#finding a normal photo of these two was like walking on fucking EGGSHELLS

[tarosin]

the great adventures of y/n and ranboo

this is an extra part to the great adventures series

summary: part two to the angst imagine (the not so great adventures of y/n tommy tubbo jack and ranboo) it’s a happier ‘ending’ please read what is written in bold

this is an “alternative ending” around 15 years into the future this doesn’t mean this is actually how the series is going to end im writing it now and including it as part of series as their friendship is already established i can confirm y/n and the group are going to have a happy ending when the series eventually comes to an end this also does not mean the series is anywhere near the end i plan on continuing the series as vlogs come out, i feel the need to confirm this now love between y/n and ranboo in this imagine is completely platonic

it had been about a month since you last streamed whereas ranboo continued to stream a few days after the fallout as he wanted to make sure you were going to be okay. even though ranboo knew this huge fallout would eventually happen, it still hurt him, especially since he knew there was no way to prevent it, the four of you in the same house mixed with the stress of being some of the most-watched content creators made living rather difficult. it was like walking on eggshells as you didn’t want to interrupt someone's stream, then there was the additional stress of obsessive fans finding out where the four of you lived, you still remember that day very vividly. you were sat in between tubbo and ranboo watching the office whilst Tommy was in an interview when you received a message from your mod.

Chris: hey y/n I received this message earlier I don’t want to scare you, but maybe get the locks changed. someone sent a message claiming this is your address *image of message from ‘fan’*

it didn’t take long for tubbo and ranboo to receive a message from their mods saying the same thing

“holy shit...”

“chances are Tommy has the message too. we shall go check around the house when Tommy is done with the interview.”

luckily no one ever showed up to the house, but the fact some people were so obsessed to the point they found your address was enough to put everyone in the house on edge. and now it was just you and ranboo in the house. you didn’t feel safe as even though ranboo promised to not let anything happen, you didn’t wanna risk it.

“we should move. there’s no point in having such a big house for two people, what are we going to use the extra space for heh? hide and seek with people who have our address. no thank you. I say we move leave this mess behind and start completely over, hell I’d feel safer in the us and that’s saying something”

ranboo agreed the house didn’t have the happiest memories attached to it anymore, it hurt walking past the hallway as it would bring back the memory of him crying into the crook of y/ns neck whilst tubbo left the house.

“let’s do it, I’ll do an early stream then we can look for houses. go take a shower. I’ll stay close to the door so you’re safe, then you can stay in my room whilst I stream, you can join me if you would like.”

“you’re being very protective all of a sudden...let me guess you got the message from our mods announcing the obsessive fans are at it again?”

“go take a shower.”

“no.”

ranboo ended up picking you up, carried you to the bathroom and turned the shower on before putting you on your feet.

“quick shower I’ll see you later.”

and with that he left the room shutting the door behind him, 30 minutes later you got changed and followed ranboo to his room ready to join him whilst he streams

“hey boo, can I join you? I kinda wanna get into streaming again.”

“I'm so glad you asked, I was going to do a face cam stream, if that’s okay?”

“of course.”

you grabbed his mask and glasses whilst he locked the door so you were both safe. “here you go.”

“thank you.”

the pair of you started the stream and it was honestly going well, you were having so much fun you forgot about all the negative things currently going on, you began to understand why ranboo continued streaming as for those 2-4 hours of streaming it felt as though everything was back to normal. 3 hours later the two of you ended stream and Twitter went crazy. tweets ranged from fans talking about how ranboo was streaming with you, how Tommy was in chat, and how tubbo was modding as people who mentioned anything about their address being leaked were banned by tubbo. the one thing that caught ranboos eye was fan art and a picture of you both from the stream captioned ‘they’re platonic soulmates your honour’ ranboo went as far to like, retweet and comment on it.

ranaltboo: glad you liked the stream it was great having y/n back, think I might make them play tattletail next stream

definitelynoty/n: isn’t that the Furby game that terrified you in 2021? bring it on boo!

Twitter went crazy over this interaction, you had finally come back to social media after months of being inactive, and it looked like you were here to stay. a month later you and ranboo moved out of the house and sold it to your aunt and her wife and their three adopted children, you explained the situation and even changed the locks for them all before they moved in.

“Please do tell us if anyone shows up who shouldn’t be. we changed the locks as you were aware- oh hello little one.”

you noticed one of their children decided to cling onto your leg

“I like your hair it’s colourful!”

“Indeed it is.”

“WOAH A GIANT!”

the little girl let go of your leg and ran to ranboo asking to be picked up, unsure of what to do he looked towards you. however, you were too busy laughing about the fact he was compared to a giant.

“I'm so sorry uh if you want to pick her up you can, you don’t have to.”

“pick me up, tall man... I want to be taller!”

ranboo ended up standing next to you with an arm around your waist whilst the child sat on his shoulders happily playing with his hair.

“ranboo do not drop that child.”

“I didn't- I didn't plan on it y/n.”

eventually, it was time to leave and the child reluctantly let go of ranboo.

“bye-bye!! hope to see you soon!”

soon enough you were at a smaller house, far away from the old house, leaving behind the negative feelings. it could only get better, a week later the pair of you had settled into the new house, it finally felt like home. you and ranboo were now streaming full time again, safe to say the two of you were thriving and closer than ever.

“so I’m thinking if I hit the sub-goal today I’ll let chat pick what colour I dye my hair.”

“make it higher, and I’ll let you cut my hair.”

“Are you being serious? oh my god!”

a few minutes later you took to Twitter to announce you were going live.

y/n: kidnapping children in the sims with ranboo psst check the subgoal.

within 20 minutes you had hit the sub-goal, chat ended up picking another random neon colour for your hair.

“right hair dye and the cutting stream will be this weekend, now let’s go back to kidnapping.”

tubbo, tommy, and jack felt awful for what happened and went back to the house where you used to live, hoping to see you there so they could apologise, tubbo knocked on the door only to be met by a young child.

“my sister watches you on twitch!”

“oh that’s lovely.. are y/n and ranboo here?”

an older woman came to the door.

“oh no, I’m sorry dear they both moved out, but they left this box and said to give it to you if you returned.”

“do you know where they moved to?”

“I'm sorry dear, I'm not allowed to tell you that information for safety reasons.”

“I understand, thanks anyway.”

they ended up going back to jacks where the three of them had been staying.

“We should open the box.”

tubbo opened the box and emptied the items onto the floor, inside was the rocks y/n handed tubbo from every trip, photos of the group, a necklace y/n had gifted to Tommy a day before the argument, and a hat y/n had taken from jack during a trip to a zoo.

“what the fuck!”

“holy shit!”

“they really kept all these in hopes we would come back?”

“and now we’re too late.”

it was now the weekend you and ranboo were ready to stream, you stood leaning on ranboo who was significantly smaller than you as you lowered the chair he sat on.

“starting stream...now.”

after the starting soon intro played, you explained what was happening to any new viewers or people who didn’t watch the stream.

“so I’m about to become Edward Scissorhands...I love that film can we watch it later?”

“yeah mhm sure!”

you didn’t know this but your ex best friends were watching and ever so often would show up in the chat.

“so boo, what are we doing with your hair today?”

“just a trim please darling?”

“This is y/ns hairdressers you get what I’m capable of!”

you ended up doing a pretty good job of cutting ranboos hair, even he was impressed.

“I didn’t doubt you for a minute!”

“mhm sure thing please don’t mess up my hair tall one!”

soon enough you had the dye on. 45 minutes later you left to wash it off, leaving ranboo to entertain stream,

“chat I think I missed some of their hair it’s okay, I own scissors, I’ll just cut it.. speaking of they did a great job, didn't they? I honestly expected them to mess up.”

a few minutes later you joined ranboo again and spent the next few hours talking with chat. tubbo, tommy, and jack stayed the entire time. they loved the fact you and ranboo were able to stay close after what happened, Tommy noticed you were still wearing the necklace he got you many years ago and spammed them chat with him tubbo and jack

Tommy: THEYRE WEARING THE NECKLACE!!

jack: so what? they clearly don’t wanna talk to us.

tubbo: shut up listen to them.

“chat why are we spamming platonic soulmates?”

“they’ve been saying it all over Twitter, look on trending y/n.”

you started to blush slightly at all the amazing artwork soon enough the stream came to an end, after saying goodbye the pair of you sat together going through fan art. unfortunately the one that caught your eye was this one twitter post where the artist had created a drawing of a piece of paper with you, ranboo, tommy, tubbo, and jack, however the paper was ripped separating you and ranboo from the others, captioned ‘it was never meant to be’ this clearly upset ranboo as he took off his mask and glasses placing them on the desk before going straight to his bed.

“boo…are you okay?”

“Are you tired of me? are you going to leave next?”

“what? no of course not! I could never get tired of you, why do you ask?”

“everyone else has left..i thought they cared about us, i knew it would happen eventually and i couldn’t stop it, i’m sorry, y/n, please don’t hate me.”

you sat on the edge of the bed looking down at the floor,

“come here.”

you watched him roll over to face you.

“you know there’s no one else who I'd rather spend the rest of my life with, right…if i hated you i wouldn’t have moved house with you. it’s not your job to fix everything and make everything better, you’re a streamer for christ sake not a therapist.”

“i guess so.. can we watch that thing you were on about for ages.”

“edward scissorhands? “

“mhm!”

you could tell he wanted to be distracted, so you agreed and put the film on, towards the end you began to get upset due to how overwhelming everything was.

“Why are you crying?”

“poor Edward.”

“come here.”

ranboo pulled you into a hug you laid there crying into his chest, he knew that wasn’t the reason you were crying, but he wasn’t about to make you tell him, luckily it didn’t take long for you to stop crying as ranboo quickly distracted you.

“ranboo..”

“yeah y/n?”

“I feel bad i didnt realise how much pressure was on you whilst everyone was arguing.”

“Hey, it’s okay, is that what’s upsetting you?”

“mhm.”

“don’t blame yourself, i’d do it all over again to keep you safe and happy..then again i didn’t do a good job on keeping you happy.”

“you did..you were always there for me even when i gave up on social media, you shared your room with me after i started receiving creepy messages from that obsessed fan, hell you even went on adventures with me even though it was clear you hadn’t been sleeping, just so we could spend time together and forget about what was happening. you mean a lot to me boo.”

“i love you.”

“i love you too bud, I’m tired.”

“go to sleep, it’s been a long day.”

“okay.”

“you just staying there?”

“yes.”

“oh, oh okay, goodnight.”

about a year later the two of you were still thriving, ranboo got you a promise ring a few months earlier.

“heh what’s this for?”

“as your best friend i promise to stay by your side and keep you safe and make sure that you’re happy, in other words you're stuck with me till the end of time.”

“boo…i really don’t know what to say.. thank you so much!”

“you don’t have to say anything!”

you ended up going out to buy him a promise ring when he started the stream and decided to take your cousins with you now that they were a little older. ranboo was doing a facecam stream when the door slammed open revealing you covering your three younger cousins ranboo not realising you were hiding them from the camera, instinctively stood up covering the camera

“ranboooooo!”

“yes you three and y/n ,what do you need?”

“we would like to watch a film!”

“Okay, i’ll go put one on, y/n will you entertain chat?”

“sure thing boo boy!”

once they left you sat fixing your hair forgetting you were wearing the ring chat noticed this and went crazy, so did Tommys group with tubbo and jack.

tubbo: that’s a ring, right??

jack: yeah looks like it.

Tommy: holy shit I always thought if anyone was gonna get married it would be tubbo and y/n, they were inseparable.

tubbo: hilarious.

jack: it could just be a ring, no one mentioned marriage tommy!

Tommy: we should congratulate them.

jack: at least let them explain fucking hell.

soon enough ranboo came back into the room,

“sorry one of them found it hilarious to steal my glasses...”

“they’re little shits i swear to god but i love them.”

you both noticed chat going crazy and both looked at each other before laughing.

“i'm sorry, i can’t take you serious in the mask and glasses!”

“i can’t take you serious with neon hair, but here we are!”

“rude!”

you and ranboo quickly put an end to the rumours,

“no we’re not engaged or married, it is a promise ring. no they’re not our children, they’re y/ns cousins they just spend a lot of time here..chat stop calling me and y/n parents and comparing us to phil that’s not..that’s not how it works okay!”

“parent arc!”

“y/n, don’t encourage them!”

“it’s a little bit funny!”

soon enough the bit came to an end and eventually ranboo ended the stream.

“hey boo look what i got you”

you handed him a little black box, inside was a ring similar to yours

“i promise to always stick around and be here for you”

“oh my god”

ranboo tackled you into a hug thanking you several times for his rings. you and ranboo were living your best life meanwhile jack, tommy, and tubbo were stuck dealing with the guilt of what happened, but they’re weren’t giving up that easy. they wanted you both back, that’s when you received a notification, tommyinnit has sent you a message request: hey y/n can we talk..please?

taglist

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#mcyt x reader #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt writing #mcyt imagines #mcyt imagine #mcyt reader insert #mcyt fluff #ranboo x you #ranboo x reader #ranboo imagine #ranboo x y/n #ranboo fluff #tubbo x y/n #tubbo x reader #tubbo x you #tubbo imagine #tubbo angst #tommyinnit angst #tommyinnit x you #tommyinnit x y/n #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit imagine #jack manifold imagine #jack manifold x y/n #jack manifold x you #jack manifold x reader #jack manifold angst #dsmp reader insert #dsmp imagine #dsmp fanfic

[haikyuuuuuhypeeeee]

Chapter 7

⚠️WARNING: Mentions of previous characters' deaths, swearing, mention of unhealthy coping mechanism

• ────── ✾ ────── •

You gasp as you wake up, your eyes attempting to discern anything in the dark.

What the…

Not even two seconds ago you were playing volleyball back in the Aoba Johsai gymnasium. It was a silly two on three game, Oikawa and Mattsun vs you, Makki and -

Oh.

Oh.

Tears well up in your eyes, fast and hot. They flow down the side of your face, into your hair and the pillow. You do nothing to stop them, crushed by the sudden wave of sadness.

It was a dream. It was a freaking dream.

You’re alone in your apartment in the middle of the night. You’re a college student at Sendai Uni. You don’t play volleyball.

And Hajime is dead.

The sobs come out unconstrained, as you were too heartbroken to try to stop them. How could you, as it was the only way for you to let out the sorrow and anguish coursing through your blood right now.

C’mon Y/N, get yourself together. You will yourself to calm down, getting the sobs to subside. The tears don’t slow though, as you sit up to grab some tissues from your bedside table. You clean yourself up, sniffling and grabbing your phone.

