t know how you put up with me and all my antics, Y/N”

“You do my taxes every year,” Y/N jokes, making an effort to kiss every freckle and dipple on the expanse of Spencer’s back.

Spencer turns in the bed so he’s facing Y/N, he cups her face all the way from her ear to her jaw. It’s an intimate gesture that somehow is more loving and vulnerable than saying “I love you,”

“You know you make me fearless, Y/N,” Spencer tells her, not blinking because he doesn’t want to miss out on any more time looking into her eyes.

“You say that everyday Spencer Reid,” Y/N responds, letting herself melt into the touch. She grabs onto his wrist, physically telling him to not let go.

“I have a lot of days to make up for,” Spencer says, solemnly.

“It’s not making it up if it’s the rest of our life, Spencer. Besides, there’s no one I’d rather spend New Year’s Day cleaning up all those bottles with,”

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butididntpourthewhiskeys · 3 years

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Meant To Be - Happy Birthday Joe

A little surprise for all of you. To remember and appreciate what is meant to be and what never has been. Happy 30th birthday to Joe.

With one last moan and the sweetest sigh he’s ever witnessed escape her mouth, Joe feels her body weight drop right onto his chest. Two strains of hair right by his nose and two hands that have already wandered onto the warm and soft skin of her bare back. Joe breathes her in deeply one time, realizes for the first time today that the sun is out. Not just a little bit. For the first day this year, London feels like spring has already come. Even if just from their bedroom window. He then feels Taylor sigh in exhaustion once more while remaining motionless on his chest. He turns his head, immediately clings his lips onto her head. He can feel her stir a bit, then upright herself on him and sit up once more. Joe can’t help but laugh at her. Still fully naked and her most private part still occupied by him, she just sits here and looks down at him. The brightest sleepy smile on her lips.

“Was that a good one?” She mumbles, her hands already stroking his stubbly cheeks. Joe grins, his hands securely on her waist.

“Not too bad.” He says provokingly, making her laugh again. This time, Taylor moves off his lap, lets herself fall onto the spot next to him where she slept last night and places her tiny hand on his bare chest. She looks at him with a soft smile, her forehead immediately dropping against his shoulder. She then rises her head up again and presses a soft kiss onto the spot on his skin.

“Happy birthday.” She whispers and Joe smiles again. He doesn’t move, just lays there in full bliss, smiles at the naked woman next to him who’s cuddling herself against his side.

“Welcome to 30.” She adds and Joe sighs. Once more, she lifts her head up to catch a glimpse of his face and it makes her laugh. He seems to not be too amused by the fact that she had to point that one out too.

“Welcome to the 30 club. I hope you enjoy it here. Drinks are free.” Taylor says, as she lifts herself up, comfortably rests her head in her hand with her elbow comfortably resting on the pillow. She just looks at him while lounging there nakedly. And she doesn’t mind the fact that her bare breasts are still exposed. She does’t mind being naked with him at all.

“Thanks, do I get a pass too? Or just a stamp on the hand?”

Taylor smirks again, her hand now stroking his cheek again.

“How are you feeling?” She asks then, not even interested anymore in the joke she made just seconds earlier. But Joe is used to her speed. To the rollercoaster of a mind that the woman he loves always have had. It’s hard to keep up with her sometimes, but he enjoys every second of the ride.

“Old.”

Taylor laughs, kisses his cheek one time.

“I feel the same I felt last night when we went to bed. Only that now I feel exhausted too.” He says with a smirk, moves to the side now to get a better look at his naked girlfriend. His hand lands on her hip as she pulls him closer. He feels her smile in the kiss. Nothing better than making her laugh.

Just when Taylor pulls away, Joe’s hand wanders up, right over her naked arm and onto her neck and face. Her arm is cold, a sensation he immediately feels.

“Are you freezing” he mumbles, as Taylor already reaches for the duvet and covers herself and Joe. He thought about getting up a few moments ago, but it seems she’s not quite there yet, casually makes herself comfortable in bed, in the sheets and in his arms. Joe enjoys her proximity, takes a deep breath and looks at the massive window again. Through the white curtains he can already see the blue sky. How lucky he feels in that moment.

“What are your wishes for thirty?” He hears her murmur then, his arm underneath her neck. His hand already caressed by hers.

“Mhm good question. I assume you got me a chocolate cake. And..”

“Not that.” She laughs again. Her cold feet buried between his now.

“I mean.. what do you want out of your thirties. What do you hope for. What do you want to change.”

“Well.. it would be great if the pandemic could be over before my forties start.”

“Okay I”m on it.” She answers and he grins.

“Also.. world peace.”

“I”ll get right to it.”

“And maybe… that you won’t leave me.”

Taylor chuckles again, turns her head to face him.

“That one might be tough, I have to say.” She jokes, squeezes his hand a bit tighter this time.

“Maybe some kids along the way.” He says boldly, thought about this one for quite a few seconds now and decided to just go with it. Taylor doesn’t really move. He knows this topic has become a big one in the past year.

“That would be nice.” She answers then, not looking at him and makes him smile a bit more.

“You know what I sometimes wonder..” She begins and he just patiently waits. “Imagine if that one night in LA had never happened.”

“What do you mean?” He asks then, still feels her small fingers drawing circles on his thumb.

“What if we never had met that night. I mean.. we just accept the things that life throw at us, but what if we had made a single decision differently. What if that evening, I would’ve decided to stay home with the cats. Or.. what if you decided to not go to drama school and pursue acting. Imagine how.. different our lives might have been. And we never would’ve met.”

Joe doesn’t really answer her, and Taylor sits up. She moves under the blanket, so much that she can look at his beautiful face again. He seems to be thinking about what she just said.

“A scary thought.” He says then and she laughs again.

“Do you think so?” She asks him curiously, and it confuses him.

“Do you not think so?”

Taylor laughs.

“I just.. I sometimes wonder where we would be if we hadn’t met. Or what your thirtieth birthday would look like today.”

Joe giggles quietly, presses a big kiss against her head once more. This is one of the reasons he loves her so. Her ability to fantasize about life. Her grand imagination. One of the greatest similarities they both have. Together, Taylor and him could write book on ends about the different worlds they have created together in their minds. From watching strangers on the tube for hours, to telling their stories together through songwriting. It’s these moments in which he feels the most connected to her. Something that will hopefully never change.

“I think I would probably still be in LA, dating someone else who I actually hate. Maybe be engaged to some douche bag just because I felt pressured to say yes.” she says with a sarcastic undertone. He knows that voice. It’s her worst-case-scenario voice.

“I think you’d be a person as fantastic as you are now. No matter who would be on your side.” he says and she slowly looks up at him, a bit more serious than before.

“Thank you for saying that.” She whispers, her hand playing with the little hairs in his neck.

“What do you think you would’ve done if acting hadn’t worked out for you? Do you really think you’d work as journalist?” She asks then and he laughs again. He slowly places his hand over her shoulder and stares onto the ceiling, lost in his thoughts.

“Yeah, I think so. I always loved theatre and film. I think I would be writing critical pieces for a magazine maybe. Probably living in a shit flat down south. Still trying to make it in acting.”

Taylor laughs again, her eyes widening suddenly.

“Remember that girl you were talking to back then?”

Joe just looks at her in disbelief and rolls his eyes.

“Yeah I do.” He mumbles.

“What was her name again?” Taylor persists and he can’t believe her.

“Liza.”

“Yeah right Liza. What does she do now? Do you think you’d be with her?”

Joe turns his head and looks at her. He can’t believe she is that interested in some girl he spoke through texts with, years ago.

“I.. I don”t know. Why would I think about that”

Taylor cuddles herself closer to him and takes a deep breath.

“Maybe then your life wouldn’t include paparazzis and people speaking about you on the internet. Or not being able to go to public without being worried that..”

“Hey, where does that come from now? None of that on my birthday.” He suddenly interrupts her a bit more serious than before. Taylor doesn’t move, just draws little circles on his naked chest. She seems uncomfortable suddenly, knows how stupid her thought just had been.

“It would be easier, we both know that.”

“It wouldn’t be because then I didn’t have you in my life.”

Taylor just emotionally looks up to him and smiles softly. She then nods. She believes what he says.

“Do you think you and Liza would take a trip California together then? On your annual leave? Or maybe you would travel to California by yourself one day, on a business trip. Passing by my house.” She says in her melancholic and dreamy voice.

Joe just laughs, cannot believe this situation. The woman he love most, lays in bed with him all naked and plays this mind game of imagining him with his ex- girlfriend.

“Why are you so obsessed with that idea.” He jokes.

“I just think I’m crushing on alternate universe Joe.”

This time, she really makes him laugh too.

“You sick little thing.” He jokes and kisses her again laughing.

“Do you think we would’ve met?”

Joe keeps staring at her, not quite sure where she’s going with this.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you think if we hadn’t met that evening and you hadn’t successfully become an actor would we.. would we ever have met?”

Joe looks at her for another second. He didn’t understand for the longest time, but he does now. A sense of sadness overcomes him, followed by huge relief and gratefulness. She was right when she said that we humans just simply accept what is without becoming more grateful for the single choices we’ve made that led us here.

“I don’t know if we would have.” he says, his hand still on her arm. A weird silence coming over them.

Taylor just remains like this for a second, then smiles again quietly and presses a kiss onto his lips before sitting up.

“Alright, birthday boy.” She says, ends the random sad silence then and looks at him as excited as possible for his birthday. “You will stay in bed for a bit longer and give me some time to prepare your surprise birthday breakfast.”

Joe watches her get up, quickly change into her pajama shorts again and throws his big grey t- shirt right over her torso.

He smiles.

“I can help you make breakfast.” He says, still lazily laying in bed watching her get dressed.

“No way!” She just says, gets closer to him and presses one last kiss onto his lips. Her bangs softly fall against his forehead, and his hand lands on her waist again. This time, she pulls away way too fast for his taste, grants him a last smile as he watches her disappear downstairs.

Joe just turns around once more, smiles at this beautiful beginning of the day. He can’t quite belief the weather forecasts have been right this time, predicted a spring day this February. Joe takes a breath, hears the clatter of bowls and plates from the kitchen.

Taylor was right. The more he thinks about him being 30 now, the more he wonders what he did right to get to this state of satisfaction and happiness in his life. Where did he go right? Where did he took the right turn? Said yes, when necessary and no when needed? Joe closes his eyes for a second again, wonders what would be if he hadn’t gone out that one evening in Los Angeles. More than five years ago.

Joe opens his eyes, realizes he must have fallen asleep again and moves his body to sit up slowly. After a few minutes he gets up, walks himself down the stairs, immediately feels the cold coming from downstairs. The heating seems to have gone out again. He can’t believe the property owners didn’t take care of the heating system before, as promised.

“Babe?” He yells downstairs, but no answer. Just when he enters the small living room, he sees her sitting there. A coffee mug in her hand, the telly on. She just turns to him and smiles. Her brown hair behind her ear.

“Hey! Happy birthday!” She mumbles, as he already leans towards her and presses a kiss onto her lips. He still is upset about their argument last night. The same one they’ve had for a while now. About her claiming he works too much. And still not makes enough money. How he’s still trying to become an actor when he could’ve accepted that job at the publishing company that would’ve actually paid the bills. How he’s a dreamer and not a provider. How he needs to grow up. Needs to become someone she wants to be with.

Joe knows that arguments and criticism is necessary for growth. And as hurtful as it can be, he appreciates her view on things. He appreciates that she’s honest with him. Speaking her mind when it comes to his career and their relationship. Even if it hurts, at times.

“Thanks. Heating is off again?” He asks and Liza just nods. She seems off again, just turns her head to the telly.

“What?”

“Nothing.” She mumbles, takes a sip off her coffee cup again. She’s still mad. He feels it in the room. “We both know that if the bills had been paid on time this month as stated in our agreement, then maybe they would’ve fixed it.”

Joe just sighs once more, wanders to the coffee machine and fills up a cup for himself.

“It’s my birthday today. Can we just..”

“It’s fine, Joe. I won’t bring it up again.” She answers and he knows it’s not over yet. He has no clue why but at times it feels like she doesn’t even like who he’s become. Doesn’t even accept his weak side anymore. “So what do you want to do for your birthday?” She asks then, turns her head to look at him. Joe leans against the kitchen counter, looks at her.

“I want a hug.” he then says, and Liza smirks. She sighs, places her mug on the table next to her and gets up. Joe smiles as she gets closer to him and presses a kiss onto her lips. He hugs her tightly, as she slowly lets go again.

“You’re such a baby.” She laughs, then opens the fridge to get some inspiration for breakfast.

“Do you want to go to the museum today?”

Joe looks at her and smiles. What a great idea.

“I’d love that actually.”

She nods and then stares back at the fridge and sighs. “We don’t have anything anymore except for milk. Do you want to go out and get something to eat?” Joe nods, grabs the warm mug next to him and walks upstairs again. He quickly puts on his grey sweats, the old dirty sneakers, and a big hoodie. He doesn’t mind going to the shops this morning. He likes doing things for her. Especially because he knows that she’s going through enough trying to support him getting more paid roles as an actor while struggling to pay rent every month.

Joe joggs down the stairs and leaves the house immediately. As he walks down the empty street, he checks his phone, finds messages of his mum asking him to call her back as soon as he can. Joe smiles, presses the green button and waits. The cold wind almost bruises his face. He can’t believe it’s still freezing in London at that time.

“Happy birthday, my love.” He hears Elizabeth yell into his ears. Joe laughs while walking down the suburban neighborhood, feels so much warmth all of the sudden. He knows that Liza loves him. He knows that she would’ve celebrated his thirtieth birthday just as much if he hadn’t started a fight last night again instead of just accepting her opinion on his job. He knows all that but it still feels good to feel his mother’s excitement. After all, it’s a new decade. A new beginning. His birthday.

“Thanks mum.” He just chuckles, looking at his old sneakers with a shy smirk.

“My darling, I hope you’ve had a beautiful morning. I can’t wait to come over and squeeze you.” She says and Joe laughs out loud.

“Yeah mum. Already scared of that.” He jokes and makes the woman laugh too.

“Where are you?”

“On the way to Sainsbury’s. Just getting some breakfast.”

“Where’s Liza?” He hears his mother’s voice more concerned than before.

“Oh, she’s at home. Heating is off again.”

“Why didn’t she come with you? It’s your…”

“We had a little argument last night. So I fully get that she’s not in the mood to…”

“Oh she’s never in the mood for anything joyful.” He hears his mother ramble. Joe sighs, rolls his eyes slightly. He is well aware that his relationship with Liza hasn’t been easy, but that doesn’t mean that his mother can’t at least try to put her differences with Liza aside. After all, she’s the woman on his side. And he needs his mothers support for this relationship. He needs that a lot.

“Mum, don’t be like that.” Joe says as he slowly enters the local Sainsbury’s here in Colliers Wood. He quickly grabs a cart, starts to walk down the empty market.

“I’m sorry. I’m just happy to see you this afternoon?” The woman doublechecks and Joe, who stops right by the jam, immediately agrees. He slowly ends the phone call, compares prices and chooses the cheaper one. He then wanders down the isle and stops by the in- house bakery, grabs a bag and decides to go for the pain au chocolat. Liza’s favorite. As he almost made it to the cashier, he sees a line forming and patiently waits. Something he’s gotten so good at in the past years. Waiting. His eyes wander to the little screen in the corner of the ceiling right on the left side of the shop. A music video is on. God, this Sainsbury’s has always been a bit sleazy.

Say you remember me, standing in a nice dress staring at the sunset babe, red lips and rosy cheeks, say you’ll see me again even if it’s just in your wildest dreams, uh uh.

Joe keeps on staring at the woman in the music video. He was convinced that the singer had blonde hair before. Weird. While still waiting for the lady in front of him to unload her cart, Joe keeps on watching the video. It’s quite funny. The woman who’s a true Hollywood star seems to hate being in the spotlight, sings about her desire for her unreachable lover. What he would give to be in her shoes. What he would do to feel the Californian sun on his face like that.

Joe looks down again, starts taking his items out of the card. Just a few minutes later he’s back in the cold again, wishing the heating would work again so that he could at least look forward to the warmth of coming home. Not even that is working at the moment. Just as Joe then unlocks the old door he smiles. He can’t wait to have a nice breakfast in bed together with Liza.

“I’m home and I got you a French and bougie pain au chocolate.” He exaggerates, puts on his best French accent and has to laugh at himself because the unhealthy and cheap Sainsbury version of the pastry certainly is none of these things. Just as he closes the door, he gets confused. The telly is off. The flat is empty. Joe slowly walks closer to the kitchen counter and places the plastic bag next to him. He immediately finds a note on the counter and feels the sting in his chest.

“Meeting mum for coffee. Back in 1 hour xx”

Joe holds the note in his hand for a few seconds, just stands there, looking at the old backyard right behind the living room door. He stands there, then crumbles the note in his fist and walks upstairs. Still in his big sweatshirt from outside, he opens his old laptop and starts to google.

Drama School Los Angeles

Joe opens his eyes, realizes he must have fallen asleep again and moves his body to sit up slowly. He needs a few moments to find his orientation again, then feels the warm ray of sunshine on his naked back once more. After a few seconds he gets up, walks himself down the stairs, immediately feels the warmth coming from downstairs. He can hear Taylor roaming around the kitchen, immediately hears her freak out as she sees him standing there.

“Oh no. No no no.” she says, runs towards him half naked and immediately covers his eyes. Joe, who’s still more than sleepy can’t help but laugh. He’s confused. Even though he secretly loves the effort she’s put into this morning.

“Babe, what…”

“I told you to only come downstairs once I allow you to.” She says, actually sounds a bit mad and it makes him laugh even more.

“I’m sorry but…”

“Keep your eyes closed. Just one more second.” She demands stressed and Joe does as he is told. With eyes closed, he stands in the doorway of the spacious kitchen, can already smell that she’s been baking. He laughs again, as he suddenly feels her arms around his torso and her head that’s being pressed onto his chest.

“Open your eyes.” She whispers excitedly. Joe opens his eyes and looks at the kitchen with a big smile. Taylor has decorated the entire area with balloons and a big 30 hanging from the ceiling. There’s flowers and presents on the table as well as the dark chocolate cake that she knows he loves the most.

“Happy birthday, baby!” She hugs him from the side. Joe can’t help but start laughing. He feels how emotional he’s getting, just hugs her a bit tighter from where he’s standing.

“That… that’s… so beautiful.” He mumbles and Taylor laughs. She’s still in her pajamas but she’s giggling excitedly.

“I know we’re in a pandemic and you would love to have your family here or go to a museum today, but…”

It’s this moment, when it hits Joe the most.

“No, no it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect.” Joe says and won’t let go off her. He presses his nose into her shoulder and breathes her in a bit more. Taylor feels immediately that something is up. He seems more emotional than before. And she doesn’t overinterpet anything to it, just holds him closely and strokes his back over his t- shirt a bit longer than before.

“Are you okay?” She whispers then, feels Joe kiss her cheek before pulling back. He then looks at her with a serious look and nods.

“I thought about what you asked before and I just want you to know, we... we would’ve met. We definitely would’ve met.”

Taylor looks at him a bit confused, enjoys her chest still being pressed against his.

“You think so?” She asks quietly and Joe kisses her bangs again.

“It was meant to be this way.”

Taylor smiles at him, likes that thought a lot. She feels Joe reach for her face and lets him kiss her softly.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too. Happy birthday.”

#joe alwyn #taylor swift #joe and taylor #joe and taylor fanfiction #taylor swift fanfiction

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

With you, he wants it all.

Part 2!! You can find all the info about why this is such a mess in Part 1! Also, I totally meant to post this earlier but Taylor Swift’s new album wrecked my plans.

Summary: Reader is a famous singer with a murderous stalker. Spencer has to go undercover to protect her.

warnings: mentions of murder, anxious reader, stalker

Word Count: 9972

The next time you wake up, the room is significantly brighter. You feel around in the cold bed, realizing Spencer isn’t there anymore. You have to force yourself to open your eyes to combat the overwhelming urge to roll over and sleep for another twelve hours. The clock reads 12:07. You can’t help but think you deserve more sleep as you force yourself into a sitting position. Once you finally sit up, you hear someone shuffling around, whispering in the other room. It’s too quiet to try to make out the voice, but you definitely heard something. Without too much thought, you quickly jump out of bed, grabbing the only thing you can find that even remotely resembles a weapon- the bible from the hotel drawer.

Slowly, you push the door open, getting ready to make a break for the door to the hallway at the first sign of danger. Remembering everything from yesterday has you on edge as you move toward the kitchen area, looking for anything out of place. You duck around the pillar separating the kitchen from the living room only to find it empty. As you finally let your guard down, you feel a hand on your shoulder. Without thinking, you turn around getting ready to slam the book into whoever is touching you.

Spencer catches your arms before you hit him. “Hey, hey. It’s okay. It’s just me. You’re safe.” You breathe out a sigh of relief, dropping the book and hugging Spencer.

“I’m sorry! I just heard a noise and you weren’t in bed anymore and I wasn’t sure where you went and I wanted to make sure nobody else was in the room, but I-“

“It’s okay. Just breathe.” Spencer is rubbing soothing circles on your back as you cling to him as if your life depends on it. A few minutes pass, before you calm down enough to pull out of the hug. You run a shaky hand through your hair, moving to the kitchen to brew a pot of coffee.

“I put the coffee on so you can grab some when it’s done. I’m going to get dressed so we can figure out where we want to go for inspiration today!” You wink at Spencer before heading back into the bedroom to shower and change. You throw on a pair of jeans and a light sweater after squeezing the extra water out of your hair. You like to let it dry naturally on days like this.

You make your way back into the kitchen only to find Spencer has already changed into a navy and white plaid button down, khakis, and a navy cardigan. He is sitting at the table drinking his coffee when you enter the room. You immediately put the kettle on, reaching into the cabinet to pull out your tea collection.

“No coffee for you?” Spencer asks, gesturing to the half full pot on the counter.

“Oh, nope. Not for me. It’s only palatable if I add way to much sugar and then I get all antsy. I only have coffee if I have a really good reason to stay up.” You chuckle as you add the teabag to the mug you set on the counter. You sit on the counter, swinging your legs as you sip your tea.

“So, where do you want to go?”

“For what?” Spencer pretends to not know what you’re talking about.

“It’s time to start writing silly!” You grin at his deer in a headlights expression. “Spencer, I told you not to worry. We are just looking for general ideas right now. Anything that could potentially lead to a song. It’s more fun to observe others during this part of the process because the ideas are less specific.”

“I don’t even know where to start!” He actually seems nervous about this.

“Spence, let’s just go to your favorite coffee shop. And don’t tell me that you don’t have one. You’ve already drunk half that pot of coffee.”

“Why my favorite?” He actually looks taken aback at the suggestion.

“Well, for one because I’m not from here, so I don’t know where to go.” You try to backpedal, but you’ve started a list. Something he is all too eager to point out. “And two?” He’s got his brows furrowed, a look of pure confusion adorning his face.

“If it’s your favorite, then you’ve been there before.” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“Well yes, but your point?” The confusion is still present, but his words are laced with exasperation.

“You might just be comfortable enough in your surroundings to suggest a song idea.” You shrug as you say it, trying to make it feel more casual.

“You considered whether or not I would be comfortable?” He seems genuinely surprised now.

“Of course. I want you to help me, so I gotta butter you up.” You try to cover up your blush with a joke.

“Thank you.” HIs words seem surprised, but the two of you move on. Spencer grabs his satchel, and you your jacket, as the two of you exit the hotel to head to the café. You opt for walking since the weather is not too hot. You don’t say much during the walk. After the moment in the kitchen, you feel a bit nervous. A few fans stop you along the way for a picture or an autograph, but mostly you just enjoy each other’s company. Nobody pays much attention to Spencer, rather opting to ignore him to get your attention. Every time someone comes up to you; you make a point to say excuse me or smile at him before addressing the fans though. You just don’t want him to feel left out or like he’s not important.

You finally make it to the café. Spencer opens the door before guiding you in, again placing his hand on your back. You thank him as you make your way up to the counter to order. You order a chai latte for yourself, gesturing for Spencer to order his when the barista asks you if you need anything else. You make sure to add two scones to the order before sliding your card into the machine before Spencer has a chance.

“It’s my fault you’re here with me, so please. My treat.” He shakes his head slightly, a small smile forming on his face.

“How many times do I have to tell you, none of this is your fault?” He gives you a look as you two move to find a table after accepting the scones.

“I know.” You don’t sound sure as you take your seat. He doubles down the staring as you continue. “I promise. I know. It was just a joke.” You sound more sure of yourself that time, earning another smile from Spencer.

The barista brings you your drinks as you settle into the corner booth. You set your phone up on the table, pulling up the recording from yesterday. You pass Spencer your headphones from your purse so he can listen to what you’ve already come up with.