It’s only just past 1am, and you can’t fathom the idea of falling back asleep. Not when there’s the chance of you falling back into that dream. Not when you can be fooled into thinking that you’re playing volleyball, still trying to receive Oikawa’s serves and laughing when Hajime yells at Makki to take this seriously -

Your eyes well up with fresh tears and you clutch a tissue to your mouth to muffle the cries that want to escape.

The only thing you’re sure about right now is that you don’t want to be alone. You can’t be alone, you just can’t.

You unlock your phone but staring at your screen you don’t know who you can call.

Ok, that’s not true. You have a lot of people you can call. Your parents, Oikawa, Mattsun, Makki, hell even your therapist gave you her cellphone to call if you need her. And you know that all of those people wouldn’t hesitate to listen to you and help you.

But do you want to call any of them?

This isn’t a life or death situation, and you don’t feel like you are a danger to yourself so it would be irresponsible to call your therapist. It’s the middle of the night and your parents still work so you don’t want to wake them up.

That leaves your friends, the people who honestly could still be awake and maybe even wanting to talk to someone. But Makki has Mattsun, and vice versa. Which would leave Oikawa, but honestly? He’s been more than unbearable lately, and you’ve been walking on eggshells around him, scared that anything you say will set him off.

So you’re here, laying in your bed with no one to call. And the one person that you desperately want to call is dead.

Sniffling again and wiping the fresh tears from your eyes you pull up your texts. Maybe you can send a funny meme to Makki and start a meme war - it’ll take your mind off your current predicament at least. But your eyes fall to the chat you have with Osamu, close to the top of your messages.

Huh, you didn’t really think of him.

Not that you wouldn’t want to talk to Osamu. He’s actually very funny, with his dry humor and easy banter. Your friendship, despite its more than unusual beginning, has blossomed into something you’ve come to cherish.

But you can’t bother him with this, no no. You guys can, and have, confide in each other about your struggles and your complicated feelings and emotions. But it’s mainly been small bits and pieces shared over coffee.

But it couldn’t hurt to text him, no?

You wouldn’t say anything about your dream. Maybe you can find a funny meme to send him, or ask a question about lunch tomorrow.

You methodically type out your message, finding a meme to almost perfectly capture your mood (but not too accurately.)

You send the text before talking yourself out of it. It wouldn’t surprise you if Osamu didn’t text you back - it’s late (or early, depending on your opinion) and he should be sleeping.

You sigh deeply, finding yourself back in square one. Square one plus a stuffy nose, aching head and absolutely broken heart. You close out of the messaging app and decide to find some show to binge while you wait for the sun to rise.

Your phone begins vibrating and you’re surprised to see what comes across your screen.

Osamu doesn’t text you back. He calls you.

You pick up the phone. “Hello?”

“I hope that photo isn’t a subtle request to have me come over and cook for ya.” The soft, calm voice coming through the phone makes your chest tighten. It brings a wave of relief because you’re not alone but drowns you in guilt at inconveniencing your friend.

You clear your throat and sniffle. “No, sorry.” Your voice cracks and you wince at how obvious it is that you were just crying.

Osamu picks up on your current state. “Hey, are ya alright?”

He sounds so concerned, the teasing lilt in his voice instantly dropped. Your eyes start to water again and you can’t stop the sob that escapes your lips in time.

“Hey, Y/N are ya okay? Where are you, what’s wrong?”

“I’m sorry,” you croak out. Your voice sounds horrible, extremely hoarse and tight as you try not to let more sobs spill out. Gritting your teeth helps keep them at bay but it does nothing to stop the flow of tears. You sniffle, loud.

“Where are you? Are you in danger?”

“No, no. I’m at my apartment. I’m okay.” You take in a shaky breath, sniffling again and clearing your throat. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you.”

“It’s okay,” Osamu replies. He doesn’t sound as frantic as he did before but you can detect the worry in his voice. “I was still up so it’s no bother. I don’t even know why I called honestly. I think I just wanted to see what ya were doin’ up.”

“It’s fine, you can call me whenever,” you reply earnestly. “I….just had a dream.”

A split second of hesitation is all you’re allowed to mentally scream at yourself for breaking the one condition you set when you decided to text Osamu. “A dream?”

You nod, even though he can’t see you. “Yeah, and I’m sorry for bugging you because it’s not fair to you but I just have to tell someone or else I feel like I’m going to fucking suffocate. I know I should just call my friends but they don’t want to hear me go on and on and -”

“Hey, hey Y/N. Calm down and take a breath.” You listen to Osamu, taking a pause to breathe. Your head is now throbbing painfully and your throat feels wretched. “What was yer dream about?”

“I was playing volleyball with my friends and...Hajime.” You are silently screaming at yourself. You were not going to do this to Osamu, you were not going to burden your friend, who is already facing struggles of his own, with your problems.

But...he did ask what your dream was about.

“We were playing volleyball together,” you go on. “And it felt so real, like one minute I was in the middle of a play and the next I was waking up in my bed, searching for the ball. It took me a few seconds to realize that it was all a dream, and, and,” your breath hitches again and you feel more sobs bubbling out. Again you feel the grief take control of your body and you start crying.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s okay Y/N.” Osamu is trying to soothe you but it’s not doing much to calm you down. If anything the added reassurance was making you cry harder “It’s okay.”

It’s not okay. It’s so far from okay that you can’t even imagine how you would get to okay.

“I’m sorry,” you sob. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

“Ya don’t hafta apologize,” Osamu replies. “Just let it out, Y/N.”

Oh boy, do you let it out. You cry and cry, curled up in a ball in your bed, lamenting the loss of your best friend and trying not to drown even more in your sorrow.

But you’re not alone, really. There’s not another person in the apartment with you, but you have Osamu on the phone right now. He’s reaching out to you, reaching through the dark and trying to get to you.

You’re not alone.

You feel the sobs subsiding as your breathing returns to normal. Your entire head is throbbing, you have no chance of breathing out of your nose and your eyes are painfully dry.

“Are ya alright?”

“Yeah,” you rasp out. “I’m sorry again, for that.”

“Ya don’t ever have to apologize to me,” Osamu says immediately. His insistence brings a small smile to your face. “If ya ever need to talk about yer dreams or anything, that’s what I’m here for.”

“Thank you,” you reply. Your voice is nasally but you try to get as much sincerity in it as possible.

“Of course, and ya can call whenever. I don’t sleep so there’s a good chance ya’ll catch me anytime.”

You pause in wiping your face with your tissues as you take in what Osamu is telling you. “You don’t…sleep?”

“Nah.” Osamu's nonchalant answer makes your cock your head in confusion. “I don’t think I can remember the last time I actually slept through an entire night.”

“So,” you pause, still not comprehending. “What do you…do?”

“I do my homework, I’ve got a job at the convenience store and I usually work the night shift. Sometimes I read or binge watch a new show.” He laughs. “Usually every three or four days I just pass out for 14 hours or so, and then repeat.”

“Osamu,” you chastise. “That’s not healthy.”

He laughs again but it’s not the light chuckle from before - it’s a hollow laugh with a hard edge. “Yeah, well it stops me from havin’ the kind of dreams yer havin’. The kind where I forget that my brother is dead.”

You’re taken aback from the harshness in Osamu’s voice. It’s the first time you’ve ever heard him sound like that. It could be considered in the same category as his usual tone - dry, sarcastic and nearly apathetic. But his regular tone is part of his sense of humor and how you two converse. You’ve never felt unease from those conversations, but now you do.

“And ya know what's worse than those little dreams?” Osamu doesn’t wait for input. “The worst is when I’m not even asleep and my stupid brain will give me random reminders from when my brother was alive. Like ‘don’t forget to wake up early and shower before Atsumu uses all the hot water!’ Or,” Osamu takes in a harsh breath, the noise making your phone speaker crackle. “Or the reminder to grab another sports drink at the store for Atsumu because he’s a scrub but he’s my brother and I love him. Or to save the mushrooms from my dinner even though they’re gross but Atsumu will trade his broccoli for them.”

Osamu blasts on, speaking fervently. Someone listening in would think he’s mad at you, but you know his frustration isn’t directed at you.

“But then I remember that I live alone, and I don’t need two bottles of sports drink and my plate is full of fucking mushrooms for no god damn reason.”

“And then, after feeling like the world’s biggest idiot for forgetting that my own twin brother is dead, I remember how alone I am.” He lets out another laugh, but it’s not light nor is it bitter. It’s worse, full of self-deprecation and pain.

You wait with bated breath, waiting for any sign on life through the phone. But when Osamu speaks, a small, broken voice comes through the line and nearly breaks your heart.

“It’s like - finding a life raft in the middle of the ocean but when you get to it it’s just a bundle of seaweed - it gets me every time.”

You inhale quietly. You want to reassure him but you can’t find the right words to say.

You can’t, because you know exactly how it feels.

The cold hard truth is that Iwaizumi Hajime is dead. There is nothing in the world that can bring him back, and there is nothing you can do to change that fact. Some days you can accept this fact easier than others.

On the easy days you feel most like yourself carrying a small rock. The weight of Hajime’s death will be something you will always carry with you. But on those easy days you can slip the rock in your pocket or hold it in your hand and carry on through life.

On the hard days it takes way more effort to lug the boulder around. You don’t know if you should drag it, heft it over your shoulder, tie a rope around it and yank hard. Sometimes you’re left to your own devices, sometimes your therapist or your parents can tell you the best way to carry it. Even your friends have stepped in to help you carry it, despite their own rocks to hold.

But the absolute worst days are the ones where you lose the rock, but you haven’t realized it. Where are you going to find it? In your pocket? Your bag? Will you trip over it?

Or will it come crashing down on you like an asteroid hellbent on wiping you out?

And it’s not even the impact that’s the worst part! Sure, this asteroid comes down on you with enough force to kill you, but the shockwave is what really destroys you.

When you have those moments when you forget that your Hajime is dead, the realization of his nonexistence is the asteroid’s impact on you. The cruel realization that his nonexistence is permanent for the remainder of your life is the shockwave.

This cruel one-two punch is devastating. It knocks you down and out, merciless in it’s destruction.

For what it’s worth, Osamu’s solution to dodging that one-two punch is not terrible, although it will have major consequences for his body and mind that he will have to face someday. But you can’t blame him for doing something to avoid the heavy blow.

It does destroy. It does make you feel like you’re drowning. It does nearly kill you.

“Ah, I think she fell asleep.” You’ve been quiet for so long that Osamu thinks you’ve fallen asleep on the phone.

“No, I'm here.” You murmur. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

“Ah, a dangerous pastime.” Osamu jokes, but it doesn’t quite land. Could be from his full disclosure or from the strained laugh he gives at the end of the sentence.

“It is,” you agree. “But I was thinking about what you said.” He doesn’t respond, letting you continue. “And I just wanted to say...I get it.”

There’s silence on the other end. It’s so quiet that you fear for a second that Osamu has hung up the phone in anger, or maybe he’s drifted off to sleep. But then you hear another breathy exhale, a laugh from a person who is the furthest from laughing.

“Ya know Y/N? I think you’re the only person who does.”

You exhale and close your eyes. You find it hard to open them back up, pure exhaustion taking over your body.

“We’re still on for lunch tomorrow, right?”

“Of course,” Osamu answers. “But ya gotta rest now if ya wanna wake up in time for it.”

A small smile crosses your face. “Sure. Promise me you’ll try to get some sleep too?”

A noncommittal hum is the answer you receive, not ideal but you don’t push him. You feel brittle and fragile, and you’re sure he’s the same.

“Osamu, thank you.” You want to convey how thankful you are, not only that he called you tonight but for coming into your life at a time where you needed a friendly face. You know your gratitude doesn’t come close to covering the vast expanse of your gratefulness but you hope you’ll have time to show him.

“No worries, get some sleep. I’ll see ya tomorrow. Good night Y/N.”

“Good night Osamu.” Your eyes slip close, and you let yourself fall into a dreamless sleep.

• ────── ✾ ────── •

A/N: 😔😔 y’all this story is making me Big Sad and I wrote it. 🥲 Thank you so much for reading!!! I should probably mention that the time stamps in the chat and on the tweets and such are accurate - the story is moving right along!

Taglist Open! Please send an Ask with the request to be added to It’s [Not] Okay Fic & SMAU: @psycho-nightrose @camcam1617 @kamalymaly @toobsessedsstuff @shookykookie30 @roro-707 @qualitygiantshoepsychic @cerealfrdinner797 @ara-mitsue @gray-444 @tanakasimpcorner @rintarovibes @jellien @everytimeswift @bongofrito

#haikyuu! #haikyuu #haikyuu fic #haikyuu social media au #haikyuu smau #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #hq smau #hq x reader #hq x y/n #hq x you #haikyuu angst #hq angst #haikyuu romance #hq romance #miya osamu #miya osamu x reader #miya osamu x y/n #miya osamu x you #iwaizumi hajime #miya atsumu #oikawa tooru #hanamki takahiro #matsukawa issei #tw.mention of past character death #kita shinsuke #suna rintarou #ojiro aran #its [not] okay fic & smau

[after-witch]

(Horrorfest)  Be Good to Him (The Boy Au!Shigaraki x Reader)

Title: Be Good to Him (The Boy AU!Shigaraki x Reader)

Synopsis: The Boy!AU. You’ve come to accept that the live-in ward you were hired to nanny is a doll--no, more than a doll: a ghost, the ghost of a poor boy who died in a tragic accident. But escalating possessive behavior from your spectral responsibility has you rethinking your plans to stay. And Tomura doesn’t seem to like that very much.

Inspired by a quote from The Boy (2016): “You wouldn't hurt me, would you Brahms?”

Word Count: 2796

notes: inherent yandere, creeper Shigaraki

The sound of slamming cupboards and pounding footsteps jerks you out of a grey, dim sleep. Your brain, still foggy and restless, takes a few moments to get adjusted to being thrust out of rest. 

You've been losing so much sleep lately, trying to keep up the large house and take care of Tomura and follow the rules, all while dealing with a new, bizarre reality: ghosts are real, very real, and you've been assigned to care for one.

This sudden awakening is just one of many, lately. Tomura normally kept quiet at night, when you put him to bed just right, following the rules: pajamas, bedtime story, tuck-in, kiss goodnight.

If you missed a step, he got cranky, but could you blame him? The tormented ghost a little boy, forever doomed to wander the halls of his home, trapped in the body of a lifelike doll. It was your burden to bear, it seemed. But lately the burden has been taking a mental and physical toll, grinding you down, down, down to the bone.

It makes you think of your friend. The only one you have left, long-distance, since all your new local friends got tired of you refusing to go out with them months ago. You weren't supposed to leave, except for special errands, or else Tomura would feel neglected. You didn't want him to feel neglected. Texting, at least, didn't seem to bother him. 

You reach for your phone, grasping blindly on the bedside table. It's not there. The table, where you always set it before you go to bed, is completely empty.

Fuck, you think. Was it Tomura? It wouldn't be the first of your things he's taken, sometimes as a game, sometimes to show you that he wasn't happy you were slacking off. Ghosts, you realize, can be very particular.

You toss your legs over the side of the bed, bringing you fully out of the hazy remnants of sleep and back to reality. You have to find your phone. The thought of being without it makes you feel helpless and even more alone. You grab your robe and pull it over your thin white night-gown, then slide your fuzzy slippers over your feet to keep them warm on the cold wood.

The house is dark, barely lit here and there by electric candles jutting out of the walls; they were probably replacements for real antique ones that were there when the house was first built, you once mused. They're fine enough to keep you from tripping in the hallway, but you'll never find your phone like this, in the near-dark. You decide to head to the kitchen and call your phone from the landline.

As you enter the kitchen, however, you spy something new sitting on the counter: a slip of paper. You approach the note with trepidation, a quiet anxiety which only increases when you see what's on the page. It's a printed list of the rules, the rules you were given when you first came here, the rules you now followed as closely as possible. On the bottom of the page, however, scrawled in ink: "No phone unless Tomura gives you permission."

The sight of the words, hastily written, makes your blood freeze. Tomura had never... that is, you had never seen him write anything. You had experienced unusual, then-unexplained occurrence. Your clothes went missing, only to reappear somewhere else. Gifts were sometimes left at your door. Tomura's clothes or shoes would appear on the end of his bed, as if he picked out his own outfit that day. And footsteps--you sometimes hear footsteps, unexplained until you'd realized the truth about Tomura and his spirit residing in the house, in the doll.

But this sudden development makes your stomach twist, and you feel the first prickings of tears in your eyes. It's getting to be... too much. Too much to handle. Taking away your phone? Wanting you to get permission? You sigh deeply, rubbing your eyes, and think on what to do. You can't call the police--they will think you're crazy. You don't know your friend's phone number without using your phone--a fact which inwardly makes you cringe as your mother's voice tut-tuts in your memory: "One day you'll lose your phone and you won't be able to call anyone!"

You don't know exactly what to do, but you do know one thing: you don't want to stay in this house without your phone all night. You feel more uneasy than you have in the months since you discovered the truth behind the doll. You weren't exactly scared of Tomura, most of the time. But the lack of sleep and the constant demands and eggshells you walk on to follow the rules--and now this, on top of it all--has you overwhelmed.

You'll go into town, you decide. Just for the night. You'll book a hotel, find somewhere with a computer in the morning, then message her on Facebook and... maybe. Maybe accept her offer. Or talk to her about it. Ask her advice.

For this, you'll need your purse. Your keys. Your regular shoes. You head back the way you came, ignoring the slight rattling of the photos hanging on the walls. Could be the wind--could be Tomura. Either way, you didn't want to deal with it tonight. You reach your room and flick on the light, squinting in slight pain as your eyes adjust. You grab your purse and stuff the keys on the desk inside them. You head to the dresser and start throwing out a few things, socks, underwear, that you'll need for a day (maybe two, you think, two nights sleep doesn't sound bad) away.

All the while, a nagging feeling of guilt begins to build up inside you. You were just going to leave Tomura, leave this poor ghost, all alone? Just because you're... what? Annoyed at not having your phone? No, you correct yourself. You're leaving because it's not acceptable for anyone--ghost or not--to deprive you of your phone, but you're too tired and stressed to have a serious conversation with Tomura right now. With a good night's sleep, you can come back (maybe) and deal with it then.

You're fishing around your closet when you hear it. Stomping feet. You glance up to see a framed photo of flowers on your wall rattling like crazy until it falls down, sharp glass crashing when it hits the floor. You jump and take a few steps back.

"T-Tomura! Stop it right now!" You say, clearing your throat to give it an inch of nanny-esqe authority.

But he doesn't stop. The noise doesn't stop. The rattling only gets worse, as anything pinned or hung on your walls begins to fall down, one after the other, as if Tomura is going around the room in a circle. There's a dreadful, loud, angry pounding on the walls that begins to mimic your growing heart-rate. He's never done anything like this before.

"Stop it!" you yell, practically shrieking. "I've followed the rules! I've followed all the rules! Just stop it!"

The sound of a voice cuts you to the core.

"I know. You've done so well. I like you more than the others."

It’s a childish voice, high-pitched and thin.

You drop the bag you're holding and feel your knees turn to jelly. You're not crazy. You're hearing a voice. This is not items missing or stolen phones or shadows out of the corner of your eye. This is a tangible voice, one you think you could record if your phone hadn't been taken.

You swallow, thick and bitter. "Who's there?"

The voice giggles. There's an unnatural raspiness to the sound that makes you shiver.

"Who do you think, silly (Y/N)?"

You know who it is. But you whisper, anyway: "Tomura?"

You hear footsteps. You hear footsteps coming from behind the walls. You follow the sound of them until they reach the large vent on the wall facing away from your bed. Your heart hammers in your chest as you hear rattling--hear the vent rattling--until the golden grate is suddenly pushed out of the space. The clattering sound as it hits the floor makes you want to jump, but instead you're frozen to the spot, unable to look away.

A hand reaches out from the darkness behind the vent, curling around the wall and giving leverage to the figure that emerges from the dark. You try to make a sound, try to scream, but only a faint breathy gasp escapes your lips.

You watch as the figure goes from crawling to standing. It's Tomura--but it's not Tomura. It's not the doll you've been carrying around, tucking in at night, a doll you've been kissing and reading stories to at bedtime. It's a fully grown man, who seems to tower above you even at a distance. There's a mask over his face, a simple doll's mask, which you think must have once been white but is now streaked with dirt. He simply stares at you through the mask, breathing heavily.

Your body moves backward involuntarily, wanting to get away from the icy terror in your skin, and you bump into the wall. You can feel the picture that fell down earlier at your ankles. A piece of glass from the shattered frame crunches under your slipper.

The movement catches his notice, and he stalks towards you until he's practically pressed up against you. You look up at him and try to think of something, anything to say, anything that might make sense of the bizarre, horrific situation you've found yourself in. You take in his face, or rather, the mask that fills most of it. Limp, dirty hair clings to the sides of his face, clings to the mask; there's a sheen of sweat and a stale smell that permeates the air. Old clothes, stale air, and a clear lack of proper bathing.

He leans in, and you can now make out his eyes, red and intense, behind the holes of the mask.

"You can't leave," he says. His voice is awkward and muffled by the mask. It lies somewhere in between the strange childish voice you'd heard earlier--you realize with a shudder that he'd been putting on the voice of the little boy you'd assumed him to be, sweet and cheeky--and the voice of the adult man standing before you. Raspy and clearly underused.

You realize he's waiting for an answer and take a few shuddering breaths, trying to ignore the stale air that you suck in with each breath. "I wasn't... I was just... I needed to go get--"

"Liar."

Your eyes are suddenly blinking away a bright light, and you see that he'd pulled a phone out--your phone. The screen is showing the last text message conversation with your friend, the offer you'd been mulling over since you received it the day before. They offered to pay for a plane ticket home, offered you a place to stay until you got back on your feet. "Maybe," you'd texted back. "Idk. This is all getting to be too much. I don't know if I can stay."

He tosses the phone on the floor. You consider reaching down to grab it, maybe you'll be fast enough--but his arm suddenly juts out, slamming against the wall next to you. You scream without thinking.

"Mine. You're mine," he rasps. "The letter says so."

You shake your head, aware that you're now crying. "I can’t--I can't stay here."

He presses a dirty finger to your lips, shushing you. You can taste grime and salt. You’re afraid to talk, lest he stick it inside.  

"You don't get to leave. It's in the rules. It's in the rules." His voice has taken on a childish, whining tone again.

The situation leaves no room for argument as you realize, helplessly, how can you hope to argue with a man who’s currently got you trapped in a bedroom, in a big house, so far from town that you have to drive?

So you nod, slowly. If you can placate him long enough… you can grab your purse, or just the keys, even, and get the hell out of there.

He slowly removes his fingers, and your mind whirls as you think of a plan to distract him. “Tomura, it’s… it’s way too late, isn’t it?” You stare up at him, offering a shaky smile. “You need to get back to sleep, young man. It’s past your bedtime.”

He looks down at you. You can hear his breath hitch.

“Did you hear me?” you say, taking on a haughty tone you used to use playfully, back when you thought he was just a wayward, lost ghost--and not a fully grown man who clearly had been living in the walls. You push down the revulsion that comes with realizing that he’s been watching you all this time. “I’m in charge, and--”

His hand is on your cheek, suddenly, and you flinch before you can help yourself. He strokes your cheek, petting you like a precious thing.

“Can I tuck you into bed tonight, (Y/N?)” He’s back to using the childish tone, sweet and syrupy. You stare at him, stuttering out something before he continues. “Please? Then I’ll go back to bed. I promise.”

You swallow and take a deep, sighing breath. Then you nod, smiling and hoping it’s not too much like a grimace. “All--all right. Just this once, because it’s a special night, right? I got to see you for the first time.”

He nods quickly, an affected gesture of giddiness. He giggles.

You just have to get through this. Let him tuck you into bed. Then wait until he’s… retreated, grab your things, and tip-toe to the front door. It’s doable, you think. It has to be.

“Let me just put these on the desk,” you say, grabbing up your purse and clothes in a deliberately casual gesture, dumping them on the desk like you’re not giving them a second thought. He doesn’t seem to notice or care, which gives you some slight relief.

You keep your eyes on him and you sit back down on the bed and slowly pull your legs up, stretching them out and giving your best careless smile, considering the circumstances. “Well? Tuck me into bed, then it’s off to bed with you, okay?”

Tomura takes a few tentative steps forward. You almost jerk your legs away when he reaches for them, but the knowledge that you need to keep him placated until you can get out of here keeps your legs still. He gently lifts up one foot, almost studying it, before slowly pulling off the slipper.

“Mustn’t wear these to bed,” he says, trailing a dirty finger up your soft naked sole. You do flinch, then, letting out a shaky breath.

“Don’t,” you say, “I’m ticklish.”

He giggles. “I know.” But he takes off the other slipper without further fanfare, to your relief. Next, he lifts up the crumpled comforter, and you let your legs slide underneath as he pulls it up closer to your chest.

Your heart is hammering as he leans in close to you. The goodnight kiss. His closeness is unwelcome, not only for the fear but for the increased awareness of the stale, unpleasant smell; sweat and body and what is probably years of living in grime.

His fingers ghost against your thin satin nightgown, toying with the straps and gently tickling your shoulders. 

His eyes are wide open as he leans closer. The mask presses against your lips and your fear reaches its peak in that moment. What if he doesn’t stop here?

But in the next moment, he’s back to standing. He softly tucks a piece of your hair behind your ear.

“Good night. Sleep tight.”

You smile primly. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite?” He nods and you shoo him away--playfully, you hope. “Okay, okay! Now off to bed! A… a growing boy like you needs his sleep.”

You turn slightly over on your side, as if preparing to fall asleep yourself, and close your eyes. You listen as his steps walk away from your bed, thinking wildly: please-let-this-work, please-let-this-work, it’s-working-it’s-working-it’s--

Your stomach drops when you hear him jangling the keys--your keys--in his hands.

“Good night, (Y/N). I’ll see you in the morning.”

The locks to your bedroom are as loud as the hammering of your heart.

#the boy #tomura shigaraki #horror writing #yandere shigaraki #yandere tomura shigaraki #afterwitch writes #horrofest

[spookyboywhump]

Oooh boy, this got LONG (3,036 words), and the whumpiest part ain’t even till towards the end, my bad

 It’s Valentine’s day in the Bad Timeline and nobody is really vibing

CW: Pet whump, creepy whumper, intimate whump, very brief nsfw mention, brief emeto mention, hand whump, beating, strangulation, nonsexual noncon touch

***

 He had a bad feeling about this, staring down at the boxes in front of him. Nicholas had presented them to him that morning before locking him and Cain in the bedroom, after warning him it would be in his best interest to accept the gifts and be looking presentable in the next few hours. Hours had passed though and he still hadn’t done much but stare at the white boxes, decorated with blue silk ribbons. 

 “You should be thankful,” Cain said, and Wren almost hit him, “The last gift he gave me was my fucking collar.” He said bitterly.

 “I don’t think any of this is going to be better than a collar.” He muttered.

 “He’s going to be back any minute now, you might as well get it over with.” He hated to admit it but he knew he was right, he wasn’t in the mood to deal with more than Nicholas’ attitude. Finally, he started opening the gifts, discarding the ribbons to the side, which Cain didn’t hesitate to pick up and start fidgeting with. Wren could tell he was bitter that Nicholas hadn’t left him anything, and he would’ve felt bad for him if not for the fact that he already knew he didn’t want a single one of these gifts. 

 Inside the boxes he found a new outfit to add to the growing wardrobe Nicholas had for him. More pretty clothing that he only hated because it came from Nicholas, and he wasn’t particularly fond of the new earrings, or the headband with a bow hanging off it, however, he did like the idea of kicking Nicholas with the new shoes he’d been given. Nicholas had gotten rid of his beloved red converse a long time ago, and barefoot kicks simply weren’t cutting it. 

 “He’s disgusting…” He muttered more to himself.

 “It could be worse.” Cain said. “You’ve seen the kind of things other owners will make their pets wear. I think we’re lucky he’s not that bad.”

 “Would you stop making excuses for him?” He snapped at him. “I know you have some sick crush on him but I don’t, and I don’t give a damn how good he is compared to other owners.” He said, not looking up at Cain as he looked over the envelope Nicholas had left him, addressed to Love. He opened it, and cringed at what looked like a typical flowery Valentine’s Day card. He didn’t even bother reading it, opening the card to see if there was anything worthwhile inside. A part of him thought it would be really funny to find money, but instead he found something else, he found photos. His breath caught in his throat, he dropped the card and frantically shuffled through the photos, Cara, Lila, Alec, Zander, even Alondra. They were all clearly taken without the subject’s knowledge, they were all recent, and Wren swore he was going to be sick. Cain had picked up the card when he’d dropped it, but now he was holding it out to him.

 “You might want to read this…” He said softly, and Wren snatched it from him. Nicholas hadn’t written anything exceptionally creepy, not in the way Wren expected anyway. Instead he’d just left a simple, direct message.

 ”Behave and you can keep the photos- and keep the people in them safe.”

 Out of anger, he dropped the photos and tore the card in half, tearing it up into small pieces before getting to his feet, angrily pacing the room. He was more scared than anything really, his heart pounding away in his chest.