You take this time to really study him. The sun’s rays are streaming in through the blinds on the window, causing slight shadows to drift across his features. You take in the sharp lines of his jaw as he turns to look around the café, listening to the various melodies and lyrics you sang for the team. His brown locks appear golden as the sunlight reflect off the highlights. He’s sporting a slight stubble from not shaving for a few days. His hazel eyes drift across the faces of everyone in the room, not settling for long on any one person.

You shift your attention to his hands. He has one draped across the table, lightly tapping along as he listens. His long fingers are mesmerizing. You begin to recognize he is tapping out the melodies as if he were playing the piano. The other hand is wrapped around his coffee cup. You bite your lip as you think about all the things those hands are capable of. Your mind wonders as you stare. You are staring so intently at the way his hand grips the cup, you don’t notice when he removes the headphones.

Spencer clears his throat to catch your attention. “That was incredible. How do you come up with ideas so fast?” He looks like he knows exactly what you were thinking, but is too kind to bring it up. He’s just doing his job, and this isn’t a date.

“Oh, um thanks. I guess the BAU is just full of inspiration. The song writing process is a little different every time, but sometimes I can think of random lyrics and melodies.” You try to smile as you force yourself to focus. “Think back to a time where you felt an emotion really strongly. It can be whatever emotion you want. Then, try to put it into words. I like to use common phrases or metaphors because it can be fun to twist it into something new.” You close your eyes as you think back to how you felt the moment you understood there was a man out there killing people because he is obsessed with you. Maybe it’s a little too soon to write that one out. The idea does give you another way to explain it to Spencer. “It’s kind of like therapy. You can talk out your feelings and share them with people. It’s just a bit more public.” Spencer looks like he’s contemplating his entire life as you sit in this coffee shop.

“Spence,” you say it lightly to draw him out of his own thoughts, “don’t worry about it. You don’t have to share anything you don’t want to. I just wanted to get the ball rolling. Why don’t we try something else?” He looks grateful as he nods. “Great. Pick out someone in the coffee shop, preferably part of a group.” He looks around before his eyes settle on someone.

“Okay, now tell me what they’re thinking about.” He looks confused, like a lost puppy. “It’s called people watching. Just make up a story about what they might be doing here.”

You and Spencer discuss ideas for the next few hours. He picked out a young man, maybe about 19 years old. He was clearly here with friends trying to catch a break from studying if the backpacks on the floor were any hint. Spencer noticed all of that immediately of course, being that he is a profiler.

His story sounded just like the profile Hotch told you yesterday, although much less horrifying.

“White male, late teens to early twenties. He is likely a STEM major. This is the first time he has let loose in a while, normally choosing to forego the party life for studying. He likely has immense pressure on him from his family to succeed and do well in school.” You nod along, not having any idea where this information is really coming from. He sounds so confident, you can’t help but ask how he knows all that.

“You’re incredible. How did you figure all that out?” You stare in wonder at the man across from you. He doesn’t meet your eye, but responds nonetheless.

“His age is fairly obvious to observe. His bag is fuller than the others, indicating a major that requires more coursework. He keeps checking his watch, almost as if he knows he is wasting time that could be spent working toward a goal. The family pressure can be inferred by the other behavior. It is more likely a young adult is studious due to a strict upbringing with a focus on work ethic and goal-driven activities.”

“Amazing.” You sigh as you look around the room. “My turn.” You point to a couple sitting a few tables away from you. “Those two are exploring the possibility of taking their relationship past that of friendship. They obviously like each other and are too nervous to say anything.” Almost as if to prove you aren’t a profiler, the two lean across the table for a kiss. You laugh it off, knowing it’s just a game for you.

“Or maybe not. Either way, their song would be about new love. Something slow and pretty.” You smile as you turn back to Spencer. “Your turn again!”

The two of you go back and forth a few times. His stories were really just profiles, but after a few tries he leaned into the fun, game-like nature of people watching. Of course, his last story didn’t stray too far from profiling, but it was much more dreamlike in the way he presented it.

“The woman sitting by the window,” he said, subtly pointing to an older woman at a table alone, “she’s waiting to see her grandkids for the first time in years. Of course, she’s excited to see them again, but she’s nervous. What if they don’t like her? What if she can’t patch things up with her… I’m guessing daughter?” You smile brightly at the story. Family moments were usually the most inspiring for generic song ideas.

“Good job, Spence! What would the song be about?” The question clearly caught him off guard. For the past few stories, you asked how he came to those conclusions. It was so fascinating to hear how his mind works. This time though, you thought he could really be on to something. You give him an encouraging nod, as you set your phone up to record again.

“It could be about- about family.” He states it so firmly; you know he wants to say more. “She is sitting there thinking about the memories she has with her own parents and grandparents, so the song could be a reflection on days spent enjoying their company. Maybe future memories they can make together.” He smiles, albeit shyly.

“That is a really good idea! It fits with the vibe of the lyrics I came up with for Rossi.” You see the moment it clicks in his head. I don’t know why all the trees change in the fall, but I know you’re not scared of anything at all. Don’t know if Snow White’s house is near or far away, but I know I had the best day with you today.

He actually seems pleased with himself now. “We could work on that one tomorrow. We should get up and walk around though, we’ve been sitting here for hours.” You reach for his hand as you scoot out of the booth, pulling him along with you.

You stuff your hands in the pockets of your windbreaker as you head outside. You feel an overwhelming desire to be close to him, but you don’t want to overstep. The early evening crowd is out and about, bumping into the two of you as you walk back to the hotel at a leisurely pace.

“Why don’t we go order some room service and just hang out for the rest of the night? All that people watching was exhausting.” You turn to grin up at him as you continue walking. He hums in response, looking down at you in return. You swear you can feel the mood shifting, but the moment is broken by a tap on your arm. You turn to examine the source of the interruption only to find a little girl who couldn’t be more than 10 years old.

“Hi there!” You squeeze Spencer’s arm before ducking down to talk to the little girl. “Are you parents here?” She nods turning to look at a couple a few feet behind her, slightly out of breath, as if they just chased her down the street.

“Carly! Honey, you can’t run off like that! You could have gotten hurt!” The man scolds her, but is clearly relieved she didn’t get away from them.

“Sorry daddy! I just wanted to say hi to Miss Y/N! She sings my favorite song ever!” You wave at the parents before turning your attention back to the little girl.

“Hi Carly, it’s nice to meet you! You really do need to be careful though. You should always stick with the adults so you don’t get lost.” Your voice is playful, but your expression is serious. The only way to truly convey that message to a child you have no parental claim to. She nods in response.

“Mommy! Take a picture!” You pose with the girl as her mom takes a picture.

“We’re so sorry for interrupting your date! She just saw you and took off down the sidewalk.” You blush at what the woman is implying about you and Spencer, not daring to look at him.

“No worries at all. I’m always happy to meet a fan. Have a good night!” You wave goodbye, linking your arm with Spencer’s as you start to walk. He gives you a curious look, but you just laugh before joking “What? It’s so I don’t get lost.” He chuckles at your childlike behavior, but shifts so you can hold him closer.

The rest of the walk is peaceful. You don’t see any more fans, which is good because you aren’t paying enough attention to anything at the moment. You keep picturing the look on Spencer’s face right before the little girl interrupted you. What was about to happen?

Before you know it, you and Spencer are back in the room. He steps into the kitchen to call Hotch while you call to order dinner. You change into the FBI sweatshirt from yesterday and a pair of sleep shorts before settling on the couch to wait for Spencer. A few minutes later, he joins you on the couch after he hangs up. “The team has ruled out all the performers. It’s not surprising as the unsub wouldn’t be brave enough to perform for a crowd. They are still working through the lists of vendors and crew members.”

“Good. That’s progress. Progress is good.” You nod to yourself, trying to convince yourself everything is normal.

“Talk to me, what’s going on inside your head?” Spencer reaches out to take your hand while you stare at the ground.

“I don’t know. I guess it’s just hard. It’s hard to have such an amazing day and then think about how it only happened because people are being killed. I guess I feel guilty.” You keep going before he can interrupt you. “I know it’s not my fault that this guy is out there doing horrible things, but I still feel bad for enjoying myself while it’s happening.” You don’t have any tears left to cry. You look over to Spencer to find him staring back at you.

“Y/N, you are such a selfless person. There isn’t anything else you can do right now. We haven’t had any more victims, likely because nobody has posted about how excited they are for your shows since we still have 13 days before the next one. We are going to catch this guy.” You form your mouth into a soft smile before nodding at him. “What movie do you want to watch?”

You smile at his attempt to distract you. “You pick. Anything that will take my mind off things, but not require too much thinking.”

Spencer is racking his brain for a movie that fits your description when you hear a knock on the door. “Must be the food, I’ll get it.” When you return with the food, you find Spencer still thinking over movie choices.

“Okay, how about this. What do you like to watch when you really need a pick me up?”

Again he looks surprised that you would take his opinion into account. “Um, usually Doctor Who, but that’s not a movie it’s a-”

“TV show. Right. Is that the one where they fly around in a telephone booth?”

“First of all, it's a police box, not a phone booth. Second of all, Doctor Who started a quarter of century before Bill and Ted even went on their bodacious adventures. So really, they should just call it Bill and Ted's excellent rip-off, I mean at least then...”

You listen as he rambles about why people always think it’s a telephone booth. You can’t help but smile at how cute he is when he’s talking about something he’s passionate about. You don’t realize he asked you a question until he clears his throat with a confused expression.

“Sorry, I was rambling again.” He looks dejected, and you would do anything in the world to make him smile again.

“No, I’m sorry!” You scoot closer to him to convey your point. “I was listening at first I promise. It’s just, you looked so happy I got distracted. Let’s watch Doctor Who.” You turn to face the TV before you say anything else that makes you feel like a complete moron. He sorts through the food as you find the show online, setting it up to play on the TV. There’s random free episodes on demand, so you end up staring with the 11th doctor.

You are completely captivated by the show. Every so often, Spencer would comment on a theory about what one specific prop could mean only to have you cover your ears and warn him about spoilers. During an episode about creepy angel statues, he goes on a tangent about how Amy could have avoided the whole situation. Once he starts mentioning characters you haven’t met, you actually have to reach your hand up to cover his mouth to get him to stop talking. His words putter to a stop, eyes widening in shock as he stares at you.

“Spence, I absolutely love how passionate you are about Doctor Who. But it doesn’t matter how adorable it is when you ramble on about something. If you spoil one more thing before I can actually watch the whole show through, I will not hesitate to smack you.” You stare right in his eyes the entire time, watching as they widen with each word. You had to get a lot closer to him to actually reach his mouth. He had moved forward, animatedly waving his arms around as he talked about various plot points, so you were basically sitting on his lap to avoid being smacked in the face.

You drop your arm from his face slowly, as if any sudden movement would break the spell you were under. You lean forward, connecting your forehead to his. You take a steadying breath as you close your eyes. Your about to close the gap when his phone rings. Again, the moment is lost. You only move enough so that he can reach into his pocket for his phone. As he answers the call, you shift in his lap to cuddle into his chest.

“Morgan, what do you need?” Maybe you’re imaging it, but he almost sounds the slightest bit annoyed. You can just make out what Morgan is saying on the other end of the phone.

“Calm down, Pretty Boy. We might have a lead, Hotch and Emily are tracking it down now. I’ll meet you at the hotel in the morning to go over it all with you and Y/N.”

“Okay, thanks for the update.” He sounds so normal now, you think you must have imagined the annoyance earlier. He hangs up the phone, tossing it next to him on the couch. He wraps his arms around you before shifting so you’re both laying down.

“Let’s just relax and watch more Doctor Who. Morgan is stopping by in the morning to talk about the case.” You nod in agreement, turning to face the TV. A few episodes later, you and Spencer are drifting in and out of sleep. Neither one of you really wants to interrupt what you’ve got going, instead opting to just fall asleep on the couch.

You hear the faintest knocking noise that pulls you out of your slumber. It takes a few minutes for you to recognize you are on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms. He must have pulled a blanket over the two of you last night after you fell asleep. Before you can get up to evaluate the knocking, the door opens and Morgan comes rushing in. The concern on his face is quickly replaced with a knowing smirk. You blush, jealous that Spencer is somehow still asleep.

“Hi Morgan. Sorry to alarm you. We must have fallen asleep watching TV last night.” At the sound of your voice, Spencer slowly begins to wake up. He smiles sleepily at you before realizing your attention is elsewhere. He practically throws you off the couch in his effort to sit up when he realizes Morgan is in the room.

“Sorry!” Spencer looks at Morgan, then back to you. “I’m so sorry!” You laugh as you stand up.

“Don’t worry about it.” You settle yourself in the chair, gesturing for Morgan to sit next to Spencer now that he isn’t sprawled across the entire sofa anymore. Turning to Morgan, you ask about the case “What did you want to talk about?”

“We have been focused on going through the people who work for the tour. It makes the most sense for them to travel with you, otherwise it would require a lot more planning.” You can feel the nerves growing in your stomach. “Garcia found a name we wanted to run by you.” He hands you a picture before saying the name. “Ryan Moore. He works-“

“On the instrumentals. I know. He usually runs the sound booth during the shows. I don’t know him that well, but we’ve talked a few times.” You think back over your past conversations. “It couldn’t be him.” You are 100% sure he is not the unsub, and the agents don’t fail to notice the conviction in your voice.

“What makes you so sure?” Spencer is flipping through the case file Morgan brought with him. He doesn’t even look up when he asks the question, too focused on memorizing every detail about this man’s life.

“Well, Hotch told me the unsub wouldn’t be able to talk to me right?” You look to Morgan for confirmation.

“Yes. He wouldn’t approach you or seem confident when talking with you if you approached him.” Morgan confirms what you’re thinking.

“Great. So it can’t be him.” You smile to yourself for actually contributing to the case. “Last week, right after the Columbus show, he asked me out. The unsub wouldn’t be brave enough, right?” The utter joy in your voice startles Spencer enough that he finally looks up from the file.

“Alright then. He’s likely not the unsub, but we’ll finish the investigation into him just in case.” Morgan settles back into the chair he’s sitting in, making no move to leave even though the conversation is clearly over. There is an obvious smirk on his face as he looks at Spencer.

“Well, I’m going to make some breakfast, feel free to watch TV or something.” You smile awkwardly at the two men, unsure of why there is suddenly a strange tension in the air. As you move into the kitchen, you connect your phone to your Bluetooth speaker. Listening to music while you cook has always been calming for you. You honestly prefer baking, but eggs and sausage with toast sounds perfect right now. You pull out the ingredients, humming softly as you dance around the kitchen. You can just barely hear that Morgan and Spencer are talking in the other room, but not enough to make out what they are saying. It just sounds a bit more intense the conversation you just had.

You choose to ignore it and give them their privacy instead focusing on cooking. You end up making scrambled eggs the way your mom taught you, by mixing in some chive and onion cream cheese. You pop some English muffins in the oven under the broiler while you place the eggs and sausages in dishes. After turning the music down, you move all the food to the table. You’re about to invite Spencer and Morgan to have some food when you hear their conversation.

“I’m telling you man. She likes you. You should go for it.” Morgan is clearly trying to encourage Spencer, but he won’t hear it.

“Morgan, it’s not like that. It’s probably just transference because I’m here to make sure she doesn’t get hurt. Plus, you saw the smile on her face when she talked about Ryan asking her out. She was beaming.” He sighs, almost wistfully as you consider what he’s saying. Surely you are capable of separating your feelings for him from the situation. Would you like him if you had just run into him on the street? Plus, what does Ryan have to do with this?

You move back to the stove to remove the English muffins before they burn, putting them on a plate as well. Ultimately, you decide to try to straighten out your feelings for Spencer before making a move. You want to be sure. If there is even a shred of doubt in your mind, Spencer will surely be able to see it on your face. Stupid profilers.

Their conversation died down while you were dealing with the muffins, so you walk back to the other side of the room. You mumble out “I made food, you’re both welcome to have some” before returning to the table. You have a lot to think about and the last thing you want to do is lead Spencer on if you aren’t sure. He deserves better than that.

The conversation over breakfast is nice. Nothing too heavy or serious. The three of you are just talking about your lives. Morgan asks you what it’s like to be famous. You ask him and Spencer what it’s like to be in the FBI. You realize just how different your career paths are. The only thing you can relate to is travelling. Neither Spencer nor Morgan have family in the area, but they mention how hard it is for Hotch and JJ.

“That I can understand. The travelling, I mean. Of course, I travel to perform, not to track down killers.” The room is quiet for a few minutes as you think about what to say. Morgan and Reid being profilers know you haven’t finished your thought, so they give you the time to think it over.

“Thank you.” You say it softly, but firmly at the same time. This is the first time you’ve seen either of them look surprised.

“Wh- for what?” It’s Morgan who speaks up. Spencer has a familiar expression on his face. It’s the same look he got when you asked his opinion for coffee shops and movies.

“For everything. For protecting me. For catching bad guys. For giving up so much to do this job. You two, and the rest of your team, you all sacrifice so much to keep people safe. I mean, I’m sure the people you save and the families you give closure to are grateful, and you deserve that. But, you also deserve to have everyone be thankful for what you do. You get into the minds of these people. It must be exhausting to have to think like that all the time. I’m barely dealing with it now and it’s only be on my mind for 2 days! I just can’t even fathom the number of people you have saved, people that you’ve never even met, by doing this. So, thank you. For being strong enough to do it. For being you.”

You spoke every word with every ounce of sincerity you could muster up. You were looking between them as you said it. The shock on Morgan’s face slowly morphed into a small smile. Spencer’s expression didn’t change, but somehow looked more sincere when you were done.

Neither one of them knew what to say. Morgan rose from his chair to pull you into a hug. Patting you on the back, he uttered a soft thank you before saying he should get back to the office to help the rest of the team. You locked the door behind him, turning to see Spencer staring at you from the table.

“Spence? Are you okay?” You were nervous that your impromptu speech made him uncomfortable. He rose from the table, slowly making his way across the room to you.

“I’m, I, I just… that was… thank you. You amaze me.” He barely says the words, practically breathing them into existence. You reach for his hand, squeezing it.

“I meant every single word. Promise.” There is nothing more you want to do than kiss him right now, but all you can hear in your head is Spencer talking about transference. You hug him quickly before pulling back again. Without some distance between the two of you, you won’t be able to control yourself. “Do you want to go to another café today? Or somewhere with a piano so I can finally see you play?”

“We can do what you want today. You let me pick the café and the show yesterday, so it’s only fair.” You grin, knowing exactly where you want to take him.

The two of you get ready in near silence after that. Both of you want to calm down a bit before spending another day together. After you’ve both showered and changed, you drag Spencer down to the SUV. The weather outside is perfect for where you want to go, but the park is just far enough away that you want to drive. You pull up directions on your phone, hiding the address from him. Spencer protests the entire time. He keeps mumbling about how he would know how to get there if you just told him where you were going. Then something about how mobile phones are a distraction, so it would be safer for him to drive anyway.

You just let him ramble on about the many DC streets. Your grip on the wheel tightens when he starts listing off statistics about car accidents.

“More than 38,000 people die every year in crashes on U.S. roadways. The U.S. traffic fatality rate is actually 12.4 deaths per 100,000 inhabitants. An additional 4.4 million are injured seriously enough to require medical attention. Road crashes are the leading cause of death in the U.S. for people aged 1-54.” With every passing word, your knuckles get whiter, your heartbeat gets faster, and your breaths get shorter. Spencer is too caught up in reciting the statistics to realize anything is wrong until he turns to look at you, his next sentence dying on his tongue. “Seatbelts reduce the risk of dying by…” His brow furrows as he takes in your appearance.

“By what Spence? Don’t leave me hanging?” You try to joke with him to calm yourself down, but he obviously sees right through it.

“45%.” He continues before you can even comprehend the number. “Y/N, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing. I’m totally fine. 100% A-Okay.” You try to take deep breaths to calm yourself down. Having arrived at your destination, you pull into a parking spot.

“Y/N, talk to me. What is it?” You take a steadying breath as you turn to face him. Honestly, you are embarrassed more than anything else. You were the one who decided you had to drive.

“Spence, really it’s not a big deal. I just get nervous driving sometimes. I don’t have to do it a lot, and I’ve never felt like I was particularly good at it. It doesn’t matter though, we’re here.” You move to get out of the car, but Spencer reaches across the car to stop you. His face is only inches from yours as the realization dawns on him.

“And I was rambling on about how dangerous driving is.” He says it more to himself than to you. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Why didn’t you stop me? I really need to learn how to shut up. I just get so caught up in the statistics-“ “Spencer. I love when you ramble. I’ve already told you how calming it is… normally. I’m fine, I promise. You just have to drive us back to the hotel later. Deal?”

“Deal.” You’re both smiling as you get out of the car to walk around the park you brought him to. He doesn’t ask why you picked this place and you don’t offer up a reason. He’ll figure it out soon enough. You talk about random things from childhood as you lazily stroll through the trees. There’s something so calming about wandering through so many trees when you know you’re in the middle of a bustling city.

Before long, the two of you have crossed the park. A few feet away stands an upright piano in front of a park bench. You glance at Spencer as he looks at the piano, realization gracing his features as he discovers why you chose this particular park. You beckon for him to sit down next to you, asking him to play you a song.

He blushes as you whisper pretty please in his ear. The cherry on top does him in. Soon enough, you are hearing the beginning notes of Bach’s Prelude in C. You just sit and listen, watching his fingers gracefully move above the keys. He’s not the most passionate of piano players. You can practically see the gears turning in his brain as he moves his hands efficiently across the instrument, as if he really is thinking about the math behind it all. Still, you lose yourself in the music, swaying lightly. You find yourself leaning on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you think about everything you’ve been feeling.

You studied music for a few years when you were young. That’s how you started writing, with lessons to learn to play both the guitar and the piano. You took to the guitar more than the piano, but you remember learning about the emotion behind every classical piece you were taught to play. You can’t help but think back to those lessons as you listen to Spencer. This song is always reaching forward, yearning for the next note. It plays into the idea that life is simple and pure. Even good at times. But there is something lurking just below the surface. It’s weirdly fitting of your current situation, but you choose to just be glad he chose the major over the minor.

You feel the breeze in your hair as Spencer finishes the song. For a few moments, the two of you sit listening to the leaves rustling in the wind. Eventually, you look around the park once it is quiet again. It’s mostly empty given that it’s 2 pm on a Tuesday, so there aren’t many people around to witness this moment. You slip your phone on the piano to record before you take over, playing that all too familiar melody that reminds you of Spencer. Neither of you say anything as you let the music and your emotions guide you through the song. You can tell it’s not perfect, but it just feels right.

After that, you and Spencer brainstorm lyrics for Rossi’s song for another few hours. The park begins to fill up as school lets out and the workday ends. A few fans recognize you, asking for pictures. After a particularly strong gust of wind, Spencer drapes his cardigan over you as you walk back toward the car, both of you blissfully unaware of the figure watching you from behind the trees.

The next few days pass in much the same fashion. Spencer takes calls about the case, trying to narrow down the massive list of crew members on your tour. You and he work on lyrics for Rossi’s song, as well as JJ’s. She’s just so pretty, the words flow right out of you. You can tell Spencer agrees. You believe him as he swears up and down that the two of them are just friends, but you can’t help teasing him just a bit.

“Honestly, it would be weirder if you didn’t think she was pretty. The woman looks as if she were sculpted by Michelangelo himself. A living embodiment of Aphrodite.” He nods in agreement, a faint blush on his cheeks.

No matter how much you try, you just cannot come up with anymore good lyrics for Spencer’s song. It could be that he is sitting right next to you all the time and knows the song is for him that’s causing the writer’s block, but it’s still frustrating.

One night, he’s working through the case file for the third time in a row when you interrupt his thoughts with a seemingly random question.

“Spence, can you tell me a story?” He looks up at you, brow furrowed and eyes confused. “I just need inspiration for the lyrics. Everything I come up with sucks.” You pout until he finally gives in. “Yay! It can be anything, even a memory. Just make it overwhelmingly happy.”

Spencer stops looking through the file as he thinks back on his life experiences for an overwhelmingly happy memory. The faces of his team members instantly flood his mind as he sorts through the many good times they’ve had. He keeps circling back to one event, ultimately deciding it is happy enough to fit your standards.

“This is actually the story of JJ’s wedding.” You lean forward, a wedding story could be just what the doctor ordered. “Will wanted to marry her for a while, but she was hesitant. She said everything was perfect as it was, she didn’t feel the need to change anything.” You were honestly a little confused as to where the happiness was at this point, but you let him continue anyway. You could listen to this man talk for days on end without complaint.

“We ended up working a case with Will. It was a bank robbery turned hostage situation. It was a rough case for all of us; bombs, secret partners, kids at risk. I won’t bore you with the details,” he chuckles at your thankful expression, “but it all worked out in the end. Will, he could’ve died. When JJ went to see him in the hospital, she told him to ask her again. She wanted to get married then and there in the hospital chapel. Will wanted to wait until he was actually out of the hospital though, and not wearing a hospital gown.” You couldn’t help but smile at the thought of loving someone so much, you were instantly ready to marry them.