 “That fucking creep.” He muttered angrily. “I’m so-so fucking sick of him! What the fuck is he gonna do, he- he can’t- he can’t hurt them-!”

 “If he got you, then he can get them.” Cain said, looking through the photos. “Fuck- Zander looks like a wreck.” He muttered, and Wren stormed over, snatching the photos from him. He held them close to his chest for a moment, anxiously looking around the room before going over to the bookshelf, grabbing a random book off it and sticking the photos between the pages, memorizing the title before putting it back where he’d gotten it. He’d never seen Nicholas touch any of those books, and he knew that his safest bet to keep the photos would be to keep them out of sight. Even if Nicholas wanted to take them he likely wouldn’t be able to find them, and while he couldn’t do much to keep the actual people safe, it did make him feel a little better. 

 He knew he was running out of time so he finally changed into the clothes Nicholas had left for him, swearing and muttering the entire time. He felt ridiculous when he looked at himself in the mirror, though he was glad it wasn’t one of the more revealing looks, he still didn’t like the big bow hanging off the shirt, he thought the headband was a bit too much, and he got so frustrated trying to get the earrings he was wearing out to switch them that Cain had to get up and help him. He hated letting him near him, he was still getting used to the shift in their dynamic, really he wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to it at all. 

 He’d just barely finished getting ready when Nicholas returned, the sound of the door unlocking startling both of them. Cain backed off of him, and for now, Wren tried to play nice with his new owner. He didn’t flash him a big fake smile and greet him with love and adoration in his voice, but he did tone down the glare he gave him, keeping his hands behind his back for now so Nicholas wouldn’t see his hands clenched into fists. The man smiled as he looked him over, he seemed pleased with his work and that was enough to make Wren angry all over again, though he kept his face blank. 

 “You look beautiful, Love.” He said as he approached him, and Wren held still as he stood in front of him, reaching up to tilt his chin up. 

 “Thank you.” He said through gritted teeth, and Nicholas seemed more amused than anything. 

 “You’ll behave for me, right?” He asked, and Wren nodded as he subtly pulled away from him.

 “Of course, sir.” He said, having to force himself back into the behavior he’d exhibited with Cain. Nicholas slipped his arm around his shoulders, and spared a glance at Cain. 

 “We’ll be back later, darling.” He told him, and Wren could see the way his face fell. He didn’t like it, but he couldn’t help but feel slightly bad for him. He knew if they could trade places he’d gladly return him to Nicholas’ attention. For now he was stuck with him, led away to simply be a pretty accessory to the man for the time being.

 ***

 He knew he shouldn’t have been angry at him, he didn’t have a say in it, he didn’t want to be here, but Cain couldn’t help it. He sat on Nicholas’ bed with his knees pulled up to his chest, struggling to blink back tears. 

 Things weren’t good before. He was still a pet, Nicholas treated him like a toy at the best of times and like a horrible, misbehaving mutt at the worst of times. But the longer that Wren was here, the more he was beginning to feel that maybe, being a toy wasn’t so bad. It hadn’t even been that long but he missed Nicholas’ affection, he missed being held by him and he missed the feeling of his hand carding through his hair. He wasn’t sure if he was doing it to hurt Cain on purpose, but it was obvious which pet he liked more. Wren was at his side more often, Wren was treated like a delicate, fragile thing when he behaved, and when he was good Nicholas would let him sleep next to him- more like he forced him to, really- while Cain was confined to a cage. At this point, he only gave Cain attention when he wanted to hurt him or when he wanted to fuck him, though the two often overlapped. 

 He reached up and angrily wiped at his eyes. He never once thought he’d be this hurt and jealous over Wren of all people. He’d been jealous of Zander before, incredibly so, and really he knew that Nicholas was unnaturally, creepily interested in the boy since the beginning. He didn’t think it would turn into this though, and he should’ve felt bad for Wren, he should’ve wanted him safe but he hardly cared about the circumstances, he just wanted him gone. 

 He hated to admit it, but he wanted his master back.

 ***

 He had been walking on eggshells the entire time he’d been with Nicholas. It was easy through his meeting, if not a little embarrassing to kneel at his side like an obedient dog. He’d tried to keep some distance between them but Nicholas had grabbed him by the hair, forcing him to rest his head against his leg and let him play with his hair, the most attention he gave him while he talked with the other man. He couldn’t stand to be so pliant with him, typically he’d have acted out the first chance he got, but Nicholas hadn’t really given him much reason to. Aside from tugging on his hair, he’d been almost nice to him. Wren couldn’t stand it. 

 He managed to last through the rest of the day, for once keeping his mouth shut, wearily watching Nicholas’ every move, waiting for him to snap, waiting for him to just do something. His fear and anxiety finally got the best of him that evening, not only had Nicholas been generous enough to feed him, he was letting him sit at the table, something he’d never done before in Wren’s short time here. 

 “What’s the point of all this?” He finally asked, failing to hide the irritation in his voice. 

 “What do you mean, Love?” Nicholas asked him, as though this was all completely normal.

 “All… all of this.” He said, gesturing with his hands as he spoke. “The- The gifts, the keeping me at your side all day, and now this.” He said, gesturing to the table now. “What���s the catch, huh? What are you fucking doing?” 

 “I’m just treating my love the way I should.” He said with a laugh. “I must say, I didn’t expect you to behave the entire time. I like it though, obedience suits you.” He said, and Wren glared at him. His questioning was interrupted when dinner was finally served to them, and it had been so long since he’d eaten that he couldn’t help but eagerly go to dig in. He paused though, the fork halfway to his mouth before he looked at Nicholas, who didn’t seem to find anything wrong. 

 “You try it first.” He said, holding the fork out to him.

 “Why?” Nicholas asked, one eyebrow raised.

 “So I know you aren’t trying to fuck with me. How am I supposed to know whether or not you had them slip something into my food specifically?” He said seriously. 

 “You’re far too paranoid, but fine.” Nicholas said, allowing Wren to feed him the bite of food, and it took all his self control to not shove the fork down his throat. It did ease his fears though, now that he knew it was safe he finally started eating. At one point Nicholas had to warn him to slow down, he was eating as though it would be taken from him at any moment, he couldn’t help it though. He’d just barely been getting accustomed to eating whenever and however much he liked when Nicholas had taken him, leaving him starving more often than not. 

 He sat back in his chair when he was done, though he couldn’t bring himself to relax. He knew something was coming, he could feel it, he just didn’t know what. Typically he tried to ignore Nicholas, but he found himself talking to him before he could remind himself to shut up. 

 “You really don’t have something fucked up planned?” He asked.

 “I do not.” Nicholas said, that amused look on his face again. Wren wanted to hit him. 

 “You want something.” He said bluntly. “The gifts, the card, the fucking photos. You want something and I’m not going to fucking give it to you.” He said, sitting up straight again. It made his skin crawl to think about the things he knew Nicholas wanted from him, but even then if he wanted that so bad he could’ve drugged him, and he didn’t. 

 “All I want from you is your obedience.” Nicholas told him. “You were perfect for me today, that’s all that I want from you. You just need to be my sweet, well behaved Love.” He said. “My quiet, lovely pet.” Wren was quickly getting sick of this, that rage and defiance he’d buried all day finally bubbling up. He abruptly got to his feet, his hands slamming down on the table.

 “I’m not your fucking pet!” He snapped. “I’m not your pet, I’m not your “Love”, I’m sure as hell not your fucking doll! You can’t fucking keep me like this!”

 “Can’t I?” Nicholas smiled at him. “Nobody is looking for you. It was all too easy for their miserable, alcoholic friend to simply disappear, likely an accident. Nobody is going to stop me, and nobody is going to rescue you.” He said, speaking calmly, which only further angered Wren. 

 “I don’t need somebody to rescue me, I’ll get out of this place myself if I fucking have to. You don’t, and you never will own me.” He snarled.

 “Are you done?” Nicholas asked him. “You know, I really don’t like lying, Love.” He said, and Wren noticed him grab the steak-knife too late, before he could move Nicholas plunged the blade into his hand, pinning his hand to the table. Wren clapped his other hand over his mouth to muffle his scream, the pain so severe he nearly collapsed, his legs feeling weak all of a sudden. Nicholas stood up now, roughly grabbing Wren by the wrist, pulling his hand away from his face. He leaned in close to him, that cruel smile on his face now. “And saying I don’t own you is a terrible lie.” He let go of his wrist, and Wren sobbed as he wrenched the knife out of his hand. He instinctively pulled his hand close to his chest, struggling to hold back his cries, but Nicholas was quick to drag him away from the table, throwing him to the floor, angry enough to carry out his punishment there in the dining room.

 All Wren could do was try to cover his head as Nicholas kicked him over and over again, a particularly well placed blow to the stomach almost causing him to vomit. He tried to get up before it could get worse, but Nicholas hit him hard enough to knock him back down, hard enough he swore he blacked out for a moment. He didn’t get a chance to defend himself, Nicholas got down on the floor with him, straddling his waist and landing another hit on his face, causing his nose to bleed. 

 “Is this what you wanted me to do to you?” He snarled, his hands wrapping around Wren’s throat, the boy desperately grabbing and clawing at his wrists in an attempt to make him let go. “Do you want me to treat you like a disobedient little bitch? You were doing so well all day long, what do you gain by ruining that?” His grip around his throat got tighter and tighter, cutting off his cries for help, effectively silencing him, only the slightest wheeze escaping his mouth. His vision was going dark, finally his arms fell limply at his sides, and that was when Nicholas let go of him, not moving from his spot on top of him though. Wren gasped for air, taking deep, heaving breaths, only stopping when a cough would wrack his body. 

 “You stupid, ungrateful bitch.” Nicholas muttered, looking down on him disdainfully. “I’ve been nothing but kind to you all day and you still reject it. And look- you got blood all over your new clothes, you really are good for nothing, aren’t you?” He said, finally getting off him. Wren didn’t move though, he laid there trying to catch his breath, holding his still bleeding hand close to his chest.

 He’d been worried, waiting for something to happen all day, he’d been so sure that Nicholas planned to harm in, and in the end it was all his own, stupid fault he got hurt.

 ***

 He stared his reflection down, shuddering as Nicholas trailed a hand down his bare back. His torso was painted with bruises, dark, ugly splotches against his skin, the punishment he earned for daring to lie to his master. On some level he considered himself lucky, he hadn’t been allowed back in the bedroom the night before and when he saw Cain he looked rough, but that didn’t change the fact that he was in so much pain, sore and aching after the beating. There were even bruises around his throat where Nicholas had strangled him, his pretty blue collar doing nothing to hide them. 

 “It’s a shame you made me do this to you, Love.” Nicholas said, his voice excessively gentle compared to the way he dug his fingers into a bruise on his ribs, causing Wren to wince in pain, screwing his eyes shut.

 “I didn’t make you do anything…” He muttered, glancing down at his bandaged hand. He couldn’t believe that simply snapping at him got him all this, he hadn’t even bit him or tried to hit him like he had in the past. He had a feeling that Nicholas was getting tired of him, his defiance was losing its charm and though he didn’t want to admit it, Wren was terrified of what would happen when Nicholas was finally and completely over him.

#valentine's day #whump #my writing #my oc's #wren #cain #nicholas #pet whump #dehumanization #strangulation #hand whump #beating #bad timeline

[1-800-hellraiser]

(Just a P.S.A, this is more of a 'father and daughter' type thing, in this oneshot, you're 15. MAPs are disgusting. Thanks for coming to my TED talk.)

Requested by: no one 

Pages: 7.5

Words: 2,733

Genre: fluffyyyyyyyy

Associated song: Daddy Issues - The Neighborhood

!TW! Mentions of family issues, mental and emotional abuse, blood, murder and some swearing.

<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3<3

"And if you were my little girl, I'd do whatever I could do. I'd run away and hide with you, I love that you got daddy issues." 

​​​      Throughout your life, you were a good kid. You followed directions, you were kind and friendly, everything a parent could ask for in a child. Except, your parents were different, your parents hated you. They would call you names, manipulate you and put you down. You obviously hated it, so, one day you snapped. You killed your family, you didn't feel guilty.

     Now, you live in a mansion with a bunch of serial killers, some human, most not. They are your family now, and you're glad to call them that. One being in particular that makes you feel this way is Hoodie. He was the first one to take you to Slender's mansion. Since then, you've been training to becime a proxy, just like him. 

     You see him as a father figure, you never said anything about it though. You don't want your relationship with him to be ruined. You're scared that if you tell him how you'll feel, he'll abandon you. The only  one who knows about this is Slender, since he's the only one (other than Hoodie) that you trust in the mansion with this information. 

      You have a big day ahead of you today. You go on your first mission with Hoodie. You've been living in the mansion for about six months, those months have been used as training months. Now, you're ready for you're first misson as a proxy. You're excited, but also very nervous. What if you mess it up. What if the target gets away. What if you lose Hoodie.  What if you lose his respect. What if-

      "Good morning Y/n. You have to get up to get ready for the mission. You've got thirty minutes, I'll be waiting downstairs." You turn in your bed to face Hoodie. You take your hand from under your covers and give him a thumbs up. He chcukles at your action and closes the door. 

   After Hoodie leaves, you roll to the edge of your mattress and sit up. You raise both your arms above your head and stretch your back. You get up and pad over to your dresser. You open up the first drawerbto get undergarments and socks. The next drawer, you pull out your f/s (favorite shirt). You open the second to last drawer to grab some denim jeans.

   You walk over to the bathroom built into your room. You put your clothes on the edge of the sink, and grab the towel that you used yesterday. You gently turn the handle to adjust the temperature. Silently taking off your pajamas, you toss them on the floor. Making a mental note to get them when you get put of the shower, you step into the shower. 

    You step out of the shower and grab your towel. Wrapping the towel around you, you pick up your pajamas with a dry hand, then toss them in with your dirty clothes. You pad back in to the bathroom and dry yourself off. After you dry off, you style your hair how you want. After that, you put on some deodorant and start putting on your clothes. 

    "Damn, this smells good." You comment to yourself  about your body fragrance. You look in the mirror above your sink. You twist and turn a bit, then put your hands on your hips confidently. "I look like a boss ass bitch," You comment at your reflection. You walk out of the bathroom and grab your combat boots that are put neatly next to your bedroom door. 

    Sliding on your boots and tying them tight, you grab your weapon of choice. A simple aluminum baseball bat. You also grabbed your plain black zip-up hoodie, and headed downstairs. You try your best to walk down the stairs as quietly as you possibly can. You don't want to wake anybody up. Especially Jeff, you rather not get stabbed today. 

   Silently stepping off the last stair, you gently speedwalk to the living room. The living room is also close to the kitchen and the front door. The only thing dividing the kitchen from the living room was a counter. Bringing yourself back from the decor of the murder mansion, you turn to see a smiling Hoodie. He doesn't have his mask on yet, which suprises you greatly. 

   Hoodie always wears his mask, even if its unbearably hot outside, or when he's sleeping. You don't understand how its comfortable, but you learned from living with a bunch of serial killers to just not question it. "You ready to go?" His soft tone brings you back from your thoughts. You just simply nod and walk out the door with him. 

   The pastas and proxies don't normally have to use cars to get to their destination, but there are rare occurrences where they do. Only on missions that take more than an 45 minutes in walking time. This one was not an exception, just driving to this person's house will take you and Hoodie about a hour and a half.  

  The only car the pastas and proxies have is this big white van. Dubbed 'the candy van' by Jeff and BEN. Because of it's nature in media, you can see why the name sticks. You hop into the passenger seat and make yourself comfortable. You silently stare out the window into the vast forest that surrounds you.

   You see why Slender put the mansion in the middle of a forest. Even if most of the inhabitants are stuck there, at least they have a beautiful view. You're torn away from your fixation on the forest by the revving of the ignition. You steal a glance at Hoodie, then relax into the questionably stained seat of the van. 

   The car ride was full of you seeing Hoodie become more, how do I put it, talkative? Yeah, he told you a lot about his past, you knew some if it, but not all of it. You feel honored to have this information and trust. So, its only fair you tell him your story as well right? You told him everything, everything from the nitty-gritty, to your favorite memories with friends. Mini road trips are magical. 

    Hoodie pulls into a rocky drive way at an unknown l youocation. The little GPS on his phine still showes about a five minute walk to the destination. He takes his phone, turns it off, and slips on his ski mask. He glances over at you, you are spacing out at the forest in front of you. "You okay?" His voice cuts through the air like a knife. You blink a few times, trying to get your train of thought back on track. "Yeah, I'm good, I just spaced out," You explain sheepishly.

   Hoodie nods understandingly. You both hop out if the car parked in the dense forest area, and make your way to the victim's house. "So, what's the sitch Hoods?" You ask, not knowing the plan because you and Hoodie forgot to talk  about it on the way there. But it was worth it. 

   "A woman by the name of Annie Butler has been sticking her nose where it doesn't belong. She's finding out way too much. So, we have to take some files of hers then kill her." You nod, hyping yourself up to do this. Admittedly, you are a bit anxious, but that won't stop you from gaining more of Hoodie's trust and respect. 

   You are hoping you don't fuck this up big time. You cant lose the bond that you and Hoodie have, it's way to important to you. You give a gentle sigh and keep walking with Hoodie.

  Eventually, you arrive at the house of the person of interest. The house is white and the trim is a robins egg blue. It looks like the house of the traditional nuclear family, but with a bit more, suspicion. You start walking towards the house through the drive way before Hoodie grabs your arm.

   "We gotta go around back to break in, she'll see us comming up the driveway." He informs, you blush, embarrassed about not thinking about that.  You follow Hoodie around to the back of the house. Annie has a very nice white patio with a glass table and five black metal chairs with white cushons on top. She has a medium sized firepit adjacent to the patio near the backdoor. 

   "I think we should sneak in through that window." You say, pointing to the window next to the patio. Hoodie nods and you both start to walk over to the window. Once you reach the window, you slide up the protective  screen and pull up the window.

   Luckily, this lady is dumb enough to leave her windows unlocked. You set your butt on the windowsill and stick one leg in, then your torso, then the other. Hoodie follows in suit as you stand in the garage. You see the door that leads from the garage to the house and go to open it. Unfortunately, this lady is smart enough to lock the doors.

   "What dumbass doesn't lock their windows, but locks their doors?" You say, Hoodie chuckles softly at your jab. You smile and fish around in your pocket, you grasp the cold metal and pull out a bobbypin. You pick at the lock for a while before hearing a small 'click'. You try the handle again and the door opens this time. 

   You and Hoodie both sneak into the house, you do not see Annie yet. "I'm going to go check the kitchen, you check the living room," You give Hoodie a thimbs up and tou both ho your separate ways. You silently pad over to the doorway leading into the living room and peak inside. 

   The living room walls are painted a light grey. There is a black couch on one side of the wall, and a flat screen t.v on the other. In the corner between the couch and the wall is a house plant in a modern, porcelain plant pot. Above the couch sat a few picture frames with pictures of what looks to be Annie and her family. You give a slight smile, she looks so happy in the photos. You see no sign of Annie.

   You meet Hoodie at the foot of a stairwell. It probably leads up to her room. "This stairwell leads up to Annie's room," called it. You and Hoodie walk up the steps, being as quiet as humanly possible. You both see two doors "Her door is the left one" Hoodie states nonchalantly. You silently step towards the eggshell white door. You take a deep breath, and roughly shove the door open. Bat in hand, you speedwalk into the room, Hoodie right behind you. 

   You see Annie sitting at a desk with a monitor on it. She flinches into her chair and whips her head at you and Hoodie. "W-who are you, and what are you doung in my house?" Annie gets up from her chair and stumbles backwards a bit. "You know too much, we can't have that, we know what you know." Hoodie states reaching for the handgun in his hoodie pocket. 

   "S-STAY BACK", Annie shouts, pulling a meat cleaver from under her pillow. You chuckle lowly, "Do you really think we're afraid of you, Annie?" You seer, she gives you a look of shock and horror. "How do you know my name?" She questions, you laugh in her face. "Oh dear Annie, we know every little thing about you~" you laugh and step towards her menacingly. She stumbles backwards and falls on her butt, she scoots as far away from you until her back hits her bed. 

   You tilt your head to the right, signaling Hoodie to go get her files. You slowly and menacingly step towards Annie, every step you take your bat hits the floor with a solid 'thunk'. Your standing toe to toe with Annie's shaking form, you raise your bat. "P-please don't." She whimpers, her arms blocking her face. You chuckle and get ready to swing the bat.

   "Too late, sweetheart." You say as you bring the bat down as hard as you can onto her head. Blood spews all over everything. Annie lets out a scream as you bring down your bat once more on her head. She lets out a gurgle as blood drips down from her bashed in skull, out her nose, and her mouth. Hit her with your bat right in her temple to make sure she's dead. Once you know she's dead, you lean on your bat, and try to wipe spewed blood off your s/t face. 

   "You got the files?" You turn to Hoodie, he holds up a thick manilla folder. "Ok, let's go." You say, as you start to navigate to the front door, Hoodie follows in suit. You both find your way out of the house, and take a trail through the forest to get to the van, so you won't get noticed. You finally get to the dirty white van and you hop into yhe passenger side. 

   Almost as soon as you both get on the road, you pass out. Who knew bludgeoning someone to death with a bat could knock the energy out of you. When Hoodie sees you passed out, he smiles and chuckles softly. It's normal for a new proxy to clonk out after their first mission. 

   Once you and Hoodie got home, it was about 5:30 pm (17:30). Hoodie gently shakes you awake. "Y/n, you gotta get up, we're home now." He whispers gently to your sleeping form. You stir and slightly open your eyes, you blink and sit up straight. You yawn and stretch a bit. "How long was I out for?" "About 45 minutes." Hoodie informs, you nod, grabing your bat and getting out of the van. 

   You and Hoodie proceed to walk back to the mansion. "Hey kid, you did a great job today, I'm proud of you." You smile, still sleepy and out of it. "Thanks dad." Hoodie stops in his tracks, you turn back and let what you said sink in. "UH, I meant thanks Hoods, eheheh." You say and speedwalk as fast as you can to the mansion. 

  As soon as you enter the mansion you haul ass to your room. You shut the door and run into your bathroom. You sit in the toilet seat, trying not to hyperventilate as you flip your shit. You just called Hoodie dad, you're royaly fucked. You start toncry a little before you hear a knock on your door. You stop everything you're doing.

   "Y/n, please come out, I need to talk to you." You jear Hoodie's soft voice call from your door. You sigh, fuck it. You get up and trudge to the door. Your shaking hand grips the knob and turns it slowly. Your door creaks open to reveal Hoodie. "I'm so sorry for what I said I didn't mean to say  it out loud I don't want you to think of me any less and I would like to forget this ever happened." You spew out, flinching back when you're finished. Hoodie frowns underneath his mask and puts a hand on your tense shoulder. 

   "It's ok Y/n, I never knew you thought of me that way, but, It's okay." He almost whispers. You start to shake again, Hoodie sees this and engulfs you in a hug. He gently rocks you back and forth as you let out muffled sobs of shame. "It's okay honey I'm here, I'm here." 

   "Love is just a history that they may prove, and when you're gone, I'll tell them my religions"

#marble hornets #creepypasta #marble hornets brian #marble hornets hoodie #hoodie #fluff #oneshot #short story #writers on tumblr #<3 <3 <3 #ilysm <333 #ily <3333

[citrinekay]

Prompt, for later: Bill and Holden are together for quite some time and keep it secret. One day Bill gets an invitation to a wedding with his +1, but he can't bring Holden so he throws it out. Holden finds it and tries to convince Bill to go alone, but Bill is adamant. Later he confesses to Wendy he wishes he could marry Holden. She describes marriage as a financial contract, BUT is secretly a romantic, so she tells him that even if marriage is impossible, he can propose and make his vows.

Ok I am taking a brief break from my long fic because I have not stopped thinking about this prompt since I got it. The gay yearning in this … i can’t 😭 Thank you, and here you go 💕: 

The invitation comes on crisp, eggshell white stationary with watercolor lilacs and gold calligraphy lettering. It’s addressed to Bill, but at the bottom in the delicate, cursive lettering, it suggests he bring a plus one when RSVPing to help the two celebrate a day of “love that’s meant to be.” 

He finds it between his water bill and a piece of junk mail, and almost immediately throws it in the garbage. It’s not that he doesn’t want to attend his old pal’s wedding. He knew the guy way back in the day when the BSU was first founded. Though they haven’t kept up over the years, Bill knows what kind of person he is - and who else will be at the wedding. A whole lot of FBI good ol’ boys, relics of the Hoover system, the principled type who would have undoubtedly thrown a fit if they knew Holden took “fellatio” and “cunnilingus” off the list of deviant terminology. Guys who would take one look at Bill bringing Holden as his plus one, and draw all kinds of conclusions - every single one of them correct. 

The invitation sails into the garbage can on top of a paper plate spattered with day old ketchup. 

Later that evening, Holden comes over with carry-out from the burger joint down the road, and a case of beer. Once they’ve gorged themselves on burgers and fries and shared two beers, Holden is snuggled up in his arms, half falling asleep while the television plays The Godfather. 

The wedding theme is following him, Bill thinks. Maybe it’s the universe trying to tell him something. 

He glances down at Holden’s flushed cheek nestled against his chest, his dark eyelashes shielding Bill from a glimpse of his pretty blue eyes. His hair is a tousled mess from Bill running his fingers through it, and the puckered swell of his lower lip has the same affect on him that always does: a deep, magnetic urge to kiss Holden senseless. 

Bill glances back at the television screen, trying to focus his attention back on the film. He’s been through love and marriage, buying a house together, having a kid, all the normal things that are expected - or rather readily accessible - to a heterosexual couple. It’s confetti, icing on a cake when the batter would have been satisfying enough. He doesn’t need all that. What they have between them, secretly is good enough even if Bill can never take Holden as his plus one to a wedding, or walk down the aisle towards him in their own celebration of love meant to be. 

He’s usually pretty good at giving himself a pep talk and moving on. This time, it doesn’t stick. He can’t bury his feelings, but he should have at least burned the invitation. 

A few days later, they’re getting ready for work in the morning. Bill is standing over the kitchen counter drinking his coffee and reading the newspaper while Holden uses the blender to mix a smoothie. As the whir of the blender dies down, Holden turns to Bill with a curious gaze. 

“Is everything okay with you?” 

“What?” Bill asks, looking up from the paper. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’ve been quiet the past few days.” 

“I have?” 

“Yes.” Holden says, pouring out his smoothie into a glass. He takes a sip, leaving a milky line on his upper. 

“You’ve got some …” Bill mutters, leaning over to kiss the smoothie off Holden’s mouth. 

Holden leans into him, sighing into the kiss. He chuckles as he pulls his mouth away. “Hey, don’t change the subject.” 

“I’m not.” 

“You are.” Holden objects, freeing himself from Bill’s embrace.

“Holden, I’m fine. Really. I’m just tired.”

Holden stares him down for a moment before spinning around, and marching over to the side table where Bill keeps his bills in order. He pulls a slip of paper from the bottom of the stack, and holds it up. 

“It doesn’t have anything to do with this?” 

Bill recognizes the ketchup-stained wedding invitation almost immediately. He sputters in disbelief for a moment before scraping together a defensive retort. “First of all, you’re going through my trash?” 

“It was sitting right on top.” Holden says, “Isn’t Jim a really old friend of yours?”

“Yes.” Bill says, tersely. 

“Then why are you throwing out his wedding invitation?”

Bill presses his fingertips to the bridge of his nose, trying to quell his frustration. “Because.” 

“Because why?” Holden presses, “Because it says plus one on here?”

Bill opens his eyes, casting Holden a narrowed gaze. Holden stares back at him with an expectant look, waiting for an explanation. 

“Look, I’m probably not going to be able to attend anyway.” Bill says, “We’re out of town half of the time, and the other half we’re way too busy to be-”

“It’s on a Saturday.” 

“I know, but it’s all the way in Newark and-”

“You could make time.” 

Bill turns back to his newspaper, swallowing down a hot drink of coffee. It burns the back of his throat where an agitated knot is beginning to form. 

“I don’t know why you fucking care.” He says, “Jim is my friend, and if I don’t want to go then that’s my business.” 

Holden sighs, sounding a little wounded. “Fine. But I wouldn’t be upset if you went alone. I understand how it would look.” 

“It isn’t that.” Bill says, sharply. “I don’t care what those people think of me.”

“Yes, you do.” Holden says, softly. “Every time you touch me you’re breaking the law.” 

Bill looks up from the mass of little, black letters printed uniformly across the newspaper. His chest stings against the raw truth of what Holden is saying. The law is against them in every way, and they’re flirting with danger every time they so much as hold hands under the table in a restaurant. And to think, Bill had indulged himself in dreaming of Holden in a white chapel, his hair combed back and gleaming in the light, his chest sprouting with wedding day flowers. 

“I’m sorry.” Holden says, “That was …”

“No, you’re right.” Bill says, “Come here.”