“Rossi, he overheard everything. So, he started planning. He called JJ’s mom, told her to fly in and to bring her wedding dress. We threw her a surprise wedding the next day. It was such a beautiful moment, to have such a joyous event after everything that we had been through. JJ looked wonderstruck as her mom walked her down the aisle. The lights were sparkling. It was enchanting.” He spoke with such awe about the whole event. He told you stories about doing magic for Henry and Jack, who you came to know as Hotch’s son. It was so easy for you to picture the fairy lights and purple flowers. The team seemed like such a close-knit family, it only made sense that they would share this memory.

The chorus of the song hit you like a ton of bricks. You didn’t even warn Spencer as you jumped from the couch and ran to the piano. He followed behind you, curious to see what would happen. He watched with wonder as you placed your phone to record on top of the piano and started playing the family melody you first hummed while thinking about him.

“This night is sparkling, don’t you let it go. I’m wonderstruck, blushing all the way home. I’ll spend forever wondering if you knew, I was enchanted to meet you.” The verses didn’t pour out of you in quite the same way, but the general storyline of the song came to you in the next few minutes. You rushed to get it all out, speaking directly into the phone.

“The first verse can be about feeling out of place in a room, faking laughter, forcing smiles. Then it all changes when she sees him. It’s as if they have a conversation with only their eyes as they float across the room to each other. Then the chorus. The second verse can be about her wondering if he felt it to. 2 am who do you love? Chorus again. Then the bridge can be about hoping that the one night wasn’t it for them. That she’ll see him again and hoping he isn’t already in love or with someone.” You’re so pleased with the song idea, you don’t notice the shifting expressions on Spencer’s face. After your explanation, you turn to him, the biggest smile he’s seen yet on your face.

“What do you think?” He’s so shocked he doesn’t know how to respond. After a moment of silence, your face begins to fall. You can’t stop your brain from thinking the worst.

He must hate it. Oh god, he’s just trying to find a way to let me down easy. Why do I have to be so stupid? Sure, go ahead. Write a love song about the man who’s sitting next to you. That won’t be weird at all. Oh god, oh god…

Suddenly, Spencer is pulling you into a tight hug. “It’s beautiful. It will make a wonderful song.” He’s whispering in your ear. The feeling of his lips brushing against you is too much. Everything you’ve been pushing back for the past few days comes roaring to the surface. You can’t stop yourself.

You pull back slowly, only to pull his face to yours so rapidly you’re surprised you didn’t get whiplash. In less than an instant, his lips are moving gracefully against yours. His hands slide down your body to your waist as he pulls you even closer to him. Your arms move up around his neck, your fingers running through his hair. The hunger and passion is slowly taken over by the need for oxygen, the two of you separating just enough to pull air into your lungs.

He kisses your forehead, and you kiss his nose. A few minutes later, and you’re still standing there with your heads pressed together, arms wrapped around each other. Every so often, one of you places a light kiss on the others mouth, just to make sure this is real.

“I know what you’re thinking.” You are still out of breath from kissing him, but you can just tell his mind is moving a mile a minute.

“I’m not sure you do.” He sounds nervous.

“I think I might surprise you.” You can’t help but tease him a little before continuing. “You think its all transference. That I only think I like you because you’re here to protect me. Some sort of white knight bullshit.” You can’t stop yourself from sounding mildly annoyed about it. Although, the look of shock on his face helps. “I heard what you said to Morgan.” He sighs before moving to pull back.

“No, Spence. Listen to me. I heard what you said to Morgan.” You wait for him to follow your train of thought back a few days.

“But that was four days ago?” He looks more confused than ever.

“I know. I wanted to make sure that what I feel is real. I didn’t want to lead you on if I might not actually want this. But I do. More than I’ve ever wanted anything before. Spencer, you are a light in my life and not just because you’re here to make sure I don’t get murdered. Although that certainly doesn’t hurt. I feel like I can tell you anything and you won’t judge me for it. That I can truly be myself without worry of letting you down.”

“Y/N you could never let me down. I just don’t want you to wake up one day and regret anything. I don’t want you to regret me.” He looks crestfallen.

“Spencer Reid.” You move your hands to his cheeks to gently push his head up to make eye contact. “I could never regret a single moment spent with you. I have loved every single one. I loved watching you listen to the songs about your friends. I loved listening to you talk about things you love, like Doctor Who and statistics. I loved sitting next to while you played piano. I loved talking to you about anything and everything. Spencer, I love how I feel when I’m with you and I know for a fact I would feel the same way if I met you walking down the street.”

“Y/N” the way he says your name is music to your ears. “I love how I feel when I’m with you too. I loved listening to you sing about my friends, capturing the essence of who they are. I loved watching you experience the things I have grown so accustomed to doing. I loved the feeling of you leaning on my shoulder while I played Bach. I loved hearing you come up with an entire storyline for one song in a matter of minutes just based on one story. I have loved every single second I have been with you since I first saw you 7 days, 2 hours, and 32 minutes ago. Even if I didn’t say a word to you until after you woke up in the hospital.”

The two of you laugh as you pull him to the couch to cuddle. You put on more Doctor Who, sitting with your legs across his lap and playing with his hands. It’s nice to just be close to him without having to worry. You find yourself getting wrapped up in the show. Spencer is quieter this time. You think he might have something on his mind, but you decide to wait for him to share. Between the third and fourth episode, he speaks up.

“Y/N, are you and Ryan… are you together?” You look up to see a nervous expression once again on his face.

“Ryan who?” You are genuinely confused as to who he could even be talking about.

“Ryan Moore, the sound booth guy.” You look even more confused than before.

“Not even a little bit. I politely declined his offer to take me out. Is that what’s been bugging you for the last three episodes?” You smile at his pout.

“Maybe. You just seemed so happy when you mentioned that he asked you out. You were practically glowing with how big your smile was.”

“Spence, I was happy because I could actually help you with the case. I only have eyes for one guy.” You shift to straddle his lap.

“Yeah, who’s that?” He pulls you even closer.

“Matt Smith” You say it with the best deadpan expression you can manage in the circumstances.

“Wow, your standards must be pretty low to settle for the 11th doctor. He’s not even in the top three best doctors!” He plays along with your joke, although he doesn’t have to act incredulous sat you preference for the 11th doctor.

“Well, my number one doctor isn’t really on TV.” You bite your lip, leaning in until you connect your mouth to his.

Right as you’re both about to take it one step further, your phone rings. “Fuck.” The word is barely a whisper leaving your mouth as you pull back from Spencer trying to catch your breath.

“Hello?” you don’t hear anything on the other end of the phone. “Hello? Anyone there? Hello?” Suddenly the line goes dead. You turn to Spencer. “Well, that was weird.” Spencer frantically moves you off his lap as he stands up, taking out his phone. Without telling you anything, he is frantically dialing a number, mumbling under his breath.

“Garcia! I need to you to figure out who just called Y/N’s phone.” He waits a minute, presumably listening to her reply. “Yes, it just rang and when she answered nobody said anything. Thank you.” He hangs up, swiftly moving back to the couch to pull you into a hug.

“What just happened?” You can feel your heartrate speeding up.

“It might be nothing, but that might have been the unsub. Garcia is tracking down the number that made the call right now. If it’s possible to figure out, she’ll have it done by morning.” He rubs calming circles on your hip with his thumb. “Why don’t you go to sleep? Try to get some rest?” You nod, rising from the couch.

“Spence, will you lay with me?” Your voice is small and scared as you ask the question. He simply nods, both of you changing into pajamas before meeting in the bedroom to lay down. You snuggle up close to him, trying to breathe in the same pattern as him until you fall asleep.

When you wake up, you can hear Spencer in the living room, talking on his phone. You want nothing more than to go back to sleep, but not if you can’t cuddle with Spencer while you do it. Throwing the covers off of you, you get up so you can actually see Spencer. He’s got his back to you when you open the door, so you sneak up behind him. He jumps a little with a surprised gasp when you wrap your arms around his middle.

“What? Oh, uh… I’m fi-fine. Everything’s fine. I was just surprised.” He spins around to hug you, giving you a slight glare. “By, um, a beetle. Yeah, there was a beetle.” The lie is so obvious you can’t help but laugh as you bury your head into his chest.

A few minutes later, he finally hangs up. “What did they find out about the phone call?” You mumble the question into the fabric of his cardigan.

“Less than we were hoping for. It was a prepaid cell, so Garcia can’t trace it back to the owner.” You squeeze him tighter, glad to have him with you through all of this. After a few minutes of standing with him, you reluctantly pull back.

“Well, we should get to work. These songs are not going to write themselves!”

You and Spencer retreat to different parts of the suite to get ready for the day. As much as you would love to jump his bones, it doesn’t feel right to take up his time with that when he could be working. At least if you were working on songs together it was part of the cover.

You ultimately decide to just sit in the park across from the hotel today. Normally, you wouldn’t even leave your room at this point in the writing process. You just don’t completely trust yourself to be alone with him at the moment. At least in public you can control yourself a little bit. Yet, the many people walking around the park do nothing to stop you from grabbing Spencer’s hand and playing with his fingers while thinking particularly hard about a certain lyric.

A bright flash of light draws you out of your reverie. You already know how the picture is going to look. You are laying across a blanket, knees in the air. Spencer is sitting beside you, reading messages from the team on his phone. His other hand is still between yours as you run your fingers over his knuckles. You are absolutely sure there is look of complete adoration on your face. You can’t bring yourself to care that the paparazzi took the picture. You have nothing to hide.

After the shock of the bright light fades, you notice a familiar face behind the few photographers in front of you. The shock of seeing someone for a second time floods your brain while you try to remember the profile Hotch told you that very first night. Without thinking too hard, you fling yourself into a sitting position. You gather everything you brought with you to the park, dragging Spencer along with you. He clearly doesn’t understand the shift in your behavior, but he’d gladly follow you anywhere.

It’s not until you reach your room that you look at him. He can see the fear in your eyes before you even open your mouth. “Baby, what is it? What happened?” He begins recalling everything from the moment the first flash went off, trying to figure out what made you so scared.

“I saw him.” You can barely hear yourself over the sound of your heart beating in your chest. “I saw the unsub. I mean, I think I did. He held the door open for us this morning when we left the hotel, and then he was in the park when the paparazzi were taking pictures. Hotch… he said to tell you if I saw anyone more than once in a day.” The words escape your lips in a hurry, trying to keep up with your flying thoughts.

“Okay, breathe. I’m right here. I’m going to call the team. Did you recognize him from anywhere else?” You try to picture the face in your mind, and suddenly you are seeing him everywhere. In the coffee shop that very first day. Behind the trees in the park with the piano. If you and Spencer were there, so was he. Just, normally you only caught a glimpse of him for a second. Definitely not twice in one day.

You rush to tell Spencer what you’re remembering. At this point, you don’t even know if it’s true. Maybe your mind is playing tricks on you. Just filling in this man’s face on other people’s bodies to fit the story that he is the one behind it all. Nonetheless, you give him the description of who you saw. White, probably 35ish, brown hair. You didn’t see his eyes, but they looked evil. The expression on his face just screamed serial killer. Maybe that’s in your head too. Who knows?

“I know I’ve seen that face before, I just can’t remember where. God, I’m useless. This man is hurting people and I can’t even remember where I’ve seen him before. Think. Think. THINK.” You’ve started pacing the room, trying to figure out who it could be. Spencer doesn’t say anything else to you until he’s finished the phone call. Even then, he’s more so humming and shushing you than really talking. He pulls you into a hug, trying to calm you down yet again.

“Y/N. You are anything but useless. You noticed he was there. That’s a step in the right direction. We are going to find him, and he is going to go to jail for a very long time.” Somewhere, deep inside, you knew Spencer couldn’t guarantee that, but you also knew it was better for you to listen to him than to force yourself down a rabbit hole you couldn’t dig yourself out of.

A few calming breaths later, and your asleep on the couch, wrapped up in Spencer’s arms.

It’s still dark when you open your eyes. You can hear someone moving around, but it’s too dark to see. Spencer isn’t with you on the couch, so it could be him, but something feels wrong. Why would Spencer be up in the middle of the night wandering around in the dark?

“Spencer?” Everything goes still at the sound of your voice. Yeah, that was not the best move you could’ve made… Before you can say anything else, you are knocked out cold. The sound of a lamp smashing over your head is that last thing you hear.

tag list:

@mac99martin , @wecouldbreakthedistance , @spencerhotchner , @girloncorneliastreet , @itsametaphorbriansblog , @moonshinerbynight , @meowiemari , @justanotherfangirl , @im-so-wonderstruck , @eevee0722 , @raining13lemonade @dilaudidwinchester , @silverdagger69 , @thatsonezesty13

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid angst #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #spencer reid one shot #Criminal Minds #spencer reid x you

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redroomwidows · 3 years

Text

Wildest Dreams | F.W

SUMMARY: They’re in a war, everyone’s life is on the line and Fred doesn’t want Y/n to forget him.

WORD COUNT: 1.6k

WARNINGS: fluff, but then angst. canon character death...not described, but there’s some grief.

A/N: This is my second piece for @gcdric’s Taylor Swift writing challenge! This fic doesn’t follow the song as much as Mr. Perfectly Fine did, it’s very much a looser interpretation of it. I hope you enjoy nonetheless!

fun fact! I’ve never actually written for Fred before, so this may be really ooc. I’m apologiding in advance lol but hopefully it’s not too ooc!

Fred Weasley x fem! reader

‘Say you'll remember me’

It was quiet.

Silent even. Usually, this would worry Y/n, but today, today it was calming and was a reminder that neither her nor Fred were in imminent danger. Their shared bedroom had rays of sunlight beaming through the curtains and Y/n almost blamed herself for not shutting them properly when she first woke up because of the light on her eyes. Almost. Because when she rolled over, she realised the sunlight let her see Fred’s sleeping face and let her admire the bronze and gold mixed amidst the ginger of his hair.

“Mornin’ love,” he croaks and Y/n smiles slightly, of course he wasn’t actually asleep

“Morning,” Fred slowly opens his eyes and raises an eyebrow slightly

“Were you watching me?”

“Maybe,”

“Weirdo,” he tries to stay serious, but a wide smile breaks through and he scoots closer to his fiancé, snuggling into her shoulder “What were you thinking about?”

“Hm, nothing,”

“So, you were just staring at me?” Fred knew when she was thinking, he always had.

“Fine,” Y/n sighs “I was thinking about how pretty you are,”

“Pretty?” Fred raises his head from her shoulder and looks her in the eyes “You mean handsome,”

“Nope,” she pops the p “pretty,” then kisses his nose, something she knew he hated.

“No, handsome,” he insists

“Pretty,” Y/n sings and Fred raises his hands up in a tickling motion

“Say I’m handsome,”

“Pretty,” she repeats and starts laughing even before Fred’s touched her, and when he does and starts moving his finger around, she laughs louder, kicking about “Stop!”

“Say I’m handsome!”

“Freddie!”

“Say it!” he keeps tickling her and when she starts to struggle to breathe, she shouts out:

“Fine! Fine! Handsome! I was thinking you were handsome!” he stops and Y/n lays still for a moment, breathing deeply and Fred watches, his elbow squashed into the bed as he holds his head in his hand.

Eventually, Y/n regains her breath and leans in to whisper in Fred’s ear “Pretty,”. He doesn’t tickle her this time, just smiles fondly as she giggles to herself, staring up at the ceiling. He’d let her have this one, in fact if he himself wasn’t so stubborn, he’d let her win every time. He liked her like this, calm and happy, unable to keep a smile off her face. He wanted to see her like this forever.

“Let’s run away,”

“What?” Y/n turns to Fred, eyes still glassy from his ‘attack’

“Let’s run away,” he repeats, but he can tell Y/n is still confused “leave here and find a cottage in the woods or something,”

“Fred… are you being serious?”

“Yes!” Fred smiles and excitement floods his voice “Bill and Fleur did it, why can't we?”

“We’re not Bill and Fleur,” Y/n says in disbelief, not sure if Fred was joking or not “they have a baby on the way, your future niece or nephew,”

“Yours to,” Fred gestures to the ring on her left finger proudly. He’d proposed their first year out of Hogwarts, Molly had said it was too soon but when Death Eater attacks became more frequent, she was happy to see her son so happy. She also knew Fred wouldn’t listen to her anyway. He loved Y/n L/n and he would marry her anywhere, anytime. But soon preferably. He adored the idea of being able to say ‘my wife’ and he wanted to call her Mrs Weasley and come up with a whole new branch of nicknames for her based on her new status. But he had to wait, he could do that.

“Our future niece or nephew,” she corrects, “and you and George have the shop,”

“It’s not even open at the moment,” Fred mutters quietly, knowing Y/n was right, but still wanting to believe for a minute more that they could leave “Please?”

“You know we can’t go…” Y/n takes a deep breath as the somewhat jokey conversation becomes serious “we’re gonna be needed…” she looks left and out the window, holding a hand over her stomach.

“I know,” Fred smiles, putting his hand over Y/n’s “Can’t blame me for being in love with ya,”

“Guess I can’t,” Y/n smiles with him as she remembers the last time he said that to her.

It was their last year at Hogwarts and George and Fred had finally grown tired of Umbridge. They haven’t fully told Y/n the plan, but she knew they weren’t coming back. Fred had minutes to say goodbye before him and George had to set the plan into the motion, and he was grabbing Y/n’s hands so tightly she thought the circulation might never come back.

“Come with us,” he whispers and she looks down, smiling lightly

“You know I can’t,”

“Why not?”

“My parents would kill me,” she laughs and presses a kiss to his lips, whispering into them “You would kill me,”

“I would,” he nods “What are you thinking, throwing away your future for a boy?”

“A ginger one nonetheless!” Y/n gasps, playing along

“Oi!” George shouts from behind a door and Y/n laughs as Fred shouts out to him

“Stop eavesdropping you prat!” shuffling is heard and Y/n gazes at Fred again, trying to memorise his face before he leaves.

“Promise you’ll write?”

“Of course. You can hear everything about mine and Georgie’s experiments and how I came up with all of the ideas” Y/n would laugh, but all she can manage is an amused brow raise

“And you’ll be here for graduation?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world,” he nods “Promise,” There’s a knock on the door, a signal Fred needed to go.

“I love you,” Y/n says quickly

“I love you too,” They share one more kiss and Fred whispers into her lips “Come with me?”

“Fred!”

“Can’t blame me for being in love with ya!” with that, he gives her hands a final squeeze before leaving, giving her a wink as he shuts the door.

“Y/n…” Fred waves a hand over her eyes “you there?”

“Hm?” she turns back to him

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she rolls onto her right side so she can look at him properly “You?” Fred seems to be thinking about his answer and Y/n puts her left hand over his shoulder, rubbing soft circles on the soft cotton of his t-shirt “Freddie?”

“We’re gonna be needed,” he repeats her earlier statement slowly “And when we are, something may happen to me...If I don’t make it -”

“Fred!” Y/n’s eyes widen, completely not expecting such a sombre topic to come up on a Wednesday morning, especially after such a somewhat cheery morning “Can we please not, not now?”

“I need to say it Y/n, I need to get it off my chest, I’ve been thinking about it for days,” he had been acting differently, he’d been quieter at dinner and seemed to want to cling to her and George more, talking about going to the Burrow when it was safe to. So maybe that’s why she gave in, or maybe it was the soft ‘please’ he muttered afterwards that he paired with pleading eyes. She could never deny him, not when he looked like that, so sad.

“Okay,”

“If I don’t survive…” he keeps pausing and Y/n supposes that if she was talking about the same thing, she would do the same “I want you to remember me, I want you to remember us -”

“Of course, I’m going to remember you!” Y/n couldn’t believe he’d think she’d ever forget him.

“I know! I just need you to promise. Promise you’ll remember me and us. Promise me you’ll remember when we used to wake up at god knows when just to watch the sunrise and when the sun used to set in summer and we’d just lay out by the lake. Because you always talked about how it calmed you. I want you to remember how you used to write crap poetry and dramatically read to me and I could never really tell if you were joking or not, so I didn’t laugh and you always thought I was annoyed with you,”

Y/n feels a bit hot in the face at the mention of that, she was just a tad bit embarrassed.

“Promise me you’ll remember the sunrises, the sunsets, the parties and the snogging but also promise me you’ll remember this, lazy mornings in bed, cooking together and cuddling. And promise me you’ll see me again, even if it’s in a Quidditch portrait at school or photos around the flat, or memories or dreams. Promise me you’ll remember me?”

“I promise,” she whispers, kissing him slowly “But don’t worry about it too much. Neither of us have to worry, because you’re not dying. Not on my watch,”. Fred smiles and in seconds, the subject seemed to be forgotten as he bops his fiancé’s nose and starts a conversation about what their brunch should be.

Y/n remembered that conversation now as she stood in a graveyard, staring down at what would have been her future husband's tombstone where she’d recently placed some flowers, right next to George’s.

She remembered the sunrises,

“Freddie...I’m too tired for this…”

“Promise me, it’ll all be worth it love,”

and the sunsets,

“Are you okay?”

“No... but just, watch this with me,”

the parties,

“You have had far too much to drink,”

“Y/n! I missed you!”

“I just went to the loo,”

“Yeah, but I love you!”

the snogging,

“Fred...we cannot be doing this here,”

“Shhhh, tell me you don’t get a little bit of satisfaction from doing this in Snape’s classroom,”

and the lazy mornings in bed, cooking together and cuddling.

“I love you,”

“Are you talking to me or the pancakes I just brought you?”

“Y/n, it’s on fire!”

“What?!”

“Joking…”

“You twat!”

“We should get up…”

“No! Stay here, just a bit longer,”

She remembered everything. She would never forget and while she may only ever be able to be with Fred in her dreams, she still loved him more than anything. She’d be with him someday, when it was her time to go.

‘Say you'll see me again

Even if it's just in your wildest dreams’

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pixie88 · 3 years

Text

Oxford to the Cotswolds

Chapter 23 - Always the Bridesmaid.

A/N: So here it is the LAST chapter of Always the Bridesmaid. I kinda feel sad but I know it’s not the end of H&L.Thanks so much @aussieez for proof reading. Thank you again to all those following this story and continue to follow it, you have no idea how much it means to me that you take the time to read.😘

I’m finalizing my tag list for this over the next few days, so again if you like to be tagged just let me know!

Read previous chapters HERE!

Warnings: Fluff & NSFW

Word Count: 2914

Pairings: Laila x Harry

Enjoy! 😘

A week later.

After their little spat, Harry decided maybe now was the time to take up his parents offer of using their cottage. They had their trip planned out, they would leave London on the Sunday morning stop at Oxford for a day or two and get to his parents' cottage on the Tuesday afternoon. "We are staying in an old prison that has been converted into a hotel?" Laila asks as they drove along the M40 "Yeah, I thought it was unusual and right up your street?" he takes his eyes off the road for a second to wink at her "You know the whole cops and robbers thing"

She rolls her eyes and laughs, "I'm guessing you're the criminal?" he smirks. "Nah, I'm a law abiding citizen, my love. You seem like the troublemaker here!" she laughs, "I've been looking up all the sites we need to visit while we are there"

He knew she wouldn't be able to visit a place without doing her research.

"Where do you need to visit then?" she smiles at the fact he asked "So, there is the obvious Bridge of Sighs, which is kind of a copy of the Rialto Bridge in Venice, Carfax tower the views of Oxford, from there are supposed to be amazing, Martyr's Cross which is a cross they have in the road where two Anglican bishops and the Archbishop of Canterbury were burned, oh and there is a Harry Potter tour around the University as some scenes were filmed there and Oxford Castle which is right next door to our prison hotel!"

"Sounds like a couple of days of learning!" he laughs at her "NOT just learning! There is a bar with magical cocktails, ones in test tubes, with fire and even smoke!" she's excited.

Harry doesn't know it, but Laila is a bit of a history buff, if she goes somewhere new she will research the hell out of it. Not long after they moved to London Laila was still adjusting to life in the city, Ezra could see his granddaughter struggling, so he planned a day out with her.

They stood on platform 5 at Harrow and Wealdstone Station "Grandad, where are we going?" she asked him "You will see when we get there!" he smiles at her. The train ride wasn't long. Fifty minutes later they pulled into Bletchley Station "Grandad, why are we here?" he chuckled "And I thought you knew everything about World War 2!" he winks at her, but it doesn't click until 10 minutes later when they were standing outside Bletchley Park.

Laila's eyes are wide "Oh my god!! This....this is where Alan Turing cracked the enigma machine!!" she squealed with excitement before hugging him. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she's beaming, she takes his hand and drags him through the doors.

This was one thing he and his granddaughter had in common, was their interest in World War 2. They spent hours looking around the huts where it all happened. He never saw her face light up so much as she looked around at the artefacts. They had a look around Station X (National Radio Centre) and when they finally reached the Mansion Laila was overjoyed "Grandad, just think all those people that helped crack the code have been in this very room...no house!!"

They spend hours looking around, before grabbing something to eat at hut 4 "Grandad, just think this is where they would get lunch or even dinner!" she looks around the hut "Laila, just think while they were here no one knew! They had to lie about working here, they couldn't tell anyone even family members. They had to take a vow of silence" he said.

This rang true, as years later Max was building an annex for a couple at the end of their garden and when he got talking to the Nan, whom the annex was being built for she told him how her mum worked at Bletchley Park and had to take a vow of silence which she kept until the park reopened as a museum in 1994.

When it was time to go home Laila couldn't thank him enough for taking her there "Just don't tell your brothers!" she laughs, "I've taken the Bletchley Park vow of silence!"

They finally arrived, Harry pulls into a parking space outside the hotel and a valet comes over Harry hands him the keys and they head in with their cases. They check in; "you will be on the fifth floor in room 135, so take the lift to the right once you go through those doors. Here is your room key and enjoy your stay!" she smiles. "I'm sure we will!" Harry grins at her before they make their way to their room.

"Did you ever watch the TV show Bad Girls?" Laila asks him as the lift takes them to the fifth floor. "I did! Izzy made me watch it with her. That woman that played Yvonne plays Shirley from Eastenders now, doesn't she?" she laughs, "I thought you don't watch it?" she nudges him as the doors open "I don't but when you put it on what am I supposed to do?" he winks.

"129...130...4 more rooms to go," she calls behind her. "Actually 5 more my love," he laughs, she turns to look at him "No! You don't include our room!" she protests. "I think you do," he laughs at her. "NO! No, you don't," he doesn't argue with her.

They dump their bags and head out to look around the city "Oh, they have a Harry Potter tour" Laila's tone is ecstatic, Harry sighs "Don't you want to do it?" she asks "If you want to we will do it" her eyes scan his face "Did the kids in school use to take the piss out of you in school because you had the same name?" she asks, he laughs, "No, if anything they used to call me...oh what was his fat mate called?"

"Crabbe?" she looks at him. "Yeah, that's the one," he offers a weak smile, she runs her fingers through his hair before her arms cling around his neck "Well, who's laughing now? I bet a lot of the girls and boys that bullied you regret it now! You are handsome, fit, funny and you are mine" she winks, he can't help smiling at her "And I have a drop dead gorgeous girlfriend" he says making her blush.

"We'll do something else," she smiles at him and kisses his lips "No, we'll do the tour if you want to!" she looks how long the tour is "2 hours, argh, I'd rather be doing some kinda cardio" he looks at her confused and she laughs, "use your imagination, you are a personal trainer" she winks. He quickly gets the hint "Right, what do we need to look at before I drag you back to the hotel?" he grins at her.

Later.

After dinner, they had back up to their room, "I'm going for a shower" Laila winks at him "OK, I'll grab one after you," she smirks "I was thinking more along the lines of you joining me," she doesn't have to ask him twice, he picks her up and she wraps her legs around his waist as he walks them to the bathroom.

After their shower, Laila notices the chocolate on the bed as she's drying herself. "Oh wow! They're shaped like handcuffs!" she giggles "Hmmm.....that reminds me," he wanders over to his case in just his towel and pulls out a pair of metal handcuffs. "And what do you intend to do with those Mr. Taylor?" she bites her lip "Oh, maybe make an arrest," he winks at her, she notices his arousal through the towel "Oh, on what grounds?" she asks.

"Hmmm....for being stubborn and sarcastic, but also gorgeous, funny, adorable and extremely impossible not to fall in love with" he stands in front of her, pulling off her towel until it drops to the floor. He cups her face, his thumb runs over her lips before capturing them with his, he lifts her arms above her head and his hands run up her arms before he suddenly cuffs her hands.

She smirks against his lips "Oh, PC Taylor, what do I have to do to get you to uncuff me?" his kiss becomes more intense. She drops her hands, so they are wrapped around his neck, he moves them until the backs of her knees hit the bed. They fall onto it with Harry landing on top of her "Well, Miss. Carelli, I think you can convince me somehow" his fingers finds her core.

She hisses at the contact, his other hand comes up and pins her arms above her head as he found her slick petals. "I thought I was the one who had to.....oh shit...convince you to free me," she can barely get her words out, his lips find her pulse line "How exactly are you planning on doing that?" he smirks against her neck.

"Stand up and I'll show you," he does as she says, she sits up and pulls off his towel. Grasping him, she works her hand along him a few times before her mouth follows the same path, he groans as his hips thrust forward in need. Her pillowy lips work along his hardened member, he grunts as her jaw slacks, taking him in further "Fuck...." he mutters.

He rocks his hips back and forth as her tongue runs along the ridges of his cock, he grips a fistful of her hair. His head fell back as he groans, "That's...it gorgeous! Fuck...". She hums against him and her pace moves faster. His knees bucks, her apex is throbbing as she feels him nearing the edge "Laila....I'm...gonna....fuck!" he jerks as he hits his climax and he groans.

She releases him from her mouth and looks up at him. "Are you going to uncuff me now?" she asks as she's sat on her feet, he looks down at her with a grin. He lifts her up and throws her onto the bed, making her giggle "Hey, you said would take these off!" he has a mischievous grin on his face. "Well, Miss. Carelli! I prefer to have you like this, sorry." he captures her lips.

"That's not fair......." she protests, but she soon cuts off as he moves down her body to her centre, his hands grasp the back of both her thighs. His tongue moves apart her folds "Oh Harry!" she moves her arms to run her fingers through his hair. He pulls away, lifts her arms above her head again and kisses her lips "Keep them there!" he tells her before moving back to her core.

Her breathing hitches, he sucks against her clit, making her cry out "Ohhh"

A little later.

His legs are entwined with hers beneath the sheets, she's cuddled up against him as her head rests on his chest "When we get back do you think we should look at properties?" she lifts up and places her hand against his chest stroking his chest hair, looking up to him. He smirks at her, "definitely!" he strokes her hair away from her face "What if we have a look online now?" she stares into his ocean blue eyes and bites her lip waiting for his response.

He reaches for his phone "Let's have a look," he loads up and scrolls through the properties. "What are we going for?" he asks "Somewhere with gates, private drive and pool," she laughs, he digs his fingers into her ribs and she tries to wiggle away "Ahhhh! Harry! Stop!!" his phone is discarded, he cups her face and claims her lips.

His body covers hers and he takes her against.

The next day.

They are back in the car on the way to Harry's parents cottage in Wyck Rissington, Gloucestershire.

Along the way they find a supermarket and grab a few essentials before they continued their drive. They arrive at the cottage 10 minutes later "Aww wow! This is cute!" she smiles as they get out the car. "And it's ours for the next few days" he winks at her.

They head inside, "wow, look at those beams!" she points up at the ceiling. "Have you been here before?" she looks to Harry. "Nah, Mum and Dad haven't let any of us use it...well until now" he winks.

Once they bring in their bags inside, he takes her hand and they have a look around when Harry spots a hot tub outside "Oh, what do we have here?" he nods as he opens the door "I didn't bring a swimsuit!" he has a devilish grin. "Who said anything about swimsuits?" she bit her lip and shook her head at him.

Harry runs Laila a bubble bath with candles around the tub and told her to relax while he cooked dinner. The water was warm against her skin as she sinks into the bathtub, a minute or so later there is a knock on the bathroom door before Harry wanders in with a glass of wine "Here you go, my love," she smiles up at him as she takes the glass "Thank you! So, what's for dinner?"

He leans over kisses her nose and winks "You'll find out when it's on the table. Now enjoy." He leaves her to it.

34 minutes later.

Laila walks into the bedroom and Harry has laid out a dress grey dress on the bed for her to wear. She smiles and starts to get dressed, underneath she puts on some lacy lingerie she had brought for the trip. When she's dressed, she goes in search for Harry, as soon as she saw him, she blushes but can't help but laugh.

"Harry!! What are you doing?" he's stood in the kitchen in just an apron and his boxers, he looks up at her and grins. "You've heard of the Naked Chef right?" he winks. "But he isn't actually naked!" she laughs at him. "I'm not either! I was thinking about it but I thought that would be unsanitary. I see you're wearing the dress I picked out for you." She makes her way over to him.

"Yeah, but the view would be...very sexy," she squeezes his behind "What's for dinner?" she looks around him on the kitchen side "Ah, ah, ah go and sit down," he moves, so she can't see, she sighs, "Fine!" Laila pulls out her phone and sends a picture she took earlier.

Laila looks over to Harry, biting her lip and he catches her checking him out. "You realise I'm not dinner right?" He says. She looks up catching his eye, "might not be dinner, but there is always dessert!" She winks twirling her hair. He chuckles turning back to cooking.

She puts down her phone as he comes over with 2 plates, placing them on table. "Ooo spaghetti and meatballs!" he pours them more wine, Laila twirls her fork collecting the spaghetti "Did you ever see the film The Lady and the Tramp?" she looks over to him. "I have. Mila made me watch it once." He laughs. "Do think we can do a Lady and the Tramp kiss?" she hold up a a string of spaghetti and he chuckles "We can try. Let me put it in my mouth first" Laila cracks and can't help but laugh "OH MY GOD!!"

"Come on, let's give it ago!" He takes the end of the spaghetti and lifts the other side to Laila, she takes it in her mouth and begins to get closer to Harry until their lips are just above each other's. He brushes his lips lightly over hers before pulling away. "Come on, eat up" he smiles at her and she rolls her eyes at him.

After dinner, he takes their plates. "I'll wash them up," she offers. "You can or I can put them in the dishwasher," he jokes, "Actually, you load the dishwasher. I'm going to start up the hot tub!" she gets up from the table "Already done, my love!" he winks at her. "Oh OK!" she stands and lets her dress fall off her shoulders until it's a puddle on the floor.

He looks her up and down. "I didn't bring a swimsuit, but this will do?" say asks as she makes her way to the back door. His eyes never leave hers, she grins, knowing she had him hook, line and sinker. He quickly closes the dish washer and chases after her, she squeals running from him and towards the door.

@lem-20 @aussieez @secretaryunpaid @irisofpurple @khoicesbyk @txemrn @gloriousalmondvoiddreamer @tea-me-kah @casualpostqueen @beautifuluknownvoid @wombatsxkookaburras

Their moans fill the night sky, both are blissfully happy.

Series 2 - Chapter 1

#atb #Always The Bridesmaid #final chapter #original writing #harry x laila #oxford #oxford castle #oxford martyr #oxford university #malmaison oxford #Original Work #original character #original story #@pixie 88 original

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willowistic22 · 3 years

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ok im gonna say it, what taylor swift song is romeo besides love story

Haha was waiting for this one actually. Can’t believe I can’t use love story grr. but yeah i get it. though plsss gimmie the chance to add a little bit of love story? I just love that song yknow. And jfc when I say ‘love’ it doesn’t always mean the romantic kind, aight? N e wayyys lesgo !

Love story. Pretty self explanatory actually. ‘We were both young when I first saw you’ I feel that him being a hopeless romantic started pretty young. He was young dumb but in love and that’s basically how he is when he’s in love. He loves the feeling when he first falls in love, when a love is still young. You don’t really know what you’re doing but you still act like you are because you can’t help it. Romeo mostly embrace the the whole being young and in love just because he loves the feeling and believes that PDA isn’t as bad as ppl might think. Well, not entirely but just enough yknow.

Invisible String. The song is basically the soulmate trope in a song form. And he does believes in soulmates. Let me crack into the... angsty stuff heheh >:). He has a long history of loving himself and sometimes doubt that there are ppl out there that would actually like him yknow. So he pretends there’s like this invisible string that connects him to others. Like destined to meet these few certain ppl. That’s what has kept him afloat all this time. Not many ppl would know it but it’s the truth.

Wonderland. ‘Didn't they tell us don't rush into things?’ and also ‘We found Wonderland, you and I got lost in it’ Now this one is more towards his mentality in stuff. Sometimes when he’s clouded with love (romance or otherwise, take your pick) he gets too easily excited like ‘woah!!! someone likes me!!!’ and goes a bit too quickly. Many ppl were scared off by how clingy this kid can get. Romeo has learned to calm himself yknow, but sometimes he gets too lost and forgets all about it. The second one is mostly because, in plain simple words, he thinks the world is full of shit. His mental health has been hit hard and some days just seem so plain and boring and he’s tired and he didn’t even know why he got up that morning. Sometimes he closes his eyes to pretend he’s somewhere he wants to be. Where he’s wanted and it’s acceptable to cling on ppl. Where he’s not tired and the world around him is in fact wonderful to be in.

Blank Space. Some ppl will describe him of having an endless list of ppl he was once associated with. Call it lovers, friends, whatever. Mostly they get scared bcs the more time they spent with Romeo, more of his true colors are being shown. Some impressions Romeo left them was ‘annoying’ ‘clingy’ and ‘too serious in stuff’. It’s only because Romeo just wants to find a connection. He likes stuff with meaning behind it. Not those meaningless relationships or small talk. He wants to find someone to give his all. Obv these ppl has shown him that when Romeo is proper and polite, just like the way he usually presents himself towards strangers, they like him but not when he’s being his passionate self and so they don’t deserve his heart. ‘Got a long list of ex-lovers, they'll tell you I'm insane’ Lots of ppl misunderstands his passionate self as ‘crazy’. But that’s just how he feels his feelings. Whether he’s sad, happy, or angry. It’s all because he has all this passionate energy to use up. Now here’s the kicker: he doesn’t give up to find that connection. He knows he’ll most likely get his heart broken again but he’s resilient.

Lover. Yes, yes, we’ve made it perfectly clear that he’s a hopeless romantic. But this song specifically resonates with him. ‘Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years?’ Romeo never half asses anything when it comes to getting to know others. He will go out of his way to listen to your laughter and sorrows because he loves the human personality. He thinks it’s so complex and amazing. Sometimes in one conversation he can really get a lot of information from someone. ‘With every guitar string scar on my hand, I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover’ After all that disappointment he is still determined to love. Like I said before he’s resilient when it comes to these things. ‘Can I go where you go? Can we always be this close forever and ever?’ Once you got his love he will stick with you forever. This might be in a way calling him clingy and maybe he is. But that’s just how he shows his loyalty towards someone. And the rest of the song is basically what it’s like for Romeo to be in love and to be loved by Romeo. Beautiful and at peace, like you’re floating on clouds and everything in the world doesn’t matter anymore.

...Ready For It. Haha yes this sounds like a stretch but bare with me. ‘But if he’s a ghost, then I can be a phantom. Holding him for ransom, some’ I feel that despite the ‘bad impression’ he’s given ppl that left him, he did left some form a good mark on them too. Some have tried to insert themselves back in his life, realizing that maybe Romeo isn’t as bad as they thought he was. Of course, there are others that don't, which is always fine for Romeo’s end because he does understand that he’s ‘not for everyone’. ‘In the middle of the night, in my dreams. You should see the things we do, baby’ Despite his openness to love anyone, he does have his own standards. A vivid version of the kind of ppl he would like to share his heart with but he doesn’t over stretch himself to get them to like him other than maybe the usual meeting a person for the first time.

Don’t Blame Me. ‘Don't blame me, love made me crazy. If it doesn't, you ain't doin' it right’ Let me tell you that when it comes to forming a connection/relationship, it really brings out Romeo’s true colors. And I’ve said before that that’s when ppl start leaving him bcs he doesn’t like his passion being executed in a lot of aspects of his other personality. He’s considered ‘crazy’ for that. ‘Lord, save me, my drug is my baby, I'd be using for the rest of my life’ But when it comes to connecting to the right ppl, he will shine and thrive. Maybe he’ll use this opportunity to finally be himself without fearing that these ppl will leave his as well. ‘For you, I would cross the line’ and then there’s the priceless loyalty towards those ppl that I've mentioned. Yeah, Romeo will do anything for the ppl he loves.

This Is Me Trying. It’s how I think Romeo in his low would look. I’ve mentioned before that his mental health sometimes hits very low that he can barely do anything. It looks more like everything that he does is so tiring and all he can do is just stay in bed. He wants someone to know that he’s trying his best to get up just to brush his teeth or get some food. He wants someone to know that he’s trying his best. As much as he wants to, he can’t get through a day like that all alone. He needs someone else to be the one telling him to do things because days like these are usually when Romeo can’t bare to listen to himself. A simple ‘I’m proud of you’ from someone else can be enough to get him to other things that seems difficult. But hey, he’s trying.

To quickly sum it up: Love story is how he views love to be (young, beautiful, yet stupid in the same way) and he proudly embraces it. Invisible String is how he believes in soulmates to cope with the disappointment he faces from ppl that don’t like his true colors. Wonderland is how he tends to get over excited when it comes to ppl that show any form of attention towards him that can be viewed as affection plus how he likes to pretend to be in a world where it’s okay for him to be clingy. Blank Space is how his passionate soul somehow turns him into a crazy person that can’t make a connection with others last. Lover is for how he feels/looks when Romeo does love. ...Ready For It is for how he leaves different kinds of marks on the people he had once connected in the past. Don’t Blame Me is for how the people he wants to connect to brings out his true colors and how he will thrive when the person he connects with is the right one. This Is Me Trying is how Romeo looks like when he’s in his lowest moment and needs someone to support him.

If this doesn’t make any sense then I’m sorry just ignore this pls:)

#romeo #romeo newsies #newsies #we love that for my boy romeo #this is how I see my boy #sometimes i think i'm good at explaining things but there are others times where i'm not :')#tw cursing #tswift

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clumsyclifford · 3 years

Note

hm hi maybe i will officially ask you if you want to hurt me and write a therapy fic. i vote malum but. you do as— no you know what i'm me this is a malum prompt i'm sending you okay love you bye

hiya taylor i hope you realized when you asked for this that it would be angsty as fuck, so i really can’t apologize for uhh writing something angsty as fuck!! BUT with a hopeful ending because we know how i am

tw for suicide ideation, suicidal thoughts, depression

read it here on ao3

Michael is winded from the moment they walk onstage.

He’s been all smiles all day. Somewhere he’d heard that smiling was supposed to trigger some kind of happy brain chemical, a creepy fake-it-’til-you-make-it strategy. It has not worked. Michael is exhausted from the effort he’s put into looking like he’s okay. The smile has become a grimace, and he doesn’t have the energy to make it look more realistic. Cameras capture upturned lips and that’s enough to convince them he’s happy, which is the important thing.

He doesn’t intend to watch those videos when they’re edited together. He can’t even bear to look in the mirror these days. The travesty of him that stares back out with dead eyes only makes him feel worse. At this point he’d doubted whether or not he could actually feel worse.

Standing in front of almost thirty thousand people, it turns out he can. Or at the very least he can feel equally bad in a different way. He’d been drowning before, but he’s choking now. Dying either way.

If he died onstage, slain where he stood, what would his band do? What would the thousands of fans do? Maybe it would be a mercy. Michael’s a liability right now. He’s frozen in front of thousands of people at the fucking O2 Arena, for fuck’s sake. The band is supposed to be skyrocketing and Michael is a faulty engine, fuel that’s caught fire. If they keep him around they’ll catch fire too, and then they’ll all be free-falling, instead of just him.

They’d hate him if he died onstage, though. Michael would hate himself too. At the O2, of all places, really? How much more of an attention whore can you be? Couldn’t have waited for a smaller venue to have a heart attack? Or maybe a hotel room? Someplace you could be alone?

Shit. Fuck. The loud cheering has wavered, and all three of his bandmates are giving him concerned looks. Michael fights for breath and finally — for better or for worse — manages to take in the oxygen he’d been missing. And then he forces yet another smile, for his bandmates — but he can’t look at them, can’t see the looks on their faces, not right now — and for the stadium. The sound of screaming doubles in intensity. Michael is already so tired, and they’ve only just started the show.

Luke yells something lead-singer-y and Michael’s hand shakes against the strings of his guitar until he starts playing, closing his eyes for a moment so muscle memory can take over.

It’s too loud. One way or another, he’ll drown; his lungs aren’t working the way lungs are supposed to, and if they’re not filling with air they might as well fill with water.

Holy shit, he thinks, because he knows enough to know that these are Dangerous Thoughts. But he can’t deal with that right now because they have a show, and after the show he’s fully booked with Pretending He’s Fine from now until forever.

On the opposite side of the stage, Calum catches his eye, and Michael tries to infuse his hollow smile with warmth, sincerity, anything to make that worried expression melt away, but he’s not stupid enough to think it’s worked, even when Calum turns away. Although Calum does turn away, so maybe it means he knows Michael’s lying and just doesn’t care.

You’re in the middle of a show, you fucking idiot, says Michael’s evil subconscious. They’re not going to stop the show in the middle just because you look like you’re seconds from death. You always look like that.

Right. Right. Michael’s done this to himself. Calum’s not crippled with concern, and he shouldn’t be; he’s Michael’s best friend, not his fucking therapist. Not that Michael has a therapist. Nor does he want one. No random stranger would give a fuck about his bullshit problems, and neither would a random stranger with a PhD.

Fuck. The crowd is getting louder. Is it possible for them to get louder? Or is that all in Michael’s head? Or is everything all in Michael’s head? Are the in-ears keeping the fans’ screams out, or Michael’s screams in? Fuck. Shit. Oxygen is being awfully unreliable today. It’s so loud. Michael closes his eyes again. He knows this song. He’s played this stupid fucking song a thousand times. He could play it in his sleep. He could play it in his casket. That might be what he’s doing right now.

Fuck.

Michael is in a constant game with himself, pushing his own limits just to see where he’ll snap. The way he sees it, it’s like exercising a muscle; wherever he breaks, he grows back stronger so he won’t break there again. At this point his threshold is high enough that when he’s feeling particularly masochistic — although when isn’t he — he really has to work for the breakdown.

It’s a blessing and a curse to be able to handle this much. It means that even when everything is wrong, Michael doesn’t collapse. Which means that he can still play an entire concert at the O2 Arena without having a meltdown, but also that by the time he actually does break, his insides are charred from all the damage control that hasn’t quite succeeded in containing it.

At least a hotel room is a better place for it than an arena stage.

He can feel it creeping up on him, and he knows it’ll be soon. It won’t take much. There’s already enough wrong as it is. The hotel room is too cold. It’d been nice for a little bit, immediately after the show when he’d been sweaty from the performance, but now it’s making him shiver.

He has sweatshirts, hoodies, blankets. But that would be cheating. Michael stays where he is, sitting at the chair by the window in the tank top he’d played in, staring outside at the sprawling mass of London with all its flickering lights. Sitting by the window is also definitely not helping the temperature situation, but Michael isn’t shying from the crash; he’s trying to induce it.

Just then, Calum comes out of the bathroom, still towel-drying his hair, and Michael knows what’s next.

Sure enough: “Hey,” the same way one might talk to a baby animal, like if Calum talks too loud he’ll startle it. “You okay?”

Guess, Michael thinks, swallowing. Take a guess. What do you think? “Fine,” he says, because that’s his line. Calum won’t believe it, as well he shouldn’t, since Michael is lying.

“You don’t seem fine,” says Calum. His voice moves around behind Michael as he gets dressed in joggers and a hoodie. “I saw you when we went on to play tonight. You looked like you’d seen a ghost.” There’s a pause. “Like you were a ghost.”

Michael swallows again, and it’s more difficult this time. His eyes sting; his fingers twist anxiously around the hem of his shirt. “That’s a bit dramatic.”

“Well, you didn’t see yourself,” Calum says.

“Was probably the lights.”

“Don’t be like that, Michael. It’s not like I think you’re okay. I know you’re pretending for the rest of the world, but you don’t have to pretend for me.”

Fuck.

This conversation is not going to be your breaking point, Michael thinks fiercely to himself. Calm down. He inhales raggedly, although it does nothing for his composure. He’s breathing around thorns only by telling himself that they’re roses, and all the while they shred the walls of his lungs, making it more difficult to cling to oxygen when he takes it in.

I’m not pretending, he wants to tell Calum, but he can’t. “Well, you don’t have to worry about me,” he returns. Fuck. His voice sounds shaky and the lights of London are swimming in his vision.

“I don’t worry because I have to,” Calum says. His voice is closer, but before Michael can figure out what he’s doing, he’s taken the seat across from Michael at the window, dropping a flannel into Michael’s lap. “I worry because I love you. You’re shivering.”

Is he? Michael hadn’t noticed. He looks down but he can’t see anything, but if he blinks then the tears will fall and Calum will notice and Michael will have to admit that maybe this is his breaking point and he doesn’t want it to be but he is cold and when he blinks even his eyes feel cold and he quickly looks back at the window and moves his hands on top of the flannel and Calum says, “At least put it on, it’s cold enough in here without wearing a tank top,” and Michael’s throat closes up because however much he can control himself around cameras and crew members and friends and fans, something about Calum makes him completely unravel.

Maybe it’s not that this is his breaking point. Maybe it’s just that this is a safe place to break.

(Maybe it’s a little bit of both.)

So he picks up the flannel and pulls it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves, and he sniffles and says, “Thanks,” voice all fucked up and wobbly.

“Yeah,” Calum says softly. “What’s on your mind?”