Holden lays the invitation down, and shuffles across the kitchen to Bill’s outstretched arm. Bill curls his arm around Holden’s neck, drawing him close to his chest. 

Pressing a kiss to Holden’s temple, he whispers, “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

“I would tell the world that if I could.”

Holden nods against his chest, his voice meek and muffled, “I know.” 

After a few silent moments, they slowly break away from one another to continue getting ready for work. Conversation is stifled as they kiss as the front door, and go their separate ways to their cars. 

Bill doesn’t see much of Holden for the rest of the day. They’re slammed with requests from police precincts, both of them up to their ears in piles of crime scene photos and profiles. 

Bill thinks that it might be best to create some distance. The exchange this morning felt like some kind of argument that they don’t know how to resolve, not a fundamental issue with one another but rather with their situation. It’s not a riddle to solve or a behavior to analyze. There’s no understanding the way he feels about Holden, no moral resolution he can slot them into to convince himself that it’s okay. It just is. The way the sky is blue and the grass is green, he wants Holden in every way possible, only he can’t have it. It seems like a design flaw in the universe. They shouldn’t be mad with each other, but who else is there to be angry with for giving them this beautiful thing that’s constantly under threat of extinction? 

At the end of the day, Holden pokes his head into Bill’s office. 

“I’m about to leave for the day.” He says, “You coming?”

“I’m going to finish this up.” Bill says, motioning to the profile in front of him. 

Holden’s mouth purses in a line meant to hide his disappointment, but it shines clearly through his eyes. “Okay. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow then.”

“Yeah.” 

“Okay.” Holden says, his gaze dropping towards the floor. “Bye.” 

He turns to leave, and almost runs into Wendy who is on her way into Bill’s office. They exchange muttered goodbyes before Wendy slips past him into the office. 

“I was just bringing you the application list.” She says, setting the folder on his desk. “You can look at it tomorrow.” 

“Thanks.” Bill mutters, barely looking up from his notebook where his notes are scattered in nearly illegible chicken scratch. 

Wendy pauses across the desk from him, her hands clasped in front of her. 

“Was there something else?” He asks, taking his reading glasses off to meet her gaze. 

“Is Holden okay?” She asks, her gaze reserved yet calculated. 

“As far as I know.” 

“He looked upset just now.” 

Bill leans back in his chair, and lets out a sigh. He hesitates to tell Wendy their personal business, but she’s about the only person he trusts to unload on. 

“Yeah, we um … we had a … I don’t know what you’d call it - disagreement - this morning.” 

“Ah.” Wendy says, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Bill glances away. He instinctively reaches for his cigarettes to soothe his nerves. 

Wendy closes the door of the office, and comes back to take the chair across from him. She crosses her legs, and folds her hands patiently in her lap. 

“An old buddy of mine is getting married.” Bill says, focusing on the tip of his cigarette catching flame. “I got the invitation the other day.”

“Okay.” Wendy says, slowly. 

“I threw it away.” Bill says, taking drag of his cigarette, and tilting his head back to exhale smoke towards the ceiling. “Holden found it in the trash.”

Wendy’s head tilts to one side as she quietly analyzes this information. 

Bill sighs, and shakes his head. “I don’t know. I thought I didn’t want to go because it said on the invitation that I should bring a plus one, and I know I can’t take Holden to that kind of thing. But, then he said something to me that …”

“What’s that?” Wendy asks, softly. 

Bill stares at the singed tip of his cigarette, feeling the lump returning. He clears his throat against it, and pushes on, “Every time I touch him, I’m breaking the law.”

Wendy is quiet for a moment, absorbing the remark. “Is that how you feel?” 

Bill glances up at her, a frown knitting his brow. “What do you mean?”

“Does it feel criminal?” She asks, “When you touch him.” 

“No.” Bill whispers, “It feels … right. And, I suppose I didn’t realize it until he said it that the reason I didn’t want to go is because I don’t want to watch someone else get a second chance at marrying the love of their life when I don’t.” 

“Your friend is remarrying?”

“Yeah.” Bill says, scoffing. “A third time, actually. I know for a fact he cheated on his ex-wife. So I guess it feels a little wrong that he gets to marry whoever the fuck he feels like, and I-”

He glances away, rubbing a hand over his mouth. Saying it aloud makes the truth of it burn worse, right down into his chest like acid. 

“It is unfair.” Wendy says, “Heterosexual men and women get to abuse the constitution of marriage with impunity while you and I are left with the only thing we have - our privacy, a thing we must protect with our lives. At times, it feels like a struggle just to survive, and that very few people will ever understand what we experience every day.” 

“So, what you’re saying is I shouldn’t isolate myself from Holden?” Bill asks, scoffing past the lump in his throat. “You’re probably right. I should apologize.”

“Yes, I’m saying that. But I’m saying something else, too.” Wendy says, smiling gently. “I’m saying that homosexuality has existed for centuries. It’s older than modern religion, and it’s much, much older than our government and their laws. Marriage, in the traditional sense, is a gathering and a celebration of two people who love each other very much. It isn’t defined by a courthouse or a piece of paper.” 

Bill meets Wendy’s gaze, a smile tugging at his mouth. “I hadn’t thought of it that way.”

“I had a lot of gay friends in Boston.” Wendy says, “They had marriage ceremonies all the time. Proposals, rings, vows, all of it. Perhaps it wasn’t valid in the eyes of the law, but that isn’t what mattered. It wasn’t a legal contract to them. It was a display of commitment and loyalty to someone they loved very much.” 

“Wow.” Bill says, “That’s incredible.” 

Wendy nods, and rises to her feet. “It’s not beyond your reach. Think about it.” 

“I will. Thanks.” 

She smiles, softly. “Have a good night, Bill.” 

“You too.” 

She slips out of the office, leaving him alone with his thoughts. Her words settle in slowly, past his frustrations at the injustices of the world. The clamor dies down, his emotions boiling down to one thing, one certainty - he loves Holden, and he wants to spend the rest of his life with him. Beyond that, the rest is melting away, inconsequential details, a few obstacles but none that he can’t hurdle. 

Bill jumps up from his chair, leaving his cigarette half-smoked in the ashtray. The jewelry shop will be closing soon.

#bill x holden #mindhunter #my writing #purplebeetle

[hermioneshandbag]

Missions Merged, Part 6

Sirius appeared a few more times and even sent flowers but you were done with him. You peeked out the window or through the peephole to make sure it was him but you didn't engage him any further.

You had written to your parents to have them come as soon as possible because you were ready to admit that you were in over your head. Let Dumbledore build his army of children. You were going to depend on the wisdom of people who actually cared about your cousin.

You were reading a book and listening to music when there was a knock at the door.

“Bloody hell, Sirius, take a hint,” you muttered, rising from your seat to go and make sure it was your former faux boyfriend of a day.

You were shocked when you looked out and saw Moody. “I see you looking out your spyhole, girl. Open up and listen to me.”

You debated. Strangely, of the three men who had sat in your living room the other day, this one was the one you actually felt the least amount of anger toward; he had never pretended to be anything he wasn't.

You opened the door a little and said formally, “Auror Moody, what can I do for you?”

“You can start by letting me in. I'm a target out here on the street,” he growled.

“Well, I'm sure you'll understand that a single female with questionable judgement shouldn't invite strange men into her home. That sort of thing seems to bite one in the posterior.”

“Let me in, you smarth mouth little shite! You're interfering with my business and I mean to put an end to it.”

You opened the door a bit further, not sure whether you were being brave or foolish. “How, prithee, am I interfering with your business?”

He hustled through the door and you rolled your eyes and closed it behind him. “You're making one of my best trainees into a brainless, lovesick imbecile and I will have n'more of it, girl!” he thundered.

“I beg your pardon, Auror Moody, but your trainee and you and Auror Shacklebolt used me for my spell! He served me up like a sideshow freak with not a word of warning!” you fumed. “So you can tell him to take his Sacred Twenty-eight and jam them up his --”

“Young lady, I am going to speak to you as I would a daughter if I had one, because you've got the grit I'd expect a girl of mine to have. That's why I'll tell you to stop crying and talk to that boy! He's useless to me until you straighten this out,” he said as he walked around your living room, looking at the same knick knacks and family photos as before. “He was under orders not to tell you anything about anything before the meeting. And he didn't know that you'd be forced to do the spell, either.”

“He didn't?” you asked quietly.

“Use that head for more than holding your hair up, girl!” he snapped. “He didn't know about the spell until you told all three of us and you were with him the rest of the day. I was the one told Dumbledore!”

“Oh, no,” you whispered.

“Oh, yes,” he mocked you. “Now the next time that boy comes around you let him in and you kiss and make up. For some reason he seems attached. Bad idea, that.”

He headed to the door and opened it, leaving without another word.

Looked like you were cooking dinner and baking biscuits to attempt to make up with your former but genuine boyfriend for a day and see if he wanted to shoot for two days of uninterrupted dating.

Luckily you still had some of his hair in case you waited too long and needed to hunt him down to grovel.

There was a hesitant knock at your door, not at all like the pounding Sirius had taken to doing the last couple days before Moody visited. You smoothed your hair and looked out the peephole to make sure it was Sirius before you swung the door open, but when you saw his nervous countenance you opened it right away.

You simply looked at each other for a moment, each drinking the other in visually as if you had been together in one lifetime and reunited in this. Perhaps you had, you thought irreverently. Many societies believed in reincarnation, maybe you had been together before.

“Hi,” he whispered.

“Hello, d’you wanna come in?” you asked nervously.

“Thanks,” he said with a small smile.

You stepped out of his way and he came in, his cologne teasing you as he passed.

What was it about this man?

You turned to him and said, “Tea?” just as he grabbed you and pulled you into his arms.

“I'm so sorry,” he whispered.

You relaxed into his embrace. “I'm sorry I wouldn't listen,” you whispered back, as if a normal tone of voice would break some spell.

“I understand, love.”

“Ah, sorry I nearly beheaded you, as well,” you said, leaning back to look into his eyes. “I've a bit of a temper.”

“Saw that,” he said with a smile. “Very sexy.”

You giggled and slid your hands up his chest to wrap around his neck, kissing his chin before he lowered his lips to yours. You both groaned at the sensation, as if you had been apart for millennia rather than days; as if you had been together for an age rather than a day.

“This is weird,” he panted when you pulled apart.

“Every girl's dream after a make-up kiss. I can only imagine what you'll say if we ever have make-up sex,” you said sarcastically.

“Wanna find out?” he said, wiggling his eyebrows.

You laughed. “How is it I missed you when you've been a part of my life less time than we were apart?” you asked, mystified.

“I expect because I'm extremely handsome,” he said arrogantly.

“Merlin, you're a dope. Now I'm even more confused,” you said with a laugh as you started to walk away.

He pulled you back. “I didn't know they were going to make you do the spell like that, love.”

“I know. I'm so sorry I jumped to that conclusion. Moody explained to me that I was both emotional and stupid,” you said with a chuckle. “And that I was ruining his trainee. For that I am sorry, Sirius.”

“Well, Dumbles can be a bit intimidating, but he's a good wizard.”

“But is he a good man?”

“Hmm?” Sirius asked, confused.

You shrugged, leading Sirius over to the sofa and snuggling up to him. “Did you happen to notice the median age of the people in the Order?”

“We're young, yeah. Doesn't mean we can't fight,” he said indignantly.

“No, of course not. It also doesn't imbue you with the wisdom that age does.”

Sirius considered his words carefully, worried that you had just gotten back together -- whatever together meant for the two of you -- and he didn't want to risk upsetting you, but neither did he want to have to walk on eggshells to be with you. “Love, not everyone knows this but,” he sighed deeply, “there are people under his control within the Ministry.”

You gasped.

He nodded and went on, “Yeah. So, Dumbles knows he can trust us because he's known us since we were little firsties.”

“He can trust you.”

“Exactly.”

“And he doesn't know me.”

“Yeah,” he breathed.

“And he thinks that you're thinking with your dick.”

He shrugged. “To be fair, it was involved in our initial meeting.”

You giggled and kissed him. “Your dick is very intelligent, though.”

He pulled you across his lap and whispered against your ear, “But you haven't even been formally introduced!” before he kissed you hungrily.

There was a knock at the door.

“Who could that be? You're here,” you moaned, his lips on your neck and his hands on your ass.

He stilled. “Shit,” he hissed. “I told James I was going to try and talk to you so it might be him and Lily. But they wouldn't be that stupid, would they?” he muttered.

“Reckon you better start thinking about something other than how many times you've gotten this close to getting into my knickers in case it is them,” you said with a shimmy and a giggle as you got off his lap.

“When I do, and yes I mean 'when,’ you better plan on spending about a week with my face between your thighs,” he said to get back at you.

You shivered and licked your lips. “Don't really care who's at the door now, actually,” you said in a husky whisper. “My parents will be here in a few days. Let's see if we can break my bed.”

There was another, more insistent knock at the door then. “Black, Y/L/N, open up,” you heard Moody's gruff voice call out.

“Fuck,” Sirius groaned.

“Not right now, apparently,” you sighed, looking mournfully down at the bulge in his jeans. “What a waste.”

“I reckon if anything can make it go away, it's Moody,” he said with a good-natured laugh.

“May as well laugh so we don't cry, eh?” you said as you headed over to the door, exaggerating your hip wiggle as you walked.

“Absolute monster,” he grumbled behind you.

“Oh,” you exclaimed. “Moody brought friends,” you said in a hard voice. You glanced back at his jeans and saw that his obvious arousal was less so. “Ready?”

He nodded, a frown marring his perfect face.

You opened the door and greeted your visitors. “Auror Moody, Auror Shacklebolt, Headmaster Dumbledore. How may I assist you?”

“May we come in?” Dumbledore asked politely.

You gave him a brittle smile. “Would it matter if we said no?”

Sirius looked at you in surprise at the ‘we.’ “Probably not, love,” he said as he slid a possessive arm around your waist, the symbolism not wasted on anyone present. “Won't you all come in?”

“Thank you, Mr. Black,” Dumbledore said politely as he came inside.

Moody smacked him on the head as he went by.

“Tea?” you offered politely if not precisely warmly.

“How kind of you, my dear,” Dumbledore said as he took a seat.

Sirius followed you to the kitchen.

“Do you have any idea why they're here?” you whispered as you readied a tea tray.

“Not a clue,” he said as he helped.

“Good thing I didn't eat all the biscuits while I was on my crying jag,” you said drily.

Sirius was at your side and pulling you into his arms in an instant. “I'm so sorry, love.”

“Mmm while I like the cuddles, it's fine, schatje.”

“What?”

“Oh!” you exclaimed, a bit embarrassed. “I had a Dutch governess. Schatje is an endearment. Like 'sweetie,’ I suppose.”