“I’m tired,” Michael whines, and that’s the last he manages before he’s crying like a little kid, tears streaming — it’s been so long since Michael’s cried and he’d forgotten that tears were this relentless, fresh new ones falling now matter how many times Michael tries to squeeze them away — and Calum moves like he’d just been waiting and pulls Michael into a hug, where Michael hides his face and tries to hold his breath because he’s going to die eventually and it will probably happen soon and Michael would at least like to die in Calum’s arms, while he has the chance. But the sobs wracking his body force him to inhale so that plan falls through almost immediately. Because Michael can’t even die right. Fuck.

“Oh, babe,” Calum murmurs. His arms are tight around Michael. “I’m sorry, love, honestly, I’m so sorry.”

Michael can’t stop crying or else he’d say why are you sorry? even though he knows this is more of a sympathetic platitude than anything. Calum does sound sorry but surely he knows it’s not his fault — that this is Michael, all Michael, Michael’s fucked up brain and fucked up self and total inability to get his shit together like everyone else. The more successful the band gets, the worse he feels, and he knows that’s not what’s supposed to happen and he feels even shittier that he’s not being fucking grateful for everything the band is giving him and all the opportunities he has thanks to this, and instead is so stuck in his own fucking head that he’s tallying the passing days like an apocalypse survivor, counting each one he lives through. Or possibly counting down until his death.

The wrenching sobs slow to nothing. Calum doesn’t try to get Michael to talk, and that itself gets Michael to talk. The silence is worse, and Calum is here, and Calum is safe, and Calum loves Michael.

“I am not okay,” he mumbles into Calum’s shoulder, which should be a given at this stage, but Calum only squeezes him a little tighter and doesn’t interrupt. “I know that’s a shock.” Calum hums. “I can’t explain why. I don’t know. I just know that this…isn’t how okay people feel.”

“Yeah,” Calum says quietly.

“I don’t know what to do,” Michael says helplessly. “I don’t — I don’t know. But I keep — like — the things I think, you don’t even…you don’t want to know. If you’re worried now, you definitely don’t want to know.”

“I am worried,” Calum says. “But you can tell me if it’ll make you feel better.”

“I don’t want to. It’s not your job to be my therapist.”

“I’m not trying to be your therapist, I’m trying to be your friend.”

“It won’t make me feel better. I’m not going to tell you,” Michael says, though that just means Calum will draw his own conclusions, which might be worse. Not that anything is worse than Michael’s actual thoughts. He adjusts his grip on Calum, tightening his hold. The flannel is falling from around his shoulders, but he doesn’t want to move to pull it up.

“That’s okay.”

“I hate this,” Michael whimpers. It hits him like a hurricane how true that is. “I don’t like this. I don’t want to not be okay. It’s not worth the effort.”

“I know,” Calum says, rubbing circles on Michael’s back.

None of them are okay, truthfully. That’s why Michael can cry on Calum’s shoulder; he knows Calum would cry on his. It’s possible he’s a little worse than the rest of them, but he’s not alone. There’s a twisted comfort in knowing that he doesn’t really have to explain himself to Calum.

“I’m sorry,” he says mournfully.

“Don’t be sorry, you’ve got no reason to be sorry.”

Michael nods, though he’s still sorry. But they won’t get anywhere if Michael’s always apologising. It’ll only serve to annoy Calum, and right now Calum is all Michael has. If the world got any bigger it would crush him, so he keeps it close; it’s only him and Calum and the chill emanating off the window and the flannel dragging against Michael’s back.

Later, when the world expands again, when Michael can bear it, when he’s expelled all the water out of his lungs and stuck plasters over the cracks in his facade to hold himself together, Calum will sit with him on the bed with his laptop open before them and type up a search for virtual therapy despite Michael’s half-hearted protests. Later, Michael will sort himself out a little, Calum by his side to pull him over gaps when Michael’s too much of a coward to step across. Later, much later, a Michael of the future will write about the Michael of the present like he’s a distant memory, using past-tense verbs to make the most tragic sentences into a success story. That Michael is okay, or at least more okay.

“I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I really think you’re going to be okay,” Calum whispers into his ear now, pressing a lingering kiss to the curve of his jaw.

Which doesn’t make anything better in the long run, but certainly doesn’t hurt to hear right now.

“Thank you,” this Michael sighs, as Calum tugs the flannel back up over Michael’s shoulders.

“Of course,” Calum says lightly. “I love you.”

“Love you too.”

Present Michael can’t see past this moment, but as he takes his first deep breath in days, inhaling the familiar scent of Calum and warm from Calum’s embrace, he thinks that if the future were to hold more moments like this one, it might just be worth living through.

#michael clifford #calum hood #malum #malum fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #suicide mention #sorry taylor #but like i really am not sorry #you literally asked me for this #you SAID 'hurt me' idk wtf you were expecting #i hope it was something like this #there is just something about hotel rooms man #anyway. my lungs gave out as i faced the crowd blah blah blah #michaelownsmyheart #ask #answered

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welllpthisishappening · 4 years

Text

Drew Stars Around My Scars

Hello, hey, hi there. It’s raining, I’ve already lost track of the number of times I’ve listened to Taylor Swift’s new album and haven’t written anything in weeks. Until now! Thanks, Taylor Swift. And @optomisticgirl who reblogged this post a few days ago from @initiala about how Killian holding Emma in 3x22 isn’t just that he’s trying to comfort her, but he’s trying to make sure she didn’t disappear.

Which, like...ok, cool. Anyway, I have thought about this for far too long now and started slamming on keys when the kittens weren’t sitting on my laptop and here’s like 4.1K that may or may not make sense, but at least includes some scathing opinions of Back to the Future. Also, thanks to @shireness-says for always being like...yeah, I want to read that.

-----

She sniffles.

She can’t seem to stop.

Tears stream down Emma’s face without much thought because thinking too much is a daunting obstacle that she can’t even begin to consider yet. Or ever. Definitely ever. Another sniffle, this one actually making her cough somehow, which is a bodily reaction she was not aware she was capable of.

Until right now.

When everything seems to be falling apart around her.

God, she hates time travel. And magic. And evil queens. And parents who can’t recognize her. She supposes she should give them a pass. For a variety of reasons, least of all the magic that’s cloaking both her and Kill—no, that’s not right. Hook. Captain Hook. He’s Captain Hook and she’s still not a princess, but the dancing was almost nice and he hadn’t even slowed down before he was drawing his sword and the jacket spin was something even her muddled thoughts have been able to cling to, so—

He’d held onto her while her mother burned. Tightly. Almost too much.

Emma nearly trips over a tree root.

“Shit,” she breathes, pressing the pads of her fingers into damp cheeks. Her dress is too long. Maybe she’ll mention that to Rumplestilskin later.

Once they get home.

Back to Storybrooke. Those are not interchangeable words. None of this is interchangeable.

Even the trees around Emma look different than the ones she only vaguely remembers from her last jaunt through the Enchanted Forest, taller and a little more imposing, like they’re also aware that she’s one good sniffle away from falling off the metaphorical edge.

Directly into a chasm without magic or parents and she didn’t even get to talk to Mary—

“Nope,” Emma says entirely to herself. So, it seems insanity is looming just a bit closer than she realized. “Not here.”

Or ever. There’s that phrase again. Two words, technically.

Two words probably don’t constitute a phrase.

What does she know, she didn’t graduate college. Or high school, technically.

“Literally,” Emma mumbles, and it’s almost impressive how that one word still manages to sound as loud as it does. As if it’s bouncing off the sides of those same tall and decidedly imposing trees. “Literally didn't graduate high school.”

Something snaps behind her.

There are far too many twigs on this forest floor.

Spinning on the balls of her feet, Emma’s hands fly up, only one of her wrists cracking in the process, and it’s difficult to make out the face moving towards her, but the set of his shoulders is exactly the same as always and that cannot possibly have any deeper meaning.

“Swan?” “God, fuck what are you—” Emma is out of breath. That’s absurd. And a rather unfair commentary on her lungs ability to function. She’s had something of a day, after all. Running a hand over her face, she does her best to retain her higher brain functions, but that’s admittedly difficult when there’s moonlight gleaming from the point of Killian’s sword.

Captain Hook.

Captain. Hook.

Maybe the state of her lungs is partially his fault. He really held on very tightly.

“What are you doing out here?” Emma manages to get out, once she’s taken another pitiful breath. She hopes her lips don’t start to chap. There’s probably not an easy remedy for that in the goddamn Enchanted Forest.

Hook gapes at her.

She grits her teeth. And regrets the state of her knees. They keep wobbling under her, traitors to her emotional cause and the state of several body parts aside from her obviously failing lungs. Whatever’s happening in the general vicinity of her heart seems unstable.

Erratic, even.

“Making sure you’re alright,” Hook says like it’s obvious, and it almost is. Almost. What another piece of garbage word. “You’ve been—” Shaking his head once, the ends of his hair don’t move as much as normal, and Emma flinches when he sheaths his sword. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright, that’s all.” Emma is going to lie. She is. Has every intention of letting the word fine pass through her lips, but those lips open without any sound coming out at all and Hook’s eyebrows jump.

“Thank you.” “Excuse me?” “Thank you,” Emma repeats, finally giving into the urge of her knees and, if nothing else, the length of this dress makes it easier to sit on one of these overly large tree roots. Hook’s eyebrows don’t move. “Should have, uh—should have mentioned that before, probably.” “Thanking me?” “What part of this is confusing for you?” “Quite a bit, in fact,” he admits, and he doesn’t sit, but he also doesn’t look away from her and Emma is pleasantly surprised to find she almost sort of likes it. Almost. Again.

Letting out a breath that she wishes sounded more like a laugh than it does, Emma’s tongue darts out. “Shit, that..well, that sucks, doesn’t it?” His eyes widen. “That’s not a euphemism,” Emma adds. “Just out of place slang.” “You might have to be more specific, love.”

“That’s fair. I—ok, stuff sucking is...well, it just means that stuff is...not great. Like right now, you know...things are—” She shrugs. And tries to smile. It fails spectacularly.

Emma sniffles again.

“Not great?” Hook ventures, and he has to readjust his sword to sit next to her.

“Less than ideal.”

“You’ve been gone for nearly half an hour. I was worried something had happened.” “Hence the sword.” “Never want to be too careful. And you’re—” “—At least capable of still punching people,” Emma argues, not sure why she’s doing that exactly, but it feels like a matter of pride at this point. She exhales loudly. “But, uh...it’s nice that you came out here. I’m sorry that you had to do that too.” They both hear the words for what they aren’t — vast and a little overwhelming, and time travel is so overrated. Emma can’t believe what a popular fictional trope it is. Snow White was never supposed to die. The ends of Hook’s lips twitch, but he doesn’t actually smile, and that’s actually nice and maybe that’s her biggest issue.

Everything about him has been so goddamn nice.

He was much better at dancing than she expected him to be.

And he keeps following her. She doesn’t mind that.

Might even—

No. Not now. Not yet. Or ever. Again. God.

“It’s not a problem, love.”

Emma swallows. Nods. Tries not to fall over that ledge. “I just...needed some time to think, I guess. Is that dramatic?” “No. And suggesting it sucks does have a certain charm to it.” “And you know all about charming, don’t you?” His left eyebrow arches. Some things never change, she supposes. Emma focuses on that. And not how she’s fairly certain she can feel waves of heat rolling off him, even with the few inches between them. Possibly a foot. She’s not great at estimating measurements.

Or much else, it seems.

That’s a far too depressing thought, though.

“I believe I’ll leave that particular moniker to others in the party,” Hook says softly, sitting down. “Would you like to talk about it?” “Which part?” “Dealer’s choice.” “That one crossed realms, huh?”

“Some sayings know no bounds,” Hook smirks, and whatever sound Emma makes at that is even closer to a laugh than the last one. She takes that as a positive. “None of this is your fault.” “Practice that a few more times and it might sound more legitimate.” “Swan, that’s—” “—No, no, no,” Emma objects, not standing up, but she shakes her head quickly enough that strands of hair slap at either one of her cheeks. A few of them stick there. Probably because of the tears she can’t seem to stop. “All of this is my fault. I—I should have waited for help with the portal and everything I’ve done here has only made it worse and—” Another sigh, dragging her hand over her cheek. “—Fuck Marty McFly. And Doc Brown. It was so weird that they were friends, why didn’t anyone ever explain that?” “Did they not?” “No, not once. We were just supposed to accept that Marty met some senior citizen inventor guy who was more than willing to steal dangerous chemicals—” “—And he wasn’t a wizard?” “No, he wasn’t a wizard. No magic in the real world.” Or me, Emma thinks bitterly, but that’s not going to help the situation anymore than her current rambling, and she can’t seem to stop rambling. “But Marty and Doc hung out all the time. And Jennifer didn’t even think it was weird.” “Who is Jennifer, exactly?” “Marty’s girlfriend, I guess, but it always seemed like they were just starting to date at the beginning of the movie and then they got married. Just like that. You think they went to the same college or something? Like once Marty left—shit I can’t remember the name of the town.” Hook hums, a sound Emma can’t actually cling to any more than she can hold the one positive thing that has happened to her in the last twenty-four hours in her hands. It is not lost on her that both of them have to do with the man sitting next to her.

Or how quickly his fingers keep fluttering over the hilt of his sword.

“How far do you think we are from Aurora and Philip’s...land?” Emma asks. “Is that the right way to say that? Did they have a land?” “I believe the word you’re looking for is kingdom.” “Oh, yeah, that makes sense. Should have known that.” “That’s not your fault either.” “You’re really harping.” “Playing a symphony, it seems.” She laughs. She does. It’s not that loud, and there’s a distinctly watery edge to it, the muscles in Emma’s face aching when she manages to smile, but she’s having a difficult time coming to terms with the dexterity of Killian’s eyebrows and her hand moves before she thinks about it.

The metal is cool under her skin, a smooth surface that she can drag her thumb across. Which is exactly what she does, an attempt to ground herself and remind her that she’s still here when she isn’t entirely positive she’s supposed to be.

Hook doesn’t move. Might not breathe, if the state state of his shoulders is any indication and Emma hadn’t realized she was in possession of so many opinions regarding Captain Hook’s shoulders. Or her ability to recognize them.

No matter what, it seems.

“While it may appear that I know everything—” “—Ok, I never said that.” Hook’s smirk grows more pronounced. “I was in Neverland for quite some time, and the boundaries of some of the Enchanted Forest kingdoms changed in the last hundred or so years. But,” he adds when Emma opens her mouth again, “we’re more than a stone’s throw from the land Aurora should be ruling. At least several days' travel.” “God, that’s confusing. And did all these kingdoms have separate laws and everything? Who came up with that? Seems like a garbage way to rule.” “I believe you’d have to file a complaint with several different monarchies for that, love.”

Emma scoffs. “It’s quieter here than it was in Neverland, though.” “Most places are.” “Colder too. I hate the cold. I’m always—can’t ever seem to get warm and my toes are always freezing, it’s...I’m a notorious blanket thief.” “Pirate of sorts, huh?” He grins as he says it and part of Emma wants to scream. Stand up and run, as fast as her feet and far-too-long hem allow. But that part is also smaller than usual, and she’s all too aware of the state her knees are in. “Something like that,” Emma agrees. “When I was a kid I used to live in this place. Snowed for months at a time and I—I hated it. Wanted to be anywhere else. Kept trying to find somewhere that was warm, sunny. Like that would chase away the shadows.” Hook is disarmingly quiet.

And Emma can’t shut up.

“But then I got some place where it never snows and it wasn’t what I thought it’d be. Dry heat, you know?” He shakes his head. That’s fair. Pirates with several-hundred years of experience under their belts should not be expected to understand meteorological cliches.

“Anyway,” Emma mumbles, “it wasn’t what I expected or thought was supposed to happen and—” She scrunches her nose. Hook waits. Presumably for the rest of the sentence, but it doesn’t come and she finds it difficult to breathe again when he starts talking.

“Sunlight always seemed better on the sea. Would reflect off the surf. Could see the entire horizon if you wanted to.” “And did you?” Hook nods. “As often as I could. Even when I was lad. My father used to bring my brother and I—” This might be their best and least organized conversation. Gritting his teeth, his shoulders shift when he inhales sharply. “These stars are different from Neverland’s.” “Really? Weird.” “Mmhm, made navigating something of a challenge.”

“But you’re here now, right?” “Presently, you mean?” Another head shake. More moving hair and unmoving fingers. Emma’s knuckles are white around the hook, holding it like a lifeline and she might have to spend the rest of her life thanking him for this.

It’s not as daunting a prospect as it should be.

“I mean past you is here,” Emma says, “in the Enchanted Forest. Doing pirate type things and offering Mary—” Her tongue gets in the way. As disgusting a thought as that is, Emma knows it’s better than thinking about what is actually happening, feeling as if her throat is collapsing in on itself while her heart does its best to beat its way out of her chest. “Shit.” Killian shuffles closer, not stopping until his knee bumps hers. “That happened from time to time. Leaving Neverland, doing jobs for—” “—Pan?” “Sometimes. He couldn't leave the island, you see. Not without losing the magic as well. Jolly’s crew was his only option. Although we always managed to stay here longer than he wanted us to.” “Well, pirates hate rules, don’t they?” “I believe that’s in the bylaws, aye.” She’s got absolutely no idea what sound that one is. Shaky and a little wobbly and some dark, half-forgotten part of Emma’s brain believes it’s drifting close to giggle territory. That can’t be right. She can’t giggle while she’s still crying.

The bylaws of the Universe probably frown on that.

“Is that how you wound up with Cora, then? Stuck around longer and got a good deal?” Nothing.

No answer. No jokes. Certainly nothing even remotely resembling a giggle.

Just the muscle in Hook’s temple, jumping rhythmically and consistently and Emma really does try to stay patient. Her sniffling makes that difficult.

“Something like that,” Killian repeats evasively, staring straight ahead like he can see through the trees. Maybe he can. What does Emma know. Some pirates probably have to have good eyesight. Make up for the eye patches and whatnot.

She nods. No one asked a question. “Ok.” “Ok?” “Ok,” Emma echoes, “you’re a real shit liar and I’m real great at telling when you’re lying, but—” “—Me specifically?” Yes. The answer is yes, but she doesn’t give voice to that either and maybe she should be writing all these things down. The things she’s not saying.

Should say.

Emma can’t believe she time traveled and didn’t even get to talk to her mother.

And that’s the first time she’s really allowed herself to think of Snow White as her mother.

“Super power,” Emma continues, waving her free hand towards her temple. Her other one is still clinging to his hook. “But that’s fine. You didn’t pry, so I won’t pry, I just—” Collapsing throats, she imagines, are supposed to hurt more than this does. This doesn’t hurt, per se, just feels passably uncomfortable, like there’s a wad of cotton in her mouth, making it difficult to say anything and Emma is so bad at saying anything, but Killian is staring at her and—

Killian.

She lets herself call him Killian. In her head, at least .

“I can’t come up with anything else to say except thank you,” Emma whispers.

“You don’t have to.” “Still.” “You’re welcome,” Killian says, and maybe words carry more weight in the past. By default.

“Can I ask you something, though?” He tenses. Noticeably. It’s another round of fair and understandable, Emma’s teeth finding her lower lip until she tastes blood. Another reminder that she’s still here. With her fingers wrapped around Captain Hook’s—

No, that’s not right. Captain Hook did not follow her into a time vortex. Or ask her to dance. Or wear the fuck out of that jacket. Although that last one could use a bit more work, at least when it comes to sentence structure.

The point still stands.

Captain Hook didn’t do any of that. Killian Jones did.

And he—

“When we were watching everything in the castle and Regina was you know…” Killian lips go thin. Emma might be staring at his lips. Past him had been a very good kisser as well. Maybe she’ll mention that at some point. After this. “Well, I just,” she stammers, “I was terrified, for my mom and my dad and even Ruby—God, is that her name here?” “Introduced herself as Red when Snow White sent her.” “Weird.” “Perhaps the best word for the entire situation.” “Or shitty.” “Aye that too,” he smiles, which is not weird. At least not as weird as it should be. “I wasn’t sure what was going to happen.” “Yeah, me neither,” Emma breathes, not exactly the explicit truth, but at least several steps without moving. “I—you have very strong arms.” “A compliment?” “An observation.” Killian chuckles, and this hair really is unfortunate. Normally, that one bit that Emma has come to regard as her own personal torture device would artfully fall across his forehead, a metaphorical arrow towards eyes that always seem to get brighter when they’re looking at her.

As they often are.

But while the hair is different, the distracting tendencies of his tongue are the same. The tip of it finds the corner of his mouth, a soft push on the inside of his cheek, and Emma’s not keeping a list — at least not acknowledging her want of a list — but the tongue thing is definitely one of Killian’s most telling tells.

Seriously, her sentence structure sucks.

“Although,” Emma adds, “it wasn’t that bad.” HIs tongue goes back in his mouth. She’s got to stop thinking about his tongue.

“No?” “No,” she says. “It was...nice.” So, off the top of her head, she needs to fix — sentences, her grasp of the English language, her tendency to repeat herself, and finding better adjectives for emotionally charged moments.

Possibly.

Emma still hasn’t called him Killian to his face, after all.

“What did you think was going to happen?” No tongue, but an obviously tight jaw makes Emma’s stomach jump into her still-collapsed throat. “Like I said, love. I wasn’t sure. Just wanted to make sure you’re alright.” The lie feels like it reaches out, smacks her across the face and then backhands her for good measure. It leaves Emma’s cheeks tingling and something tugs at the base of her spine. Not magic, because she still doesn’t have magic, but maybe magic adjacent, like a memory or hints of a dream that keep lingering at the edges of everything, and she promised.

She doesn’t push. She doesn’t prod.

She doesn’t pry.

And Killian has to move his sword again when he gets back to his feet. “We’ve got a fire going, if you’d like to warm up.” “Yeah, ok. Thanks.” Emma doesn’t let go of the hook, keeps her fingers curled around it as they move back through the trees and neither one of them stumble, a very small, but much needed victory because—

Well, everything kind of continues to suck.

At least for a little while.

Snow White isn’t dead, but she’s a bug, and then she’s not a bug and Emma has no idea where Ruby goes. She’s too busy worried about this nameless woman and wielding a branch gets her another laugh and a smile she’s going to think about for at least seventy-two hours straight. Then there are trolls, and tears of the less-pained variety. Rumplestilskin continues to be any forest’s biggest asshole, and there’s magic and another round of crying and—

Emma runs.

Sprinting across Storybrooke, she ignores the ringing phone in her pocket, determined to hug her parents and hold her kid with her own display of impressive upper body strength.

And it gets better, less suck-like, at least. Food and smiles and the way her mother’s hand feels when it rests on top of Emma’s.

Until she’s sitting — tucked into the corner of a booth with her own face staring at her from the pages of Henry’s storybook and Emma can’t quite recognize the person there. The happiness on her face feels like...well, a story. A good one, but something that she can’t believe was hers or is hers or could be hers and she’s got to add tenses to that list she only kind of remembers.

Glancing around, the muscles in her neck object to the stress she’s putting them under, because time travel is awful and exhaustion is starting to creep its way up her spine.

“Looking for someone?” her mother asks, and Emma’s lips pop.

That’s it.

She understands. Fucking goddamn finally.

Emma might nod. Or shake her head. It doesn’t really matter.

There are no words. No explanations. Just clamoring back to her feet, the bottoms of her boots sticking to the linoleum near the door because one of the dwarves definitely spilled punch at some point and—

His head snaps up as soon as the door closes behind her.

“So, do you think Rumplestilskin is right?” Emma asks, dropping into one of the wrought-iron chairs at the table Killian has commandeered. Pirate term. “I’m in the book now. He said everything, besides our little adventure, would go back to normal. Do you think that it is?”

“He’s right. Otherwise I’d remember that damned bar wench I kissed.” She smiles. Wide and honest and easier than anything has ever been. And Killian doesn’t flinch when she teases him, like that’s something Emma is allowed to do, but she figures once she uses his name and once they start making out like teenagers it’s fine, and this is her favorite kiss.

By far.

No sounds, no rum, nothing except the feel of his fingers in her hair and her knees bumping against his and she tries to claw her way into his space, a burst of colors behind her closed eyes that she knows is magic and him and them, a collective unit that—

“You came out here,” Killian murmurs, the words barely making their way through the haze of Emma’s post-makeout brain.

She bumps her nose against his. “Turnabout and all that. I...I didn’t want you to be by yourself. And I had a thought.” “Which was?” “Did you think I was going to disappear? When Regina tried to kill my mom. I—you said you didn’t know what would happen, but that wasn’t—” “—Super power, huh?” “Not cool to interrupt when I’m theorizing.” “Well, you don’t like being cool, do you, Swan?” Her smile is going to get stuck on her face. That’s...nice. “Was that what it was?” “The thought had crossed my mind, aye.” “Smart guy.” “High praise.” “I’m an official princess now. In the book and everything, so favors from me hold a certain weight, don’t you think?” He smirks. She tries to memorize it. Every shift of his mouth, the spark in his eye and slight scrunch of his nose, what might be a few freckles there or a trick of the dim lights above them.

Emma’s skin feels like it’s vibrating.

“Thank you.” “You don’t have to keep saying that, Swan.” “Yeah, I know, but—I didn’t think about disappearing, but I did think about wanting something to hold onto and that’s...thank you.”

It’s not enough. Not really, but even the concept of holding her tight enough to ensure that she didn’t disappear in some fairy tale realm is a lot for Emma to wrap her mind around, so she’s going to give herself a pass on this one.

And kiss him instead. Kissing Killian is quickly climbing to the top of a brand-new list of Emma’s favorite things. In every known realm. His tongue swipes her lips and she opens her mouth at the same time her eyes fall shut again, a tilt of her head and bump of their chins, and it’s not easy to deal with all of their assorted limbs at this angle, but that just ensures that this is a bit slower and softer and something that is, quite obviously, the start.

Because she came after him this time.

#cs ff #captain swan #cs fic #captain swan fic #captain swan ff #THANKS TAYLOR SWIFT

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ilooklikeaburntchickenugget · 3 years

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Only Mine (Pt. 6)

A/N: We’re using Taylor songs again because we love Queen Taylor. So these are not my works (obviously) but hers. However if you’ve never heard some of these I would highly suggest you check them out because all Taylor songs are absolute bops. Pairing: Gerard Way x F!Pop Star!Reader Word count: 3,541 Warnings: Swearing, implied sex (no smut though), arguing (minor)

You found the release of Fractious to be the most ironic days of your life.

You were in the media everywhere, selling only a few thousands copies less in it’s first week than your previous record. Which you were fine with, that was somewhat of the plan.

But you were no where to be seen. Hiding out in a new house you and Gerard had bought New Jersey for just under three million dollars. But no one knew about that purchase, other than your closest family and friends. Because no one needed to know.

The suspense of it all started extremely high, as you only announced the album 12 hours prior to its drop. And the world went insane, fans jumping to Twitter to go absolutely crazy over this new persona that they had already began to love, and some had already caught onto the ‘good girl gone bad’ idea.

You released the entire tracklist only three hours before the drop, and you were already stalking fan pages who began making theories about what it meant. There were already a lot of ‘THIS ONE’S ABOUTE GERARD’ and theories already popping up about him, which made you lightly smile knowing damn well a lot of it was.

The tracklist read: Blank Space I Knew You Were Trouble Style End Game I Did Something Bad I Know Places Out Of The Woods Dancing With Our Hands Tied Don’t Blame Me Getaway Car Clean

You smiled and lightly laughed once you refreshed your phone on the couch, your face and name at the top of iTunes and various other music providers promoting your new album.

“Congrats babe.” Gerard said from where he sat next to you, giving you a kiss and squeezing your thigh, “I’m proud of you.” “Thanks Gee.” You leaned your head onto his shoulder, “I love you. So much.” “I love you more.” He smiled down.

What made it all the better was how MCR was entering into their punk era, only making your album and new persona more believable. You had to admit, Gerard’s red and shaggy hair was really hot, and you were living for it, as you had told him a million times.

And you knew how much he loved your new era. As much as he genuinely loved the real, bubbly you (which is of course why he married you) he continuously admired your new all black look, managing to wear skin tight jeans and short shorts with more crop tops than usual and leather jackets galore. And you can’t forget how many pairs of Doc Martins you had, plus Louboutin boots all for the red bottoms. You basically looked like a filthy rich home wrecker, AKA the look you were going for.

But at home and in private you were the same old Y/N, always letting your natural hair fall into its regular ways, with little to no makeup and not ashamed to wear whatever you wanted.

What seemed to put the cherry on top to this new era was the newest addition to your family, AKA a black french bulldog named Rocko the two of you got. He was a tornado of chaos who would run around the house with his dozens of toys, taunting you and Gerard with them as if to show some form of superiority that he clearly lacked. You treated him like he was a newborn baby, constantly. You bought him clothes, beds, and toys, letting him sleep with you and Gerard despite your husbands protests about how he “took up too much room”. To you, the little canine could do nothing wrong.

That was until he chewed up your favorite pair of shoes, which just oh so happened to cost multiple hundreds of dollars. Gerard was furious at his actions, complaining that there was no reason for him to do so with the countless amount of toys he already had. You were mad at first too, but after only a few seconds of the pup giving you his eyes of sympathy you forgave him and moved on as if nothing happened. Gerard was still in his state of anger though.

“Oh, look, the designs for the tour outfits came in.” You smiled from where you laid on the couch, checking emails on your laptop, Rocko at your feet sitting between you and Gerard who was reading a book. You opened up the file to be greeted with all dozen outfits, which were beyond perfect. Gerard looked over, interested in the topic. “I like that one.” You pointed to one especially scandalous duo of tiny shorts and an even smaller top that could have been easily mistaken for a bra if it wasn’t for the thicker material on the all black set with black tights. “It makes me look like a whore.” Gerard nearly spat out his coffee.

“But you’re not a whore.” “Yeah, well, my alter ego is.” You smiled. “And you made her that way.” You looked up at him from quickly, “Take that as a compliment.” “How is me turning my wife into a whore a compliment?” He asked, puzzled.

“Just take it as one.” You huffed.

“I do think you’ll look bad ass in it though,” He remarked, returning to his book.

“Awww, thanks babe.” You blushed, “Maybe I’ll ask them to make you a matching outfit.” You lightly laughed. “Haha, very funny.” He rolled his eyes.

“It sucks we’ll be touring at the same time.” You sighed, “I miss being able to see you and the guys more.” “Yeah I miss you too,” He sighed as well, “And Ray does too.” You lightly laughed.

“Ray’s coming to the first show, right?” You asked, looking up at Gerard. He nodded.

“He cleared all of his schedule to go and he’s pumped.” You smiled.

“Good.” You closed your laptop, climbing over to give Gerard a kiss, which he happily accepted and did the same back. “Somedays I wish you kissed me the way as you do Frank.” You lightly smiled, letting go as he chuckled.

“I mean, I could.” He smiled at you, running his hands through your hair, “But that’s more aggressive and in the moment. I prefer to savor the kisses I have with you, let you know how much I love you.” You smiled, lightly rolling your eyes.

“You’re so sappy sometimes, Gee.” You responded, “But I love it.”

That night, as you were going to bed, you stopped in your mirror momentarily to take a look at yourself. You had gained 25-ish pounds since your break from the spotlight, still recovering from your ED. Your doctor said that you were healthy now, but some of the fatrolls that fell on your sides and hip dips as well were starting to bother you. And your stomach still had that bit of blub that you were never very fond of.

Gerard walked past you in the bathroom, immediately getting the memo. “Am I too fat?” You turned around and asked him, his face turning to a form of ridicule.

“You’re a fucking goddess.” He said looking you up and down, “So no.”

“Are you sure Gee-” Before you could finish, he grabbed your hand and practically dragged you to bed where he pushed you down with ease beneath him, giving you a searing kiss.

“You’re fucking gorgeous and the most beautiful woman alive. If you say one more thing about you not being perfect I’m going to frame every photo of you in every inch of this damn house so you know just how incredible you are.” “Fine.” You sighed reluctantly. “Now say it with me,” He began, “I, Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N-Way am perfect.” You sighed, choosing to go with it.

“I, Y/F/N Y/M/N Y/L/N-Way am perfect.” “Good girl.” He said with another quick kiss. You lightly laughed, rolling over to your side of the bed to give Gerard his. You took your hand, running your fingers through his messy hair as the two of you stared at each other.

“After these two tours, I think I want to take a break.” You admitted, saying so above a whisper. He lightly nodded. “Maybe we can start a family.” He nodded again. “And settle down.” He gave you a kiss on the nose.

“That sounds perfect.”

-Time skip because I’m lAzY-

You were on stage doing what you do best, simultaneously swaying your hips to the music and going along with some of the choreography, as if the skin tight black and sparkly body suit and above the knee black boots weren’t enough.

As usual, you would look over to your husband where he was in the VIP section and sing to him, a smile plastered on his face. You would occasionally look over to see both the approval of your family, and friends, including Ray who seemed to be having the time of his life dancing and singing the lyrics.

The show was going absolutely perfect, it was bigger than any other that you had ever done, a larger stage, larger screens, larger everything. Even a larger crowd with over 100,000 people for your first show on tour. You could hear the audience echo your lyrics, jumping up and down judging by the movements of their light up wrist bands.

You of course played a few songs off of your previous album, doing a few acoustic with just you and the crowd which were some of your favorite experiences and moments. You also did a quick speech thanking all of your loyal fans who waited for you to come back with new music, despite the long period of time where you were no where to be seen.

After the finale, you ran back with a huge smile still on your face with your team, drinking some water constantly to hydrate yourself. It only took you a few moments in the back hallways of the stadium before you saw your husband at one end, smiling at you. You smiled back, running up to him and clinging your arms around him. He hugged you back, giving you a quick kiss. “You did great.” He whispered with a huge smiled, “I’m so proud.” “Thanks.” You smiled back, giving him another kiss. The two of you walked away, arms around each other as you leaned onto him. You tried to keep PDA to a limit, especially since the documentary was actively being made and was recording everything.

Once you were back in your private dressing room where no one else was, he gave you an even bigger hug, swinging you around and you lightly squealed. “You’re just so good.” He laughed.

“Thanks.” You smiled at him, letting go to go and take off your makeup at the chair. “I just gotta meet a few fans then we can go back to the hotel.” You told him through the mirror and he nodded.

“Y/N?” You heard your assistant knock at the door. “Hey, Betty.” You smiled up at her and she smiled back.

“I assumed you would want Rocky with you.” She said, putting the small black dog and he ran up to your chair.

“Ah yes,” You smiled down at him, picking him up and giving him a bunch of kisses on his little face, “Thank you.” You told her and she nodded, “No problem.” She closed the door back. You held the small dog in your lap, finishing off your face and hair before getting up and putting him down to change into regular clothes from your stage outfit.

“Gee?” You asked and he hummed, looking up from his phone, “Could you unzip me?” You asked and he nodded, getting up to do so. Usually Gerard would pull something after that, making it less PG, but you shot him a quick glare warning him not to do anything, so he didn’t.

You quickly replaced your stage clothes with a pair of jeans and sweatshirt, turning around to see Gerard still staring at you, wide eyes. “Oh please,” you sighed at him, “We’ve been together for over eight years Gee, handle yourself.” “Sorry, it’s just really hard to.” He tried to defend himself, you rolled your eyes.

“I’ll be back soon, babe.” You smiled, giving him a peck on the lips before excusing yourself.

The meet and greet went by as always, taking about half an hour before you said bye to everyone, taking photos, and then went back to Gerard. He was still on his phone on one of the couches in the room, Rocko by his feet. “Ready to go?” He asked, looking up, and you nodded grabbing your phone and backpack.

On the way out you couldn’t stop smiling, hand in hand with Gerard going in one of the large black SUVs, you going in first, then Rocko, then Gerard. “How’re you feeling?” Your husband asked and you just smiled.

“Great,” You admitted, taking a sip from your water, “Everyone loved it.” He gave your thigh a squeeze and looked at you.

“It was definitely pretty bad ass.” He smiled and you lightly laughed.

You had walked into your suite, setting your bag and the dog down, placing him in his bed (in the living room part of the room) while Gerard grabbed him a bowl of water. You gave the dog a quick good night kiss, resorting to your own room where Gerard followed, closing the door behind you.

Almost immediately your lips were clashed together, his hands on your waist as he swiftly put you on the large plush duvet of the bed, moving down to your collarbone and neck.

“Do you want me to stop?” He asked for only a brief moment, as a double check. You shook your head violently.

“No,” You sighed out, “Please no.” He smiled down at you connecting your lips against. “Whatever you want, sugar.”

-Another time skip-

You wouldn’t have ever known if it wasn’t for the insane amount of fatigue and throwing up you were going through, only a month into tour. Initially you could’ve sworn it was just a cold turned to maybe the flu, as many of the symptoms you were having would go away within a few hours, so you were ready for show time.

But here you sat in your hotel room, curled up on the bed with Rocko next to you, your mind completely empty as you stared into the thin air, Betty had run to the nearest pharmacy. What were you going to do on tour? Fans would figure it out easily. But what would you tell Gerard?

Once Betty came back she gave you a somber, almost apologetic smile handing your the small bag. You thanked her, closing the door and going into the bathroom.

You stood over the bathroom sink, your hands gripping the granite edges for dear life as you stared down at the three tests. All positive. It took you a few minutes of staring, rocking back and forth, for everything to sink in.

This was not how you planned it, it was never supposed to go like this. You and Gerard were going to take a break, settle down, have your first child and be together all through your pregnancy. Now you were both on huge tours promoting your new work, away from home for at least the next five months.

You could feel warm tears stream down your cheeks, a small sniffle coming from your nose as you grabbed your phone. Reluctantly, you pressed on your husband’s name, pressing the small phone icon displayed underneath it. You put your face up to the screen slowly. Only a few rings and he answered.

“Hey Y/N/N,” He said, “What’s up.” It took you a few seconds, but you immediately bursted into sobs. “Baby? What’s wrong?” He spoke up, voice with lots of concern.

“Gee,” You began, sniffing again through the sobs, “I’m um- I’m pregnant.” You said. No one spoke for the next few seconds, complete silence on both ends of the line.

“Sweetie,” He said in a light voice, a small laugh following afterwards, “That’s great!” “No, Gerard, it isn’t.” You snapped, “We had all of this planned out perfectly, no one was going to know unless we wanted them to. But no, in the beginning of a fucking world tour this has to happen.” You raised your voice, “And I get it, this is gonna be a fucking walk in the park for you because you’re not here, and you don’t have to play in front of over 50,000 people every night in body tight suits. And you’re going to be separated from your pregnant wife. Life’s probably fucking perfect for you.” You weren’t sure what had gotten into you, but whatever it was it wasn’t pretty.

“What?” He asked, “You say it like we never wanted this. Sometimes things don’t go to plan Y/N.” He snapped back.

“Well they have to in our world Gerard!” You yelled, taking a deep breath to calm yourself down, “We have our lives set out for the next six months. And this is a big deal, and something we can’t do right now.”

“So are you going to get an abortion? Are you going to put it into the adoption system?” He yelled back. You took a few moments to think.

“No.” You admitted, barely above a whisper, “Gee, I’m sorry.” You began sobbing again, your sad feeling taking over any angry one.

“No, sugar, I am.” He clarified with a sigh, “You’re going through a lot and I should be supporting you, not arguing.” “Well I kinda started it.” “And I shouldn’t have continued it.” He responded. “Honey, we’ll figure this out.” He insisted, “We’ll talk to your tour manager and everyone who needs to know, we’ll figure something out. Some way to hide it.” “Okay.” You said somberly.

“Give me a few minutes,” He said, “I’m going to figure out a way to get to you.” “Gee, you’re booked for the next fews months on tour.” “And so are you, but you’re also carrying our child right now.” He spoke back, “We’re going to figure it out, okay? We’re going to have a kid, and start a family, maybe a little off track from what we intended, but this is what we’ve wanted, right?” You nodded despite him not seeing you.

“Yeah, of course.” You calmed down. “This is what we’ve wanted.”

It took a full week for a plan to be made. A week of unnecessary stress and anxiety for everyone on your team who was high enough on the roster to know about the pregnancy. Not even your families or friends knew, everything right now was business.

Gerard managed to fly in during a three day break the band had, consoling your emotions during the time as you two began to discuss personal plans. There was a lot of crying, both tears of sadness and joy, as you two began to discuss where you would live most of the time, which room the baby would take, how to even handle a child.

You already knew the baby’s name, which could go for either a boy or girl: Shiloh Monet Way. You were still very unsure about planning to have a baby, but since your tour would end when the third trimester began, you would have at least a few months to plan and figure out everything.

Gerard had already talked to the guys and their managers about pushing back some of the dates so there was a month break for him to be home around the baby’s due date. At the very least he wanted to be with you while giving birth, but he also wanted to help both you and the baby recover.

New outfits and plans to completely hide your pregnancy were already in the working with your teams. It was like a completely undercover operation to keep both you and your child’s privacy to a fine tune. And of course. Gerard and the guys promised to not say anything at all, even a hint towards you being pregnant wouldn’t be dropped.

“I say we wait to tell our families and friends,” You admitted to your husband, the two of you on the hotel bed getting ready to go to a sound check. “Just in case anything happens. I mean, we have to tell our teams and the guys and stuff, which we did, but no one else.” He nodded.

“Just not for too long,” He said, “Or at least once we know that baby’s developing fine.” You nodded and sighed.

“I was hoping having our first child together wouldn’t be this stressful.” You admitted, almost shamefully in a way.

“It’s okay, sugar.” He put his hand on your thigh and gave it a light squeeze. “We’re going to make the best of it, okay? You have a little less than five months left on your tour and then I get to take a break. This’ll work out just fine.” You nodded, placing your head on his shoulder as you knew he was right.

“You make everything better, Gee.” You said, playing with his hand as he placed a kiss on the top of your head.

“I’ll do it for you, sweetheart.”

#gerard way #my chemical romance #gerard way x reader #mcr gerard #my chem #my chemical gee #my chemical gerard #my chemical romance x reader #gerard way fanfiction #mcr

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blog-carmex · 3 years

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So... I did a thing. I’m really nervous about it, but I’m going with the rip-the-bandaid-off method. I’ve been listening to 1D yet again and got hung up on the lyrics to “Love you goodbye” and then the glee watch folks sparked an idea no one asked for. This is it. You’ll find a lot of the lyrics used in this but hopefully not too noticable. Also a little Taylor reference, people how know the name of the song that tiny bit of lyrics is from will get it.

@gorgxoxus this is for you, even tough you may not want it.

Rated: M

Warnings: sad times, sexy times, mentioning of other partners

Read on ao3

EDIT: I was just made aware that this is really similar to @20xbetterthanu recent fic. So before you continue please go to Ally’s fic HERE and give her some love because she is freaking amazing.

Blaine knew the moment he opened the door for him. Kurt standing there in his blue button down with the delicate pattern that appears to be lace. “Vivienne,” Kurt had told him, “Westwood,” he had clarified. Like Blaine needed clarification.

He leans up to him, whispering “Don’t do this to me,” against Kurt’s lips before kissing him softly. One of his hands comes up to Kurt jaw, framing it softly. The slightest hint of stubble against Blaine’s palm. The other hand links with Kurt’s, the wedding band secure around his finger. Warmed by him wearing it for a while now. Definitive in its place.

Kurt hands covers his on Kurt’s neck, breaking the kiss but leaning their foreheads together. Both of them breathing into the shared space.

“Blaine,” Kurt mumbles after a moment, “let’s go inside.”

Blaine’s grip tightens on Kurt’s hand. The wedding band digging into his own fingers as he pulls Kurt with him to the couch, snuggling close to Kurt’s side. Silence follows, only broken by their soft breathing.

“Talk,” he prompts.

“Blaine,” Kurt begins but is interrupted in an instant.

“No, Kurt. Look at you,” Blaine lifts his head to watch Kurt’s face as he continued. “You didn’t come to apologize.”

Kurt nods and begins to tell Blaine. Tells him about Thomas like Blaine hasn’t known for weeks. Like Blaine’s heart hasn’t already been breaking and this is just the final twist of the knife. While he continues to press himself closer to Kurt’s side, hoping it will help to keep himself together, to not shatter into pieces. It doesn’t. Still, he stays there and listens to Kurt telling him about how they started talking again and ended up spending more and more time together. How this is something Kurt has wanted for a long time and how it isn’t something he can walk away from.

“He is my husband after all.”

“He hasn’t been your husband in years, Kurt,” Blaine cannot help himself but to spat at him.

“Blaine, I don’t want to hurt you,” Kurt says softly, stroking down Blaine’s back like he has countless times. The intimacy in its naturalness unbearably painful.

Then don’t, Blaine wants to say, wants to remind Kurt of all the places they’ve been to, the nights they have spend together, the times the world seemed to lay in their hands. But there aren’t words for this. This is it, there is no right way of ending this. Knowing this doesn’t keep him from pressing his lips against Kurt’s. Nor does it keep him from letting his tongue trace Kurt’s bottom lip, sliding between them as soon as Kurt’s lips part. He just wants one more taste. One more time for Blaine to pretend Kurt is his, although he isn’t anymore, maybe never has been. Whereas Blaine will irrevocably stay his.

So instead of speaking he just kisses Kurt harder, takes his hand and leads him to the bedroom. Kurt doesn’t protest. The only thing he says before they reach the bedroom being “I won’t stay the night, Blaine.” Blaine already knows. This will be the last mercy Kurt will give to him. But even if by tomorrow Kurt won’t be his, he wants to feel loved for just a moment longer.

“Take it off,” Blaine demands when they stand next to his bed. Kurt steps back a little, his eyes fixed on Blaine while he slides the ring off of his finger and places it on the dresser. Blaine doesn’t look at the ring. He has once, when he found out Kurt kept the ring by finding it in his bedside drawer. It’s a simple ring, sleek, white gold. Your hand prints on my soul engraved inside.

He steps closer to Kurt again, starts to undress him. His eyes following his fingers as he unbuttons every button with careful movements. When he is done Kurt shrugs off his shirt, moving to undo his own belt and take off his pants. The very same activity has been romantic many times. Two lovers eager to share themselves with each other. Those times it wasn’t been accompanied by heartbreak. Blaine lowers his gaze while he strips out of his own clothes.

As he stands there, naked and exposed a hand enters his field of vision. An offer, an act of reconciling before he will be left in despair. There is no other choice than to take it. There never has been.

Kurt leads him to the bed, lays him down. His eyes wander down Blaine’s body, his finger following. The lightest touch leaves goosebumps along its path. Kurt presses closer to his side, one of his legs slides in between Blaine’s. Kurt is already hard, he can feel him against his hip. Blaine isn’t.

Kurt kisses him then. Slow and deep kisses, his tongue teasing, exploring leaving Blaine no other choice but to follow. He gives himself over, concentrating on Kurt’s mouth and wandering hands, never leaving his body. He wants this, he is the one who grabs the lube and spreads it onto Kurt’s fingers. His legs falling open for Kurt by instinct.

He doesn’t give Kurt much time before he is pushing back onto his fingers, forces him to start off with two. His cock grows harder from sheer anticipation. Kurt has him writhing on the bed, head thrown back, before he pulls his fingers back out. When Kurt shifts on the bed Blaine opens his eyes again to find Kurt fiddling with a condom wrapper. Blaine’s eyes are fixed on Kurt’s hand, his fingers still glistening with lube. They haven’t used condoms months, decided not to after getting tested together. But that was because they had been exclusive. Apparently those circumstanced have changed.

He can feel his throat tightening, averting his eyes he turns around, presenting his ass to Kurt. The first contact he feels is Kurt’s hand sliding along his back, then his cock against his hole. When Kurt begins to press in, he moans, trys to push back. But Kurt won’t let him. Slowly he slides all the way in, his hips press against Blaine.

He can hear Kurt taking in a shuddering breath before he leans down, his chest pressed to Blaine’s back. Kisses along his back and neck, arms wrapped around his body, tears in his eyes. He knows Kurt won’t allow them to fuck. They are making love like all those timed before. When Kurt tightens his arms around his chest and pulls him up, he doesn’t fight it. He gets up to his knees, lets himself lean back into Kurt, knowing he will catch him.

Blaine wraps his arms around himself too, finding Kurt’s and linking their hands together again. Kurt buries his nose into Blaine’s curls, breathes him in before gently starting to thrust into him. There isn’t much room for movement with both of them clinging together, it doesn’t matter. It is enough for Blaine’s head to fall back onto Kurt’s shoulder in pleasure, breathless whimpers leaving his lips. Kurt kissing and licking along the side of his neck in between low moans.

Kurt doesn’t speed up, keeps the thrusts slow and languid, making Blaine feel every moment of his arising orgasm. When he comes, he bites his lip. He may have given Kurt everything, but he will not give him this, will not moan his name another time. Kurt comes moments later, thrusts still not speeding up.

After, the pretense is gone. Kurt pulls out, disposes the condom in the bathroom. When he comes back into the bedroom he doesn’t come back to Blaine. He goes to the dresser and puts his ring back on. Blaine’s gaze lingers on his body for a moment until it lands on Kurt’s hand.

When he looks up to Kurt’s eyes, he can see the hurt he avoided facing the whole time. This is the worst part. To know this is hurting Kurt. Knowing he loved him. Loves him. Kurt loves him. Just not enough. He has never been loved enough.

“Why did you put that on,” he asks.

“You know why I’m wearing the ring.” Kurt doesn’t look at him.

“Not the ring, the shirt,” Blaine clarifies. He doesn’t get an answer. “You wore it the day I told you I love you.”

“I’m sorry, Blaine.”

“Okay.” A word of acceptance, agreement. He feels neither.

He wants to beg. Wants to beg for Kurt to stay. But he knows there’s nothing he can do to change this, nothing he can to negotiate it.