He squeezed you. “I like it.”

“Good,” you said, standing on tiptoes to give him a peck, then spelling the tea tray to lead the way back to the parlor.

You poured the tea while Sirius made small talk, then when everyone was holding a drink and a biscuit, you said, “To what do we owe the honor of your presence?”

“I wished to apologize, Miss Y/L/N. You were put on the spot and could have refused to perform the spell or performed it incorrectly, but you gave us a weapon if you were the enemy. This reassured me that you were not,” Dumbledore explained.

You looked at him for a moment before conceding the point. “Sirius explained to me this evening why you put me on the spot like you did. I suppose I understand.”

“Thank you,” he said politely. “Please believe me, it is of the utmost importance to us to find out what happened to your cousin.”

“That is a relief, because I got nowhere with the Ministry or by myself. It's as if he simply vanished.”

“We shall do our very best to get you and your family the answers you deserve.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly, the weight of your cousin's disappearance pressing down on your spirit.

The wizards stayed an hour or so longer, discussing your role within the Order now that they knew they could trust you.

After they left, you fell back into Sirius’ arms. When you gave it thought, you were spectacularly frightened of the way you felt for Sirius, so you preferred not to think and simply to feel.

While you stood by the door and held each other, Sirius’ stomach gave a terrific growl.

You snickered and said, “Hungry, darling?”

He chuckled. “I was going to try to say something clever and sexy about being hungry for you, but yeah I'm famished.”

“Well isn't it your good fortune that I put on a frilly little apron and made you dinner?” you teased.

“You cooked for me?” he said, looking like he was going to faint with joy.

You held out your hand. “Dinner is served, my Lord,” you said in your best posh accent.

Sirius took your hand and followed you to the kitchen where he was treated to an eclectic assortment of soups, entrees, side dishes and desserts. “I wasn't sure what you liked besides pizza, so I made...a lot.”

He walked over and pinned you gently to the counter, then lifted you up and stood between your legs, kissing you slowly, like he had all the time in the world.

“Thank you for making dinner, darling.”

“You work so hard to support me and the kids, it's the least I can do,” you said with a grin, arms draped around his neck.

“Traditional girl, then? Meet me after a hard day's work with my pipe and slippers, that sort of thing?”

“Merlin, no. I think you have me mixed up with the family dog,” you said with a laugh. “My job is to make you dinner, greet you at the door in a sheer negligee and then sit on your lap and feed you.”

“Godric, marry me!” he groaned back, all of the images feeding his stomach, his libido or his ego, and they were all of them gluttons.

“Watch it or I'll have to hold you to it,” you said with a laugh. “Grab a plate.”

@marauder--harder  / @giggleberts / @joelynnp / @banditthewriter / @iamnotbenbarneswifeyet / @astrangeevent2002 / @iamsherloki-wholocked / @yellowdancingbirds-deactivated2 / @cutie-bug / @deloslxgan / @myfriendmademedothisxd / @imlateto2018 / @curlyhairedblueeyedangel / @bocolate-bip-bookies / @sssilverssserpent / @snarledblack /  @geeksareunique / @presstocontinue / @acciophoenx / @justa-cucumber-with-anxiety / @outtherepotterlander / @pigwidgexn / @musicislyf332 / @marauderskeeper / @the-lily-blooms-late / @lalala7772 / @pansyparkinsqn /  @siriusement /  @thesandbeneathmytoes / @russosprettydiamondnow/ @verniquelenoir / @heyitslexy / @the-apple-princess / @siriuslyimmoony / @alwaysaharrypotterfan / @squidscottjeans / @80s-addict / @heidimonkey / @sunflowerlady95 / @emas-olo / @fortisfiliae / @realgreglestrade / @moe-10th / @greatwombatblaze / @andypandycorn/ @unlikelycupcakequeen / @smiley-celine / @itsilvermorny /  @ihatenewusernames / @call-me-magpie / @pandainfinitely / @maralisa124 / @whysoseriouspadfoot / @dreamgirl8704 / @the-apple-princess /  @kapolisradomthoughts / @robyn-0790 / @dinopowa / @all-throughthe-night / @som3thingcr3ative / @geeksareunique / @mgc-its-easy-as-123 / @young7711 / @nadinissavage / @alijulia87 / @italyand5soslover283 / @j-finco / @rosa-champagne / @ficklebooty / @ghostgirl1609  /  @sly-vixen-up2nogood / @amelya5567 /  @annino112  /   @asoftslytherin  /  @silverkitten547 / @thesumofmychoices / @sithskywalkers / @suchatinyinfinity / @morriganwarrior / @mysticalreadingnerd / @honeymufins / @silverkitten547 / @emmamass24 /  @vulpecula-minor  /

Broken Tags: @supremeoverlordletters /  @lovetohopelesslyhope /  @frecklednstars / @thoughtsandthingsandmore / @barbaraqueen77 / @maz-keen / @dorkyhufflepuff7 / @myjallybaby / @movokepwc / @kamapapi / @ellahalls / @jessicaofthemyscira / @jellybean-gg  / @sweetlyshinylady /

#Sirius Black #Sirius black x reader #sirius reader #marauders era #harry potter fanfiction #Missions Merged

[thephantomofthe-internet]

Homeward Bound: Chapter 9

Steve Harrington x Henderson!Reader, Billy Hargrove x Henderson!Reader

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 9 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13

Chapter Summary: Home coming meant finding old friends and remembering old pain...

Word Count: 5,332

Warnings: Swear, Pregnancy mention

Author’s Note: Happy Canadian Thanksgiving! Fuck Christopher Columbus! He didn’t discover Canada but, you know, fuck ‘em.

Series Tag: @moonstruckhargrove @kurt-nightcrawler @baebee35 @supernatural-pants @thoughstofaredhead @bby-becca @fear-the-reaper115

Permanent Tag: @hotstuffhargrove @denimjacketkisses @hargrovesgoldilocks@casaharrington @lilmissperfectlyimperfect @hipsmcgee

She was still in her pyjamas, hair wrapped tightly first in rollers and them in a red silk scarf, pink bunny slippers on her feet. She looked royally pissed, but not intimidating in the slightest.

“Morning, mom.” You said, slipping in the door before she could give the whole neighbourhood a show.

“Where the hell have you been?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest, tapping her foot to an angry rhythm.

“Jenny Stein’s. I slept over.” You replied shortly, pulling off your shoes and dropping your purse by the door.

“Why didn’t you call?” she asked, not really caring about the answer. You were in the wrong and she wanted you to admit to it.

“Because I lost track of time. It’s not a big deal, I’m obviously not dead or missing.” You replied, matching her tone.

“I almost called the police.” She said, as though that information was going to affect you.

“Wouldn’t do you much good, Steve knew where I was the whole time, he would’ve just told you again and hung up.” You chuckled, turning and pressing a kiss to her forehead. “I’m fine, you knew I was fine, and if you were worried, you could’ve driven over to Jenny’s or sent Richard.” You said, turning on your heel and up the stairs before the petty argument could continue. 

Your mother had, despite leaving a powerless marriage, entered into a relationship with a huge power imbalance. It was not Richard’s fault, per say; he was a lovely, you certainly liked him and was more than happy to see them get together. But he was an old fashioned man and your mother loved to please. So, they fell into an old, sort of patriarchal relationship-despite being his secretary when they met, your mother stopped working and returned once again to the isolation of the home, where, without young children to care for, she was at odds with herself. Meanwhile, Richard worked long hours and was often away. This was fine when they weren’t married, because he’d call every night or even bring her along, but now she seemed to always be at home. He wasn’t cheating on her, lord he’d never hear the end of it if he dared to look at another woman, your mother had simply worn out her welcome with his associates. This left your mother constantly at odds and bored. So, she over dramatized little things like her adult daughter coming home later than expected.

You made a bee line for the bathroom, shutting out her incessant yelling up the stairs by turning on the water and letting it run warm as you changed. The second the water hit your skin, you let out a sigh. This was the best feeling you’d had in the last twenty-four hours. You let the water soothe your muscles and dampen your hair, rinsing off the sweat off your skin.

You always knew that the best place to hide from your problems was underwater. It worked well in two fold; one, the senses were almost always overwhelmed under water, making it hard to think, and two, even stillest pool was loud enough under its surface to muffle out the world. And so, when the world got too heavy or life bogged you down, you jumping into whatever water you could find and blocked it out until your mind was at ease enough to tackle a problem head on. It wasn’t exactly the best way to handle your problems, and you knew that, but at the end of the day, when life got hard, you still found yourself drawn to pools or rivers or oceans or simply your shallow bathtub, submerging your head and letting the sounds of life become as waterlogged as you intended to be.

From beyond the rush of the shower and the door, you heard the phone ring. You hoped it wasn’t Billy, not only would he ruin your whole plan, but you really didn’t want to see him again. It was all just too weird-it was like you stepped into a parallel universe in which you were at the centre. Maybe you had, Hawkins was just weird enough for that to be true. Either way, you didn’t like it. You hoped that he’d take the hint and move on, but you knew he wasn’t very good at catching onto things like hints. What he was good at, you weren’t sure anymore.

You knew you couldn’t spend all day hiding, so when your hair was significantly soaked, you turned off the water and rung your hair out, grabbing a towel and rushing to your room.

“Y/N!” you mother called, thoroughly annoyed and bitter, “You have a visitor!”

Your blood ran cold. “Just a second!” you called.

You didn’t want to go down there. He hadn’t, he wouldn’t. He had too much pride to just show up after been shafted. He was still at home, being an absolute weirdo. He didn’t remember where you lived.

Once you were dressed, wet hair pulled off your neck, you took a deep breath and opened the door. You peered over the railing, but no one was waiting downstairs by the door, whoever it was had gone into the sitting room with your mother. That was a good sign-Billy was not on good terms with your mother and she would never invite him into her sitting room, her own space not entered without care. Whoever it was had your mother’s approval. If it was just Steve, you’d probably scream before heading back upstairs to ignore your mother’s antics.

Your mother’s sitting room was different than the living room. The living room was a place of comfort, of relaxation and ease. The sitting room was a tense place where older family members met briefly, where family photos were taken, and the ‘nice’ things were kept. Normal, everyday living did not happen in that room. The furniture was expensive and floral patterned, the walls were lined in blush pink fleur de les wallpaper, the lamps were knockoff Tiffany and the glass panned cabinet was filled with wedding china, passed down from your great-grandmother. The whole place was a time capsule and you weren’t supposed to mess with the past. You walked in, already on eggshells.

Inside, your mother sat very carefully in the crocodile green armchair, passed down from your grandfather, worn and aged and musty-smelling. She was dressed now, purposely overdone, her lips painted hot pink. She looked stiff to you, which was worrisome.

You stepped deeper into the room, your eye catching the guest of the house. Your whole face broke into a smile.

“Nance!” you cried, drawing her attention and earning an equally big smile. She rose to her feet, a surprise second pregnancy already showing, her face glowing.

“Hey, Y/N.” she replied, opening her arms for a gentle hug, which you gladly accepted.

Nancy and you had not been fast friends when you returned to Hawkins back in high school. You two weren’t close in school before you left and then you returned, forced your way back into her circles and then did the unthinkable and shacked up with resident asshole Billy Hargrove, a criminal move in her eyes. She openly resented you, trying everything in her power to push you away. But once you were in, you refused to be pushed out and gotten rid of. You had to find out what was happening in Hawkins.

“How are you? Congratulations, by the way, I can’t believe you’re having another.” You said easily, releasing her.

“I’m alright, it’s still early so I’m still nauseous all the time, but I’m excited! I’m hoping for a boy this time.” She replied breezily, her hand coming instinctively to the bump.

“How is little Sybil?” you asked.

“She’s good! She’s with my mom right now. I swear my mother loves her more than I do sometimes.” She laughed. Karen Wheeler was a lot of things, but you rarely thought she was motherly. After three kids, she lost her identity completely and started chasing after her youth, leading to her affair with Billy Hargrove and, ultimately, her divorce. Both her and Ted still lived in Hawkins, a very awkward arrangement to say the least. Karen got the house and main custody of Mike and Holly and Ted got the car and a twenty-eight year old girlfriend, which boiled Karen’s blood more than anything else.

“Oh Karen must be loving that! Are you staying with her or Joyce? Or are you in the motel?” you asked giddily.

“With her, Joyce and Will aren’t coming in till next week; Will’s still got his graduation this week.” Nancy explained. You nodded, eyes slowly turning to your mother, who was watching you on baited breath for some sort of unexpected answer to be released.

“Nance, let’s go upstairs, alright, I wanna show you the book I’m editing for work.” You said. Nancy nodded, following you out of the room with a wave to your mother, already disappointed.

“She still trying to listen in on you?” Nancy whispered softly as you took the stairs. You nodded; rolling your eyes as you quickly looked behind to see if she was following you. She wasn’t, a surprise for her since she seemed to always butt in where she wasn’t wanted. She always took invitations one steps too far, often getting on the nerves of others. Now, she seemed to be giving you your space.

“So wait are you actually editing a novel up here? Is it yours?” Nancy asked, looking fondly around your old room.

You smiled “I am, but not mine. New mystery novel, it’s pretty okay.” You tried to keep the pride out of your voice. You weren’t really allowing yourself to talk about the book yet, especially with the people who inspired it. You wouldn’t want to hurt them or break ties over the stupid thing. Were you proud to have finished the thing? Of course, but hurting your friends and family wasn’t worth the eight thousand dollars you’d been promised in the deal.

“Oh cool! So the editing thing’s going well then?” Nancy asked, sitting down carefully on the edge of your bed.

“Yeah, they’ve still got me in the harlequin division, I most edit trashy romance novels and pulp mysteries. I also occasionally ghost write for some authors. They had me writing Sweet Valley High books for awhile.” You explained, subtly trying to adjust your papers to hide the loose novel on your desk and to keep them from catching her eye. Luckily for you, she wasn’t paying much attention to you.

“That’s fun, at least you’re writing. You do still want to write, right?” she asked.

You nodded “Yeah, I do I just…I don’t have the right story to tell right now.” You replied vaguely. “So, how’s the P.I. business? Any new bites?” you asked, changing the subject.

“We found that little girl Beverly in Pomona.” She said, frown lines creasing her forehead “But it didn’t do us much good. Turns out she’s eighteen and legally allowed to go wherever she wants, the aunt was just nuts.”

“Damn, did it hit the papers?” you asked worriedly.

Nancy nodded “Unfortunately, it did. And instead of asking for a statement, they just called us thieves and hacks, that didn’t help us much. We lost the Wanda Singh case because of it.” She explained, sighing softly.