Blaine turns around. He doesn’t want to watch Kurt leave. He can’t watch another person turn their back on him. There’s no need to watch him leave. His image will be forever imprinted in his soul anyway. There is no getting over this. He knows he will be okay someday. He will live with this. But getting over this, he won’t. He knew the moment he opened the door for him.

#omfg #what am i doing #i'm shaking #now i'm probably going to hide for a week #also this isn't beta-ed #wanted to post if before im a chicken again #but if there are mistakes or you want to critizise anything please feel free to do so #not my mother language and stuff #ahhhhhh

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asphalt-cocktail · 4 years

Text

For the Sake of Content- Chapter 9

Chapter 9: Curiosity Killed the Cat

Summary: After walking in on your long-term boyfriend, Harrison, cheating on you and then losing your job the following day; your find yourself broke, jobless, and single for the first time in a long while. In order to make ends meet, your best friend since college, Freddie, suggests you start soliciting explicit photos of yourself, not only to help boost your confidence but to help pay the rent for his band mate’s apartment you just moved into.

A/N: Hi everyone! Sorry this took me ages to write, I was having a bit of writers block with the chapter, but I finally got it out! I also finally got the plot moving and am hoping to make this around 15 chapters or so, maybe 20 if I can figure out some more discourse that could happen or something. But I’m open to suggestions for what the readers want to see!

Pairing: Roger Taylor x F!Reader

Warnings: Language, mentions of sex work, smut, fluff, some friendly banter between roger and reader, Dom!Roger, Angst, public kink, consensual filming, alcohol, smoking, mentions of cheating, idk its really just sex, not proof read

Word Count: 3.7k

The bar the boys played at tonight was dingy and small, per usual, but you found yourself not minding because you found that the dirtier the bar the better the beer and the better the crowd. You also had the company of Veronica while the two of you waited for the boys to go onstage, she told you about her night with John, apparently it went without a hitch and he loved the lingerie, as you suspected.

Roger pulled up to your side, slipping his hands around your waist and placing an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, “Do you want to do it before or after the show?” He murmured against your skin.

You felt your stomach clench and let out a soft nearly missed gasp before you shrugged him off “After, I wouldn’t want to ware you out too much.” You couldn’t help but drag your tongue along your lower lip in a tantalizing manor causing Roger to break out into a smug grin. You didn’t know why you wanted to make him wait, knowing what was coming made your nerves stand on end and caused you to clench your thighs together, maybe it was because you knew the build up would be worth it.

Roger’s face maintained his smirk and he slipped a hand under the skirt Freddie had helped you pick out and grabbed your ass in a less than graceful manor. You jumped and playfully shoved his chest, “Go set up your kit, rock star.” You joked as his hand lingered in place before he padded off.

The lights flickered on and off, catching the attention of everyone in the bar while your four favorite boys filed onstage and fiddled with their equipment and set it up. A murmuring hum of voices died down when the sound of the guitars tuning and tinkering on the drum set filled the room. It was loud, just how Fred liked it and you could feel the vibrations of Brian’s Red Special practically vibrating your teeth together and the beat of Roger’s bass drum thumping against your chest. You could already tell this concert would be good.

Roger twirled his sticks between his fingers and made faces at the girls in the crowd to rile them up, he wore his shawl with no shirt underneath and a pair of too tight jeans that he probably stole from the thrift store while his hair looked as though it was strategically messy. You couldn’t wait until he took you in the bathroom and fucked you against the bathroom stall.

Your thoughts were quickly interrupted by the sound of Brian’s fancy guitar and Roger’s symbols crashed together and Freddie’s voice sang out. The lights flashed to the beat of Roger’s symbols and Freddie’s stylishly garish outfit flowed as he riled up the crowd with his movements. When the lights turned on, revealing their stage illuminated in red you couldn’t help but gape at them.

They truly all had magnificent stage presence. Brian and Freddie in their nearly matching outfits, John with his subtle head bobs that you knew would soon lean to him hopping about stage, and Roger’s brows furrowed with focus as he banged on his set for dear life.

The lights dramatically shifted to blue and Freddie stood confidently in the middle of the stage as he introduced the next song “It’s time for the” He took in a deep breath “Ogre Battle.”

Somewhere between the beginning of the concert and the small little drum solo break you saw beer, bouncing rhythmically on Roger’s drums as he threw his head back and spat. You could tell from the red lighting shined off his chest and the way his hair clumped together that he was covered in sweat. You quickly gulped down your beer before moving onto the next one you luckily had in your hand as your stomach clenched. His face was so determined, and his eyes looked wild, yet his movements seemed so effortless and the way he snarled into the microphone while he sang made you clench your beer a little tighter.

As they closed their show, Freddie has barely been able to say goodbye to the crowd before Roger was up, throwing his sticks off stage to some random audience member. He was now shirtless, except for the necklaces that layered his neck, and his hair was clinging to his face, shoulders, and back from the sticky layer of sweat that covered his body. He walked with long strides off stage, cleaning up his kit was the last thing on his mind right now.

It didn’t take him very long to find you in the crowd. Roger wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his sweaty and sticky chest, “Bathroom, now.” He hissed into your ear before he pulled away and gripped your hand and pulled you through the crowd of people.

As soon as you entered the dingey two stall woman’s restroom Roger pulled you into the closest stall and gripped your wrists, slamming you against the cool metallic stall. The cold metal bit into your skin and you let out a breathy gasp which was quickly swallowed as Roger crashed his lips against yours in a messy heated kiss. Your teeth clanked together, and you laced your fingers in Roger’s tangled and sweaty hair.

Roger’s hand slipped under your skirt and you could feel him smirking against your skin, “This pretty pussy of yours is all wet for me, innit?” He asked, nipping at your neck.

You hummed feeling the stubble on his chin scrape against your neck, “Only for you,” you responded with a coy smile.

Roger pulled away and peered at you through his lashes, “So how do you want to do this?” He asked, his expression suddenly going serious.

You swallowed thickly and handed him your phone, the video camera already out and ready for filming before you pulled him into another hot open-mouthed kiss, “Just fuck me already.” You mumbled against his soft lips.

A soft laugh rumbled through his chest as he turned you over and pushed you down at an angle. Instinctively your legs opened up for him to nestle between them. He held the camera up and lifted your skirt up with his free hand, smoothing it over the round swell of your ass and lightly slapping it. You jumped and sharply inhaled as you felt him grind against your clothed and wet core, “Fuck me, please.” You pushed back against him desperately.

You could imagine the stupid cheeky grin on Roger’s face as the words left your lips, but your mind quickly went blank as soon as he pushed your panties to the side and the cool bathroom air brushed against you. You tensed ever so slightly, and your stomach filled with nerves; you could hear the sound of the crowd outside and the thrill of getting caught went straight to your core and made you throb. Roger’s hand dove between your legs and harshly rubbed your clit, not bothering to build up to the aggressive and almost overstimulating sensation. You cooed and your back arched at the sensation, “Quiet, love.” Roger mumbled as he slipped two fingers into you, “Don’t want anyone hearing how much of a slut you are.” He mocked as he pumped his fingers in and out of your wet core.

It felt as though the sounds of your wetness were echoing off the walls and slamming against your eardrums. You couldn’t help but whimper out as his rough fingers curled expertly inside you. Roger immediately pulled the out, “Turn around,” He commanded, a shiver crept down your spine and you turned around to face him. He’d taken off the silky little sash he had tied to his pants, “Open.” He demanded and cupped your face, squeezing your cheeks together to force your mouth open.

You winced slightly feeling your teeth biting into your cheek and, “What?” You asked now confused.

“I told you not to make any fucking noise, didn’t I?” He chastised before letting out a disappointed sigh, “Apologize.” He ordered still roughly holding your cheeks.

Your heart hammered against your chest and you followed his orders, “I’m sorry,” You whimpered and closed your mouth.

Roger shook his head, “I said open,” He lightly shook your jaw and forced your mouth open, “Since you can’t be quiet, I’ll help you.” He flashed you a cheeky smirk as you mumbled a soft thank you and opened your mouth. Roger slipped the silky and slightly musky smelling fabric into your mouth and you couldn’t help but pout a little bit.

You were quickly turned and pressed against the bathroom stall at an angle once again. Roger didn’t bother taking your panties off, instead he just pushed them aside and pushed in after he slipped his condom on. The pace Roger set was ruthless and unforgiving, his hips slapped against yours in quick succession while your hands curled against the metal you were using for support. The metal bit into your hot skin and made your nerves stand on end while muffled noises spilled from your lips and into the silk barrier Roger had shoved into it only moments prior.

Your eyes fluttered shut and you rested the side of your face against the door, not caring how filthy it was in the moment. The door rattled with the force of your body slamming into it over and over again.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Roger cursed through gritted teeth.

All of a sudden, he stopped and hushed the sounds of protest you whimpered out. The door creaked open and you could hear chatter among two women as they walked in. You turned to look at Roger, your face red on one side from the door and eyes hazy; his brows were tightly knit together but the expression of concentration was soon traded for something slightly more devilish.

Slowly he moved his hips back and forth at an agonizing pace. Your brain felt as though it was boiling in your head and soon your thoughts were filled with TV static.

“Oh my gosh did you see the band before?” One of the women asked.

“Yeah, what was their name again? Queen? God that one with the hair? What a snack.” Their conversation was practically flowing from one ear and out the other.

“The one with black hair? Oh my god, those curls were to DIE for.”

Roger rolled his eyes and lightly scoffed at the comments the women made regarding Brian while keeping his leisurely pace. Your brows furrowed and eyes clenched tightly shut as you tried to maintain your composure with the two women in the room. For some reason the prospect of getting caught aroused you more and caused your walls to twitch around Roger’s length. You could feel tears pricking at the corner of your eyes and desperately tried to hold back the whimper that was caught in the back of your throat.

The two women left the room and you let out a choked sob as your walls spasmed and clenched around Roger’s length. Your back arched and your breasts pressed against the stall door, lightly nipping through the fabric of your shirt. The overwhelming sensation and contrast of temperature caused your brain to go muddy and soon blank.

Roger gripped the meat of your ass tightly “Fuck, oh shit.” He hissed out as you continued to throb around him. He pumped in and out at a quicker pace, “You were such a good girl,” He said in a haggard tone. His hips slapped against yours, his climax still far off in the distance, “Not making any sound as I fucked you when they came in.” His breathing was heavy and labored as his orgasm came into view. “Fucking Christ.” He clenched his jaw and hissed out as he finally came, shooting into the condom and riding out his high.

After the two of you cleaned yourselves up in the restroom, Roger grinned up at you, still drunk with pleasure, “You were fucking brilliant.” He said, you couldn’t help but look at the sash that was once stuffed in your mouth and was now tied around his waist, a dark damp spot gathered on the fabric.

You shook your head, trying to clear it of the lewd thoughts, “If I was that great, buy me a drink.” You teased.

Roger’s face maintained his grin, “I can manage that.” He said and straightened himself up before moving to exit the stall.

You stopped and stood in the mirror and fixed your hair, Roger came behind you and wrapped his hands around your waist “You look great.” He said and kissed your shoulder softly.

You felt your heart clench at his words, “Thanks,” You mumbled under your breath.

Roger left the bathroom and a cool rush of air hit your back that he once covered. You couldn’t help but find yourself longing for the familiar warmth he brought to you.

Exiting the bathroom wasn’t any trouble, what you found trouble in was the questions you were battered with from Freddie as soon as you got back to the table, “Where did you go?” Freddie asked, leaning both his elbows onto the table while leaning forward.

You pursed your lips, “Smoke break.” You said smiling softly.

Freddie hummed and clicked his tongue against his teeth, “That must have been a long cigarette for you to be gone for thirty minutes.” He said and tapped his chin, looking over to Roger, “And what about you?” He pressed.

Roger shrugged his shoulders, “Fucked some girl I saw in the crowd in the bathroom.” He said as honestly as he could. You tried to shoot him a look, but he didn’t even give you a second glance.

Fred grinned “You dog, Rog.” He said, slapping his friend on the shoulder. Roger surged forward and coughed up what he inhaled of his drink as it splattered all on the exposed skin of his chest.

You let out a soft huff before slamming the rest of your drink down and getting up, “Anyone need another drink? I’m going up to get one.” You said pausing for a moment.

Veronica raised her hand, quickly finishing her drink, “I’ll get a refill.” She said scooting out past the boys.

The two of you walked up to the bar and patiently waited for the bartender to wait on you, “So where did you really go?” Veronica said with a sly smirk playing on her face.

You shifted, nervously tapping your fist of money on the bar, “I don’t you, to the bar.” You couldn’t hide the smile that gave way the fact that you were lying.

“Come on, I won’t tell anyone.” She leaned closer in, hoping you’d spill.

You let out a deep sigh, “I was with Roger.” You rushed out.

Veronica gaped at you, her mouth hanging ajar and eyes wide “You where what!?!” She shouted, “You and Roger!?! Shagging!?!” her voice continued to raise in pitch as her disbelief increased

You quickly pulled her close and shushed her, “Please don’t tell anyone!” You pleaded, “It’s nothing, really, just casual.”

Veronica grinned manically at you, “How is he? Does he live up to the hype?” She pried, “I mean he must be in order to shag in the bathroom…”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, “I mean, yeah, he’s fine.” You bashfully averted your gaze. Veronica’s smile suddenly fell, and her eyes narrowed as she looked over your shoulder; you turned and followed her gaze, “What?” you pressed struggling to pick out what had soured her mood so suddenly.

She nudged her direction, helping to give you a general direction of where to look and then you saw it, Roger was talking to a pretty girl. You could spot her dark hair and olive skin tone even in the dimly lit bar. You pursed your lips, “Who’s that?” You asked, seeing Roger break away from their hug and keep his hand on the small of her back.

“Roger’s ex-girlfriend. Dominique.” The words dripped from her mouth like sludge.

“I’ve never heard of her before.” It was the truth, neither Roger nor Fred had mentioned her at all.

Veronica sighed and turned towards the bar, finally ordering drinks for the both of you, “They were together for three years, broke up shortly after John and I started dating.” She turned towards you, “Didn’t you ask Fred, why Roger had been looking for a new roommate?”

You shrugged your shoulders, “I didn’t think of it,”

She pursed her lips, “I don’t know a lot about their breakup, but I do know Roger was heartbroken, didn’t see the poor lad for weeks.” She hummed and sipped her drink, “He broke it off with her though, I know that much.” She paused for a moment, glancing back over at Roger, “Fred didn’t like her very much.” She added before she began walking back towards the table.

Veronica slipped back into her seat next to John and you searched the table but found that there were no more open seats, Dominque had taken your spot and was happily chatting away with Roger. He was grinning from ear to ear and for some reason, it made your stomach churn. You turned towards Fred, his brows were tightly knit and his lips were pursed together before he finally caught your gaze and flashed you an award winning smile.

“Dom!” He said catching her attention, “This is [Y/N], Roger’s new roommate.”

Dominique looked you up and down slowly, as though she were inspecting every inch, “[Y/N]!” She grinned at you, “Dominique.” She reached her hand out for you to shake which you graciously took and grasped firmly, “How is it living with Rog?” She smiled and scrunched her nose.

You couldn’t help but let out an awkward laugh, “Oh, well, you know,” You shrugged, “He eats my food and struggled to do dishes, but he isn’t too bad.”

Roger scoffed loudly and rolled his eyes, “I told you if you don’t want it to be eaten, mark it!” He teased you.

Everyone conversed through out the night, but you continued to stand awkwardly to the side. You felt as though you were now looking at a group with established dynamics and history, they were catching up like old friends and here you were intruding. You weren’t even friends with anyone else in the group beside for Freddie, sure you and Veronica were now close acquaintances, but you still felt as though you were cast out.

You didn’t know what to say or how to interact, so you did the first thing that came to mind. You slammed your drink and raised your glass, “I’m going to get refills, anyone want to tag along?” You asked, looking around the table, to your surprise Brian stood up.

“I’ll join.” He said finishing the last little bit of his beverage.

Going to the bar with Brian didn’t make you feel more comfortable, if anything it made you feel more uncomfortable than you had before. His tall lanky frame dwarfed you and his hair and eloquent speech intimidated you. Not to mention you had maybe said five words to the guy in the entire time you’d known him. Brian flagged down the bartender, “Scotch and coke,” He ordered before turning towards you, “Do you want anything? I’ll buy as a thank you for getting me away from that insufferable woman.” He grinned at you with a surprising amount of playfulness.

You couldn’t help but grin back, “Surprise me, but no dark liquor.” You said and within the minute Brian had handed you what you could assume was something mixed with vodka. “No fond of Dom?” You pressed, hoping for some answers to your curiosity.

Brian scoffed, “Not in the slightest.” He said, leaning against the bar and stalling on going back to the table, “Roger was a right bitch when he broke up with her.” He sighed, “He’s already a bit of a pain but that made it worse.”

You smiled, knowing Roger and Brian bickered like brothers, “Why’d they break up?” Curiosity killed the cat and frankly, you were begging for it.

Brian pursed his thin lips, “I think she cheated on him or something,” He let out a deep sigh, “It wasn’t like a one off, it was like she had a whole different long term relationship going on at the same time.” He shook his head.

You frowned probably knowing how Roger felt in the moment. “It’s a shame,” You said and cleared your throat, “Roger’s an idiot but he doesn’t deserve that.”

Brian raised his glass in agreement, “We should head back.”

By the time you returned with your drinks, Roger and Dominique were whispering and giggling quietly to each other. Your frown got deeper every time you heard one of them giggling, so once again you downed your drink, allowing it to fuel your sudden need to go home, “I’m catching a ride back.” You said suddenly and grabbing your jacket off the back of the chair.

You didn’t know if it your brain was muddied from the sex or what, but you needed to leave before something happened. Fred perked up and glanced at you, “Do you want anyone to ride back with you?” he asked.

You shrugged, but then quickly followed it with a head shake, “No, Roger’s a little preoccupied and I don’t want to trouble any of you.” Your words sounded bitter and you couldn’t hide it anymore.

It didn’t surprise you when Roger didn’t bother to look over at you as you said your name or as you left.

Your ride home was quiet, and you made polite conversation with your driver, but still the bitter emotions seeped out of you like sweat. Even as you readied yourself for bed you couldn’t help but stair at the ceiling, silently hoping you’d hear the familiar sound of Roger stumble through the door and drop his keys like he usually did on nights out, but you didn’t. Instead you just heard the unfamiliar creaks of the apartment building as it settled.

NOTE: Hi again! I just wanted to add that this chapter doesn’t mean any slander towards Dominique, it's literally just for the sake of advancing the plot and causing some spicy drama

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #roger taylor smut #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor series #roger taylor blurb #ben hardy!roger x reader #ben hardy!roger taylor #ben hardy!roger taylor x reader #queen x reader #queen fanfic #queen smut #borhap #borhap fanfic

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penzyroamin · 4 years

Text

your wish is my command!!!!

some warnings for this one-- it is heavy shit. there is some mention of potential physical abuse from a parent to a child, so if that’s an issue for you, you’ll probably be okay if you skip the second paragraph and the area between “The night was still too hot and humid, but Davey could hardly bring himself to care as they breathed together.” and “Why? We’re happy.” there’s also some homophobia mentioned throughout, so.

this is.. gosh, the time period is kinda ambiguous, but it felt sorta 90′s to me? and it’s set in the deep south, also kinda ambiguously-- if u want my two cents, i wrote it based off of this teeeeeny tiny town some of my family lives in in north fl.

anyways. this is about loving recklessly and desperately and with much difficulty. please enjoy!!!

no rules in breakable heaven -- read on ao3

In the grand scheme of poor ideas Davey had had over the course of his twenty years of life, kissing Jack had been a bad one. Kissing him again had been a worse one, and continuing to do so, kissing him over and over until they had the closest thing they could to a real relationship, was likely one of his worst.

They had accepted early on that they couldn’t have much in public, not when Davey’s father would try to beat the shit out of both of them if he heard a word of it. Jack lamented it occasionally-- that they lived in the modern world, the present goddamn day, and yet ideals liked freezing in their idiotic, humid little town.

So yes, they accepted that they couldn’t be anything but best friends in public, but that didn’t prevent them from playing with fate.

Davey was in the middle of a shift in his family’s antique story, growing bored quickly of his daily pattern of waiting for someone, anyone, to come in so he could convince them into paying his family’s rent.

But it was miserably hot outside, and no one was out, so there were only empty streets.

And, of course, Jack sitting on the counter, trying to tempt Davey into making horrible decisions. He nudged Davey’s hip with his foot, his old Chuck Taylors ripped up and covered in paint, and when Davey looked over, Jack raised his eyebrows, grinning devilishly and groaning when Davey looked away.

“C’mon, baby, ain’t no one here to see.”

“There could be,” Davey said, opening up the cash register like there’d be something new there. Jack whined pathetically, laying down on the counter and wrinkling his nose.

“Nobody’s out there, and ‘sides, you got the bell to tell ya if anyone comes in.”

Davey busied himself with nonsense. “Don’t got a clue what you’re implying, Kelly.”

“I’m implying that you got a whole bunch of shit in those back rooms that looks real comfy.” Davey’s face screwed up, and Jack cackled. “I love when you get prudish.”

“Who the fuck says prudish anymore?”

“Me, when you’s being prudish. Come on, Dave. You ain’t possibly sold that old armchair yet, it looks fancy.”

“I am not going to make out with you in my parents’ business,” Davey insisted, and he pursed his lips to avoid smiling when Jack took his hand and kissed his knuckles.

“When does your shift end?” Jack asked, and Davey checked the old clock next to the register.

“Four hours.”

Jack rolled his eyes and swung his legs over the counter, tugging Davey a little closer. “You sure know how to torture a guy.”

“It’s a gift,” Davey said quietly, grinning at Jack. “You gonna do anything about it?”

That got him a glare. “Evidently not.”

Davey looked past Jack’s head, at the empty street and the heat hanging in the air. He looked back at Jack, and finally relented. “Ten minutes.”

In seconds, Jack seized Davey's hand and dragged him to the back of the store. They passed through perilously stacked furniture and decorations and knick-knacks that his family had acquired over the years and still had little success in selling.

Davey was shaken out of that thought when Jack fell into one of the nearby armchairs, tugging Davey's hand again.

Despite the relatively poor circumstances in which the Jacobs family lived, the antique shop was an expansive place, plenty of hidden corners, and Davey was all the more lucky for it.

Some amount of time after they ran off-- seven minutes, maybe?-- the bell attached to their door rang, and Davey swore against Jack's throat.

He scrambled backwards, desperately tugging down his shirt from where Jack had rucked it up. He frantically surveyed Jack to see how presentable he was.

In short, Jack looked wrecked. And gorgeous, and definitely not presentable. Anybody who saw him would immediately know.

Davey started to look desperately for a mirror, praying he didn't look similar, and Jack seemed to understand his thoughts. He jumped up and held Davey still, tugging a few of his curls back into place.

"You look fine," he said quietly. "Say you were carrying something, it'll explain…" He pinched Davey's cheek. "Y'know, the roses."

A women's voice called from the front of the store, and Jack tugged him in for a quick, hard kiss. "Go sell something, I'll hide in the back."

Davey grinned at him madly, terrified adrenaline pumping through his veins. "Love you," he said, rushing to the front of the store before he could consider his words for even a moment.

It was only when he was halfway through talking up a table that he remembered the implications of what he'd said.

When the woman finally left, Jack had already escaped through the back.

Davey raked his fingers through his own hair. "Shit," he said, with no one to hear him but the odd cat-shaped clock.

After four more hours of work, and then a truly awful evening of financial planning and "family dinner", Davey had pretty much accepted that his day was over and he wasn't doing much other than paperwork and going to bed.

Their office was the only extra room in the house that they rented, in the back with a window that overlooked their tiny yard. Davey didn’t quite like the look of the yard at night, though, so he had the blinds down while he worked on inventory and returns and other things he cared about only by necessity.

And then he heard a few swift little taps, and he rolled up the blinds to see none other than Jack beaming at him. He beckoned with one finger, and Davey only considered things for a moment before he turned his lamp off and headed for the door.

He slipped his shoes on as he left as quietly as he could, looking around in the darkness and nearly gagging at the thick nighttime humidity. He felt a hand on his shoulder, and had to muffle his own shriek when he turned around and saw the faint outline of Jack beaming.

“Bastard!” Davey whispered through the darkness, and Jack laughed, his hands finding Davey’s face and pulling him into a kiss.

For a few minutes, Davey was content to stand like that with him, gripping Jack’s hips and pulling him closer and closer, shielded from his family’s view and the streetlights by overgrown bushes and trees on either side of them.

Jack finally pulled away, breathing quickly. “C’mon, I wanna take you somewhere.”

“Lead the way, baby.”

They ran into the street together, where Jack’s old pickup truck was waiting for them, and Davey giggled when Jack skidded over to hold the passenger’s door open for him. Jack’s truck was an absolute rustbucket of a disaster, but it was kind that night, staying mostly quiet as they raced far away from Davey’s world.

Davey didn’t give much thought to where they were going until Jack came to a stop in the middle of a field, a mostly barren one primarily occupied by weeds and tall grass.

He peered out of the window. “Where are we?”

Jack shrugged. “Beats me. Told me I’d take ya somewhere, right?”

“So there ain’t any purpose to this?”

“‘Course there is. I wanna see you.” Jack reached over and squeezed Davey’s hand, then jerked his head back towards the bed of the truck. “C’mon, I got an air mattress back there, we can get comfy.”

Jack jumped out of the truck, heading to the back, and Davey shook his head as he exited a bit more gingerly. “You really planned this, huh?”

“Duh. How’s a man supposed to woo his lover?”

Davey clambered into the bed of the truck, taking in Jack and the flashlights he had set up to give them a little visibility and the air mattress that Jack was lounged out on. He wasn’t sure quite what to say to any of it, but he managed, “So I’m ya lover now?”

“Obviously,” Jack declared with a smile, tugging Davey forward to lay down with him. He pressed a few soft kisses to Davey’s collarbone.

That reminded Davey of what he’d said, and he pursed his lips a little as Jack continued his ministrations. “When I, uh… what I said…” He trailed off, sighing when Jack bit down. “If you don’t wanna… mention it…”

Jack pulled away, his brow furrowed. “Why wouldn’t I?” Davey gaped, scrambling for words, and Jack took his hand, kissed each of his knuckles. “I love you, too. Best thing I ever heard you say.”

That was… puzzling. It must have shown on Davey’s face, because Jack tilted his head. “You did… mean it, didn’t ya?”

“Yes!” Davey rushed to exclaim, clinging to Jack’s hand. “Yeah, of course, it just… complicates things, don’t it?”

Jack blinked, looking down at their hands and then sighing. “I mean… yeah. Yeah, but… God, Dave, I love you. I’m so in love with you, I feel antsy every second I ain’t with you. I just wanna be with you, that’s all. That’s it.”

Maybe it was the way he said it, so earnest and kind. Maybe it was the way his eyes were even darker at night, or the way their dim, artificial light cast odd shadows across his skin, or the way that his hair stuck to his forehead in the humidity. Maybe it was just that Davey loved him, and he had for longer than either of them knew, and he wanted, he had always wanted, only for Jack to love him, too.

Whatever the reason, he lunged forward and kissed him, as good as he knew how to. He clung to Jack, one hand in his hair and the other on his hip, pulling him closer and closer until there wasn’t any space left for them to breathe in.

Jack groaned, wrapping his arms around Davey’s waist and rolling onto his back so Davey was laying on top of him, letting everything fade to a dull roar around them. Cicadas and waving grass and crickets quieted and finally went silent in Davey’s ears as he dipped his head to kiss along Jack’s jaw and then down his neck.

There they were, in the bed of Jack’s rustbucket pickup truck, and their world was finally quiet.

When they were finished, Jack tucked his head into the crook of Davey’s neck, and Davey ran his fingers through Jack’s hair. The night was still too hot and humid, but Davey could hardly bring himself to care as they breathed together.

“Davey?” Jack asked eventually, and Davey nodded a little in response. He felt Jack’s breaths get softer against his shoulder, and then: “What happens? If folks find out? If your dad…”

Davey exhaled softly, brushing the tips of his fingers over Jack’s back. “I dunno. He… It’s… I got no clue what he’s gonna do. And that scares me.”

“If he…” Jack trailed off, and Davey sighed.

“If he tries to beat the shit out of me, I might… I might take it. He’s my dad. I can’t fight him back.”

“Yes, you can. You can, Davey, you should. He’s an awful bastard.”

“Jack.” Davey tipped up Jack’s chin so he could look him in the eyes. “I know he’s wrong. And I wish I could. But if it comes to it…”

Jack exhaled slowly, his shoulders slacking. “He’s your dad. I know.”

They returned to holding each other like they had before, and Jack pressed a few comforting kisses to Davey’s bare shoulder. “If he comes for me…”

“Fight back,” Davey said firmly. “But don’t… please don’t go too far.”

“I won’t,” Jack murmured. Davey felt Jack’s lips pursed, and he waited for the exception. “I… I dunno what I’m gonna do if I see you hurt ‘cause of him.” Hot tears fell against Davey’s skin, and he gasped, holding Jack tighter. “Y’already are, but… bruises, cuts, I’d…” Davey’s own eyes burned as Jack choked out small breaths. “I hate him, Davey, I hate him for makin’ us think about all this.”

“I know. I know, doll, I know. It’s just… We can’t escape.”

Jack stilled, and after a moment, he said, “Why not?”

“What are you… What?”

Jack pulled back, taking Davey’s face in his hands, his eyes dangerously aglow. “Why can’t we escape? Why can’t we just run?”

“My-- Jack, my family--”

“Your parents ain’t given you nothing but hell.”

“My siblings, they’ll--”

“You can send them money, Davey, talk to them before. You can keep them afloat from far away.”

“This is crazy. This is insane. You’re crazy.”

“Why? We’re happy. We can keep being happy, far away from your folks. Happiness without all the dark shit they bring. We can live together, get real jobs, kiss whenever we want!”

Jack’s enthusiasm, like always, was infectious, and Davey felt himself falling. “Where’d we go?” he asked, his voice soft like when he prayed.

“Anywhere. New York, Santa Fe, San Diego, Chicago, some tiny suburb somewhere. I don’t care where we call home, you’re home.”

That slipped right through Davey’s ribcage and found his heart, piercing and tugging with the deep, necessary love he had for Jack. “I don’t have my stuff.”

“Then we leave tomorrow. Pack up what you need, sneak it with you when you go to work tomorrow. I’ll pick you up there, and we just…” Jack snapped his fingers. “Vanish. Become town legends.”

Davey hated that he had to choose-- be loved by your family, be loved by your lover. But then again, Jack was the only person who had ever loved him bravely, loved him when it was difficult, loved him unconditionally. No matter how many times he had to sneak out Davey’s window at night, no matter how many times he couldn’t hold Davey’s hand, no matter how many nights and days were interrupted. He just loved Davey, and Davey loved him back.

“Okay,” he said, the word leaving his throat like it had been waiting there forever. “Okay. Yeah, let’s go.”

“Really?”

“Yes,” Davey said again, a beam spreading across his face. “Yes, let’s go. Tomorrow at ten in the morning. Let’s just go.”

Jack crashed forward and kissed him firmly, and as Davey pulled him closer, he felt Jack melt into his arms.

Davey turned over the bracelet in his hands. He’d only had a few minutes with Les and Sarah while he was driving them to school, but they’d all cried in that time, and when he let them out, they ran around the side to hug him tightly. Les had demanded that Davey get back in touch once everyone was out of Esther and Mayer’s home, and Sarah had given him the bracelet, saying that purple looked better on him.

There was a rumbling outside as Jack’s truck pulled to a stop, and Davey looked around the store one more time, shouldering the backpack that he had fit his life in. For good measure, he snatched a little pocketwatch from their jewelry display before flipping the sign to “CLOSED” and locking the front door one last time.

Jack grinned when Davey got in the truck. “Where to?”

Davey took Jack’s free hand and stared at the empty road. “Just drive, baby.”

“As you wish.”

They jolted forward, and Jack cranked the air conditioning up so high that Davey’s curls blew back with the force of it.

A weight slowly lifted off his heart as they merged onto the highway, and it felt a little like finally loving freely.

#newsies #javid #jack kelly #david jacobs #penzy writes #newsies fic #anyways!!!! thank u for this prompt i really liked writing it

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fanfiction4thesoul · 4 years

Text

You & I

Pairing: Roger Taylor x Reader

Word Count: ~1.1

Warnings: Fluff!

Summary/Request: May I request a fic where Rog and reader are roommates and he hears her whimpering in her sleep cause she’s having a nightmare and he comforts her with cuddles?

A/N: Thank you @rogahs-drowse for this fluffy request. It turned out way cheesier than expected, but I think it’s a good amount of cheese! Hope you like it, and thank you to anyone that likes/comments/reblogs!

When Roger got home from his last class of the day, he expected to find (Y/N) there like normal. His class was in the evening so she was typically home long before him, sometimes even cooking a dinner they could share. Most nights they got take out, though, with actual food being too time consuming.

Roger had to admit, he was pretty skeptical when he put up an ad for a roommate and (Y/N) was the one to show up. While she was quite bubbly that matched Roger’s enthusiasm in life, she was also very studious and neat. He was afraid that they would clash over his general untidiness and oftentimes loud behaviors.

But none of those things happened. Roger and (Y/N) meshed so well she became one of his closest friends. Because that’s all she seems to want to be.

Which is fine. Cool. Roger can be a friend.

To a girl.

That he may or may not be extremely attracted to.

But it’s all good.

So while he wanted to come home from a rather shit day of classes to see her smiling face, he was rather disappointed to find their flat empty. There was no note anywhere (definitely not looking avidly for one).

Maybe she went out?

Nah, (Y/N) would have said something or even invited him along.

While he was still puzzling over where she could be, he opened the fridge and stopped short. His favorite take out was on the top shelf with a sticky note attached.

Roger,

Had to go out and comfort a heartbroken Maggie. She got dumped. Hard. :( Sorry I won’t be home for dinner. I’ll probably be back late so don’t wait up!

Love, (Y/N).

Roger let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. She was alright. She wasn’t out without him. That’s all that really mattered.

He smiled a little to himself as he reread the note. She was such a good friend. He remembered Maggie, vaguely. Drab, boring, but nice enough. (Y/N) probably pulled out all the stops to make her feel better.

Despite the rather dull evening in store for him, Roger still felt lighthearted, revealing in the fact that (Y/N) took the time to think about him. He ate the take out she bought, making sure to save enough for her should she want some.

He flipped through the stations a couple times before giving up and bringing out his books to study. Brian was sure to yell at him again if he heard he wasn’t doing his homework. So really he was just trying to save himself the headache that was sure to follow.

When he couldn’t take anymore biology, or anatomy, Roger looked at the clock and deemed it late enough to go to bed. Even if he would normally be awake far later if you were there, goofing off for who knows how long. You still weren’t back yet, but your note did say that you’d be back late.

Pouting a bit now, Roger went through the motions of getting ready for bed and fell asleep thinking that he’d at least have you to himself tomorrow.

It felt like a blink of a second and he was opening his eyes again. Roger groaned, flopping over on his bed to look at the alarm clock and seeing it was far far too early to be awake. He’s not sure what woke him up, maybe himself, but just as he closed his eyes to go back to sleep, he heard it.

It was faint, not terribly loud but incredibly distressing.

A whimper came from the other side of the wall where (Y/N)’s room was.

Roger was wide awake in an instant, jumping out of bed and hurrying into the hall. When he reached for (Y/N)’s door handle, he heard the noise again, this time louder and more persistent. Throwing the door open, Roger peered through the room to find (Y/N) in the center of her bed crying out. Her face was scrunched and she was thrashing around a bit, obviously in the middle of some unpleasant dream.

In all the time they lived together, something like this had never happened to them. Roger wasn’t sure exactly what to do, but he thought waking up would probably be best. Leaning over the bed, he said her name, trying to get her to wake up.

“(Y/N),” he said a little louder, “(Y/N) wake up, love. It’s just a bad dream. (Y/N).” Grabbing her hand that was clenched tight in the sheet, he squeezed it and tried again.

Her eyes flew open with a gasp, out of focus and unseeing. She tried to pull away from him, but he held on tight. “Shh, love. It’s just me. You were having a nightmare.”

Slowly, Roger watched her eyes focus on the present and turn to him. They were shining with such fright that Roger felt his heart clench.

“Rog… Roger?” She sat up putting her head in her hand. “Shit. I-I’m sorry I woke you up. Didn’t mean to. Y-you can go back to bed, I’ll be f-fine.” She closed her eyes, tugging her hand from his.

Surprised, Roger let it go and watched as she turned over and away from him. “Sorry,” she whispered so softly he almost didn’t hear her. Roger stared at her back at a loss.

He was kind of out of his depth here. His longtime crush and roommate just had an obviously distressing dream but insisted on being left alone, even though she was not alright. If it was him, he’d probably cling to the person closest to him and not let go til morning.

Well shit.

Not thinking twice about it, Roger lifted the covers and crawled into bed behind (Y/N), reaching out to pull her flush against his chest.

She jumped at his movement, muscles tensed. “Wha-what are you doing, Rog?’

Unperturbed, he snuggled into her more, nuzzling his face into her hair and tangling his legs with hers. “Giving you cuddles,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. Because, really, it obviously was.

“Why?”

“Because cuddles make everything better, love.” He kissed her shoulder, a bit bold but he was already in her bed, so he was just going to do whatever he damn well wanted at this point. “Now go to sleep. I’ll keep the bad dreams away. Promise.”

It took a few moments until he finally felt her relax in his arms. He heard her sigh before feeling her hand interlace with his across the mattress and bringing them close to her chest. She squeezed them, hugging then close. “Alright… thanks Rog. I… don’t really know what I’d do without you.”

“Me neither, love,” he mumbled, already falling back asleep. He may be a little lost when she’s gone, but he’ll always be there when she needs him.

Taglist: @jennyggggrrr

#roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor imagine #roger taylor x you #roger taylor #roger taylor x reader #roger taylor x Y/N #Queen #fanfiction #queen fanfiction

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need-a-new-hobby · 4 years

Text

Scared to Death Pt 1

Lao Tzu - He who controls others may be powerful, but he who has mastered himself is mightier still.

Part Two here | Part 3 here

Piper sat cross-legged in her chair, turning her badge between her hands, staring at her Converse shoes. She kept replaying the events of the last few days, analysing them to a tee. What had gone wrong? Their team had messed up. Instead of catching the killer as planned, their last case had ended in a tragic double homicide-suicide. A young student shot her crush on a security guard just before shooting herself. She wouldn't blame Gideon, not after everything he'd been through. Why didn't you question him? Why didn't you analyse the risks? In truth, she'd missed it. She missed him. He could be frosty and stubborn as a mule, but she wouldn't have this job without him. She wouldn't have had this family without him. And then he just left. Left the team. Left her. Left Spencer. She glanced at the other doctor, Gideon's scrawled handwriting in his hands. For as long as she knew them, Gideon was a father figure to Reid. Playing chess together. Walking through a profile together. She never knew the allure of a father figure, but Gideon was the first to recognise Spence. The first to see him as more than a genius. She was broken out of these thoughts by Garcia announcing something to the squad, carrying Gideon's belongings.

"He left everything, except the photographs."

"He always said those were like his family." Spencer muttered as Derek shared a look with Emily.

"What should we do with all of this?" Garcia walked down to join them, plopping the box on Piper's desk. Piper bit back a retort to Penelope, her eye caught on something in the box. She reached into the box to pull out the copy of Thomas Moore's poetry collection. Inside she reread the neat inscription she'd written. “It is not death that a man should fear, but he should fear never beginning to live.” Her eyes stung with tears and she blinked them away as she stowed the little book into her go-bag. She met Derek's piercing gaze but quickly flitted her eyes away to see Erin Strauss striding towards Hotch's office. Without saying a word, Piper pushed herself off the chair and into the conference room.

4 victims in Oregon, 2 male and 2 female. 7 agents in the BAU, 4 female, 3 male. Hotch took over JJ’s briefing. “I know that we've all been wondering what this was all about. And, uh... You know I've know Jason for many years, and I can tell you I have no idea. But it doesn't even matter. What matters is we're here, and we're gonna continue.” Except it did matter to them. Piper didn’t have to glance at Spencer to feel his heartbreak nor see his devastation. Piper didn’t have to know Jason for very long to know that he poured his heart into every case or that he blamed himself for ever case gone south or that the death of Sarah Jacobs was killing him softly. “Portland field office uncovered a mass grave with 3 bodies, killed 6 months ago. Nearby they found another body. Causes of death range from burning alive to asphyxiation. No sexual assault.” Morgan took a sip of his coffee and Bishop twirled a spoon through her cup of tea.

“Well, the torture's clearly sadistic.”

“The lack of sexual preferences could make it hard to tell if the unsub is male or female.”

“Typically, female serial killers stick to the same M. O. It looks like this guy's all over the place. “

“Forensic countermeasure?” Piper suggested, going through her file. “Could be a form of paranoia, like we’ll find them at any moment. Or the cause of death is specific to each victim.”

“Suffocation is deeply personal but immolation is aggressive and impersonal.” Reid announced to the woman opposite him. “Both forms of sadism.”

“Immolation was actually the preferred procedure of purification and the ultimate ritual sacrifice.” Piper’s eyes lit up while she talked about murder in the Middle Ages, as you do. “In medieval times, immolation was to romanticised go-to method for killing witches and is still the favoured symbol of hell and sinners. Maybe the unsub felt like they deserved it or that they were sinners?”

“Most recent victim is Jenny Whitman. Asphyxiated. Discovered yesterday.”

“How long was she missing?”

“She was never reported missing.” Piper looked up at Hotch.

“What about the others?”

“One.”

“Out of 4?”

“Rick Holland was reported missing 9 months ago, but the search was called off. Family discovered his car at the train station. But more importantly, they received emails from him saying that he needed time to figure things out.”

“And they believed that?” Morgan leaned back in his chair.

“He was in his late 20s. At that age, most adults start questioning their life choices, where they want their future to lead. Especially men who do social work. It was a feasible conclusion.” Piper wrung her hands through her hair. “His house was left unlocked too. Jesus,” she exhorted.

“Can’t save us now,” Reid whispered with a smirk at Piper. She returned a small smile.

“Reaching out could be a sign of remorse,” Morgan remarked, ignoring the exchange in front of him.

“Psychopaths don't apologize for their behavior. This guy's covering his tracks. Wheels up in 30.”

^-^

Spencer got up from his seat next to Piper to grab another cup of coffee. Piper raised an eyebrow before turning to Hotch. “What number cup is that?”

“His fifth?”

“Seventh.” Morgan chimed in. “He had one after the briefing, one on the ride.”

“Should we have an intervention?” Emily joked. They had been going over Portland PD’s findings, which were limited at best. One female and 2 male victims found buried together in the same grave. All 25 to 30. All had been dead for 6 months with 3 different MOs. Reid and Bishop were debating over whether the kills could be personal or need-based. It wasn’t very effective.

“Gary Taylor, the phantom sniper, was all over the map, just like this guy. He changed his M.O. as his need to control the situation changed,” Reid put forward.

“Except Gary Taylor was a hebephile who specifically targeted women and went from incapacitating them with a hammer to shooting them as he evolved.” Piper rebutted from her seat. “There’s no evolution here.”

“Okay, but what about the robbing and stabbing?”

“Granted, but his need to control the situation changed whenever his sexual urges overcame him because he did not plan the offences. These are deliberate and thought-out.” Reid huffed, pulling out his copy of A Comedy of Errors. Emily smiled and held out her fist. Piper bumped it, smiling widely. A small beep rang out next to Piper, a whisper leaking out of the computer.

“Hey. You.” Reid slowly raised his head, twisting it towards the window. “Uh...down here.”

“Right. I knew that.” Spencer moved to take a seat next to Piper, facing Garcia on the little screen.

“Good thing you're handsome, doctor.” Piper and Derek smirked. “Attention my fine furry peaches -- this killer continues to stoop to an all-time low of lows by posing as his victims. He's also manipulated 2 of the families into thinking that everything was ok, even after they were reported missing. One of the fake e-mails was from their daughter. She said she met this guy and was taking him to her favorite place, australia, for a couple of weeks. Family contacted the australian authorities after too much time had passed. This guy sure knows a lot of personal information about his victims.When I find more pieces of the puzzle, you'll know. Garcia out.”

“Let's go over the details one more time just to make sure we haven't missing anything.”

^-^

Bishop filed into the crowded police station with the weary agents where JJ would introduce them to the lead detective on the case, only for her to leave with the boys to Jenny’s apartment. She physically groaned when Reid and Morgan lined up in the 2 max elevator, Hotch forcing her up the steps, promising her Jack stories. Hotch heard a faint ringing on the 300th step from the elevator while they were swapping Halloween stories. “So my brother wouldn’t be anything other than a Cyberman- Something up Hotch?”

“You hear that?”

“It’s probably nothing.”

“So Lucy and I spent about a month’s pocket money on silver paint and buttons and I swear the house almost became silver-”

About a few minutes ago, Spencer and Derek felt guilty about leaving an exhausted Piper with Aaron, but the doors had already closed. Derek leant silently on the side of the elevator while Spencer mentally reread the letter Gideon had left him when the elevator stopped. Spencer frowned, looking around the elevator, Derek jamming the buttons on the wall. “Don't do that.”

“Why isn't it moving?“

“I don't know. Don't--stop it! Don't...”

“What? What's the problem?” Morgan glanced quizzically at his colleague.

“Don't do that!” Reid’s voice went a tone higher.

“Why not?”

“Because there are 6 elevator related deaths per year, not to mention 10,000 injuries that require hospitalization. Chill out.” At this point, Reid was glued to the back wall, clinging for dear life in the rickety old elevator.

“That sounds like pretty good odds to me.” Morgan chuckled. “Are you scared, Reid?”

“I'm not scared. I don’t want to be in an elevator with you, to be honest.”

“How about I push that? What if I push--”

“Hit the..hit the.. yeah.” Reid shakily pointed at the emergency button poking out of the wall. “Push it!”

“Push, pull, push, pull. I'm doing it. Nothing's happening.” Morgan yelled, exasperated. Reid started flapping his right hand in the direction of the elevator doors.

“Pry--pry-- pry the door open.”

“It’s stuck, man.” Morgan tried to wrest the door open to no avail. The elevator dropped a foot lower before halting again. He jumped to the wall for support. “No, no, no, no. Not today. No, not today.” Spencer’s voice jumped an octave higher as he called for “Hotch!” They finally burst out of the tiny elevator and Spencer collided into Piper.

“You okay?”

“I’ll get back to you on that.” Piper laughed her musical laugh as they headed into Jenny’s apartment.

“I’m gonna be honest, this looks exactly like your apartment, Pipes.”

“Very funny, Morgan. At least I don’t leave takeout boxes everywhere.” Piper checked the answer machine. Nothing. “Pretty sure I saw one in your sink.”

“The place has a lived-in feel to it.” Spencer scoffed. Piper got up from her crouch next to the TV to look at Reid.

“Morgan!” She yelled out to the other agent. “Spencer’s broken!” Derek popped his head out of the bathroom, eyebrow raised at Piper. “He just made a joke.”

“I can make jokes,” Spencer pouted. Piper just smiled before following Morgan as he beckoned them.

“There's bath products all around the tub, but she never turned the shower on.” He pulled the curtain aside to reveal the boxes Jenny kept in storage.

“Guys, this may sound a little...I dunno...but I had this patient once. He had this severe claustrophobia. He’d have anxiety attacks just getting into the shower. We changed his entire lifestyle to suit it.” Piper pointed to the tub. She glanced at the landlord standing glumly outside. “Sorry, sir, did Jenny ever use the elevator?”

“Come to think of it, nah. It was kinda weird.”

“It could just be ‘cause the elevator is a piece of sh-”

“I think we need to look at this from another angle.” Piper remarked, interrupting Morgan, lost in thought.

^-^

The others gathered around the board to discuss the newest murder as Piper scribbled frantically on the board. “Fire, hanging, asphyxiation. Now we've got a drowning."

“Maybe we should go over our profile again,” JJ suggested.

“The unsub is a male sadist in his 40s, craves control coming from a place of weakness, trying to demonstrate strength, likely abused in his childhood. He has been very meticulous at every stage, from how he chooses his victims, to their torture, and their burial. The victims appear to be non-specific, other than being new to Portland, and all they seem to share is a tortuous death. The tortures lack a sexual component and, as a result, it is believed that it is not about exerting power but overcompensating for a lack of it. The lack of sexual assault could be as simple as suggesting impotence, something that the unsub is trying to hide. He feels powerless in his everyday life, so he would most likely crave stability and security. Most likely married, possibly adopting a child to keep up appearances if he is impotent. The victims willingly put themselves in the situations that killed them, meaning the unsub is probably a figure of authority or someone easily trusted.”

“Hold up.” Piper moved towards the board. “Fire. Hanging. Asphyxiation. Drowning. Where’s that marker?” Slowly, she scribbled under each photo and C.O.D. Pyrophobia. Helterphobia. Claustrophobia. Aquaphobia.

“They all have phobias,” Reid pointed out.

“Phobias are an integral feature of anxiety disorders,” Piper explained to JJ and Hotch. “They share features of excessive fear and anxiety and related behavioural disturbances. Specifically, fear is the emotional response to real or perceived imminent threat, whereas anxiety is anticipation of future threat. It's right out of the diagnostics and statistical manual.”

“So like irrational fears?”

“Yeah, exactly. Except phobias can be very specific. The DSMV lists 5 subtypes of phobias; animal, natural environment, blood injection injury, situational, and other situations. The most common way to solve these specific phobias is...”

“What?”

“Exposure therapy. These people are being killed by their fears.”

Part two coming up...

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