“Is the ‘zine doing well at least, I got my copy last week it was pretty good.” You asked easily.

“Eh, I have no idea-Jonathan won’t let me read it. I’m surprised he’s got you on the mailing list. If you ask me, it’s all a bit pretentious.” She replied with a shallow shrug, shaking her head bitterly.

“Yeah, it’s more than a bit pretentious, but that’s Jonathan-he’s a music snob.” You replied, taking a seat next to her, wrapping an arm around her shoulders as she chuckled softly.

 “Being an adult’s hard, isn’t it?” you asked glumly. Nancy nodded, resting her head on your shoulder.

“I don’t know…you’re doing okay…” she replied, trying to find a bright spot in all of it.

You chuckled, shaking your head “Oh yeah, it’s alright, as long as I’m not here…here I do stupid shit…” you replied.

Nancy sat up “What did you do?” she asked.

“I slept with Hargrove…” you admitted softly, looking away.

“You didn’t!” she cried. You simply nodded, not wanting to say it again. “Why? Why did you even see him? He’s an asshole!”

“I don’t know! I ran into him, I wanted an excuse to be out of the house for a couple hours and he offered and ugh I don’t know- I didn’t want to sleep with him! I just did!” you replied, stumbling through your answer, trying to find the logic in it all.

“Couldn’t you have just hung out with Dustin instead?” Nancy asked, bewildered.

“Hanging out with Dustin means hanging out with Steve, I can’t even escape him in my own home, mom’s had him over for dinner already and I’ve been home for forty-eight hours.” You replied bitter;y.

“Are you still mad at him?” Nancy asked,

“Yes and no…it depends on the time of day.” You said, rubbing your face.

“What does that mean?” Nancy replied, forcing you to look at her.

“It means that sometimes, when I see him, I hate him and want to disappear, and then other times it’s like I fall back into old behaviours and we talk and it’s not awful. And then I remember what he did and I hate him all over again.” You explained.

“Isn’t time to move on? I mean it’s been years!” Nancy replied rationally.

“Riddle me this, are you still mad that Ryan Carson dumped you at the spring fling ball in seventh grade?” you asked. Nancy blushed slightly as she looked away, nodding slightly. “Yeah, because he was your first real relationship. Well, Steve was my first love and he broke my heart. So I’m still a little mad.” You said easily.

“I mean; not to be that guy, but Steve’s better than Billy.” Nancy said with a laugh. You scoffed, making her laugh harder as she cried “He’s self aware!”

“Oh please, Steve’s ego is as big as his hair.” You replied with an eye roll.

“Yeah well, since you wanna talk like sitcom characters, Billy’s got a class ring but no class, at least Steve can be humbled. You can’t teach class.” Nancy replied.

“And for the record,” she added “Steve’s changed. I never thought I’d stay his friend after everything, but he has been the biggest help with my own journey to recovery, as lame as that sounds.”

“I’ll believe it when I see it.” You replied with a shrug. Nancy sighed, flopping down on the mattress. You followed suit, staring up at the ceiling with tired eyes.

“Is it weird for you? Being back?” you asked quietly, connecting dots on your popcorn ceiling.

Nancy sighed “Yeah…it gets easier though…this is your first time home…” she replied.

“I just…it hurts but it doesn’t…I wish it hurt more…” you said. Nancy nodded, unsure what to say. “I haven’t gone to see Mrs. Macpherson yet.” You admitted.

“Suzie’s graduating this year, right?” Nancy asked, turning to look at you.

“Yeah,” you chuckled “I tried to get Dustin to take her to prom. Didn’t want her to go alone. She didn’t , went with Tommy’s cousin.”

“Tommy H or Tommy R?” she asked.

“Tommy H.” you replied, earning a snort from Nancy. “Apparently he’s nicer than Tommy!” you reasoned with a laugh.

“Ugh, Carol invited me to their wedding…” Nancy groaned, rolling her eyes.

“Did you go?” you asked, wide eyed and hopeful; the story would be so good if she did.

“It hasn’t happened yet. I haven’t said yes or no, but Jonathan won’t go. Says it would be lying to pretend that we were all friends.” She replied.

“I’ll go with you! We’ll trash talk the whole thing.” You offered with a giddy smile. You would kill to see how everything turns out.

“I gotta consider how big I’m gonna be by the wedding dates. After four months I get less and less comfortable and I want to leave the house less and less.” She explained. You nodded, more than a little dejected. Nancy smirked “You know…Steve’s invited too…”

You scoffed “You’re worse than my mother…” you said, rolling your eyes.

Nancy tried her hardest to act innocent “I’m just saying!” she cried, raising her hands in defeat. You nodded, grimacing as you sucked your teeth. Nancy groaned, forcing herself off the mattress with great difficultly. You offered her a hand, lifted herself and you back into a seated upright position.

“Come on, crabby pants, let’s go egg the high school or something.” She said, pushing herself back onto her feet and out the door.

You and Nancy didn’t start out as friends. When your little clan moved to Hawkins, Nancy was already the queen bee of the year below you and you being a year older had no chance of ever befriending her; it would’ve been social suicide, especially if you failed to befriend her. So you found friendship in fellow weirdo Heather Macpherson and suffered at the bottom of the social pyramid, Carol and her cronies torturing you whenever possible. Then, you moved in with your dad in Chicago and while you kept up with Heather, Nancy wasn’t even a second thought.

And then, you returned to town in a cloud of smoke and cynicism and took over the only thing she had to prove herself beyond the pretty girl image.

Though she’d never admit it, Nancy needed this case. She needed it to feel better about herself. After Barb died, she needed to push herself away from the carefully crafted ‘fun’ girl image she’d created for herself. She needed to feel smart and powerful and important again. And she did-she spent two years being respected by small town law enforcement and seeking out government secrets and killing monsters with someone she believed was at her level. And then you came back and forced your way in.

When Heather died that summer, you jumped head first into the underworld of Hawkins, ignoring her every attempt to push you out, to ruin your chances of figuring it out before her. You were at the same level, but unlike her relationship with Jonathan, where she was the dominant mind and planner, you thought on your feet and, unlike her, you didn’t mind failing. So, you fought and fought and pushed away from each other.

You’d just returned from the labs, they’d believed your story; you were in line for the internship. This was how you were going to get the files on the other experiments. Screw Nancy’s plan, it would only get you arrested faster, or worse killed. This was the safer way-you’d have access to the files, you’d have direct access to the people who committed these crimes.

You parked in your mother’s driveway, popping open the door and sliding out. You felt incredibly fake-you had chosen to dress the way your mother insisted made you look mature and serious, aka like Nancy Wheeler, save for the silver Virgin Mary necklace around your neck. That was borrowed from Billy, a way to anchor yourself as you lied through your teeth to people you knew had killed innocents for being in the way. Quickly, you tucked the chain into your shirt, rushing up the stairs and unlocking the door. Your mother was on the phone with someone, talking too loudly and sitting on the counter like a teenager. You took this unforeseen opportunity to rush upstairs, excited for the chance to change out of the clothes that felt unfamiliar on your skin.

You opened the door to your room, finding Billy collapsed on your bed, tapping his foot to the music playing out of your headphones. You smiled at the sight; it was so rare to see him at peace in his environment, relaxed and calm and not thinking of his next three moves. You walked up to the bed, pressing a kiss to his forehead, smiling as his eyes fluttered open and he matched your grin.

“Hey baby…” you muttered, reaching around the back of your neck and unclasping the silver clasp, releasing the necklace from its secure place around your throat. “You look a little naked, and not in the fun way.” You said, handing him the chain, which he quickly put around his own neck, clasping it before you could even offer your help.

“Thanks…” he said, sitting up to smile at you and give you a proper kiss.

“How was your day? You find ways to hide out from your dad?” you asked, sitting next to him on the bed. For some unknown reason, Billy was very worried that if his father noticed him without the pendant, he’d get in trouble. You knew what trouble meant for him, so you were naturally apprehensive to the idea of asking, but Billy was more than eager to comply if he was rewarded thusly.

“Hid out up here all day. Got out before he left too. I would’ve gone to the library like you suggested, but it’s not my scene.” He replied with a shrug.

“So you just used up the battery in my walkman instead?” you asked cheekily, not really scolding him.

“Consider it half your payment.” He replied with a smirk. You chuckled, shaking your head. He always managed to bring things back around to him.

“So…what’re you doing tonight?” he asked, leaning into you.

“Why? Looking to cash in?” you replied with a smirk.

“Maybe…” he said, fluttering his dark lashes.

You chuckled “Well in that case I’m busy.” You said “But I’ll call you later, okay?”

“Kicking me out already? He asked with a pout. You nodded, pushing him towards the open window.

“Yep, I gotta make some calls. Gloat to Wheeler that I beat her ass, again.” You said. While he didn’t know about the mystery, Billy was more than excited to hear you’d beat someone, even in the lame smart way you had. He leaned down, swinging one leg over the sill and then another, landing easily on the roof.

“You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were into her.” He said with a smirk, fantasies already running through his dirty mind.

“Yeah? I could say the same thing about you and Harrington.” The smirk dropped off his face as you slammed the window shut, waving your fingers at him before shutting the blinds. You had too much to do to worry at him and his stupid fantasy.

You listened for your mother’s shrill goodbye on the phone downstairs before picking up your landline and dialling the Wheeler’s number. Nancy picked up on the first ring.

“Wheeler house.” She said, with a bored tone.

“I’ve pretty much got the internship. They’re just doing a background check and with Hopper on my side, Amelia Kingsley will be interning at the remaining Chicago labs by next week.” You announced, a proud smile brightening your face.

“And how do you intend on explaining to your mother that you have an internship in another girl’s name in Chicago?” Nancy asked forcefully.

“I won’t have to-the Chicago Labs, as they’re calling them, are just a new group a little outside Hawkins. I won’t even have to commute.” You grinned.

Nancy groaned, shaking her head “This is a bigger risk than just breaking in. If they catch you stealing they’ll kill you before they call the police.” She warned.

“They won’t catch me. I’ve already got bugs inside, Heather’s taking the reins on that one.” You replied.

“Fine.” Nancy huffed “I’ll call Steve and tell him the break in’s off. You call Joyce and tell her to get El to give us any other numbers she can remember.”

You felt a small smirk pull at your lips “No, it’s fine, I’ll tell Steve, I was heading to the mall anyway, I need a few more smart cardigans for the office.” You said.

“Y/N, that’s not a good idea.” Nancy said quickly.

“And calling him at work is?” you replied, matching her speed.

Nancy sighed “Steve and Robin are so close to getting together, don’t ruin it by distracting him.” She said, practically begging.

“I’m not trying to distract him.” You replied innocently, already imagining your outfit options, trying to find the most flattering and revealing pairing.

“Yes you are. You have Billy; you’ve made it abundantly clear that you like him. So stay in your lane.” She said.

“I’m gonna tell Steve.” You replied and before she could reply, you dropped the receiver, pulling off your ugly peach pink cardigan and plain white shirt in favour of something made of mesh.

It wasn’t until the trial that you two became friends, mainly out of desperation. You two were alone in this trial-Robin hadn’t wanted to testify and with you and Nancy being the only girls over fourteen around to talk to, you had to talk to one another. Jonathan was an emotional wreck, full of obvious anxiety and shaky nausea that made him impossible to deal with, Billy and you weren’t on good terms, and while you loved Steve, you needed someone else. So you had to rely on Nancy, something you’d never done before, and while it was shaky at first, you grew to understand each other. You sat together, usually in silence, trying to understand how your lives had gotten to this point. Then, you found your common ground: mutual hatred, the thing that bonds us all.

Suddenly, and without warning, you were friends and united in the struggle of dealing with the opposing team whom you loathed so much. You even got her to admit that certain people on your own team were annoying and tiresome. You nearly died when she, after three tiny bottles of rum, admitted that she found Jonathan just as pretentious as everyone else did. Likewise, you dished on Billy with as much fervour as Nancy could handle. And she admitted that she didn’t hate Billy nearly as much as she pretended you, stating that Steve needed to be taken down a peg or so to let him grow up. You agreed, much to her surprise. Suddenly, you weren’t so much an enemy but an ally in the cause of repairing your lives.

You stayed allies long after the trial, much to your surprise. You never assumed people would stick around; time had proven that to not be true to your life. But Nancy stayed, in her own way. You each moved to different parts of the country; her to Denver, you to San Diego, but you wrote back and forth whenever you could. It was a nice relationship-it didn’t depend on equal attention, you wrote when you had time and so did she. Sometimes, you’d write more than her and other times the roles reversed. Either way, not entirely by your choice, you stayed thick as thieves, hell you’d even met her baby and were a part of the madcap Vegas wedding ceremony.

And now, you were lingering outside Hawkins High School, contemplating going inside, an idea that was beyond you.

 “I just wanna see if they put up anything about us.” Nancy reasoned, pulling you towards the door.

“And I just really don’t wanna go in there.” You replied, yanking your arm out of her grip “So you can go in there and I’ll wait out here, tell me if my message is still up on the bulletin board.”

You hadn’t paid much attention to the sound of cars on the street behind you, nor the sound of the horn blaring behind you. But you turned when someone yelled out behind you.

“Hey Henderson!” the voice cried out, setting your nerves on end and turning your sweat cold.

Billy.

He was sitting in the front seat of a beat up tow truck, emblazoned with the logo for Sherman’s shop. He looked…well he looked like a small town hick, everything he didn’t want to be back in the day.

You slowly turned, taking a deep breath and finding a tight smile. “Hey Billy…” you replied, waving awkwardly.

“What the hell are you doing here? Come on I’ll give you a ride!” he called, motioning you over. Nancy grabbed your arm, squeezing your skin tightly, save for one fingering tapping out Morse code; Don’t. Do. It.

“I can’t! I gotta handle a couple clerical things for Dustin! Maybe another time!” you called back, confidence beginning to fill your blood.

“What about tonight then?” he asked eagerly, eyes training over your frame like a tongue. You tried not to shiver with disgust.

“I’ve got plans!” you replied easily, not trying to resist Nancy’s pull towards the front door “See ya around, Hargrove!” you called, waving politely as he groaned and drove off.

The inside of the school was almost as warm as the outside; the school still hadn’t invested in central cooling and instead let their students swelter inside and out. It also hadn’t been updated since long before you started there. The paint was peeling, the locker doors dented and nearly falling off their hinges. The note you’d left on the large bulletin board when you graduated was still there, much to your excitement.

Don’t let them make you forget things for their benefit. Remember pain. Remember embarrassment. Remember Heather Macpherson.

You were so mad when you wrote that, filled with white hot sadness and burning, misplaced anger and passion. The clean cursive on thin white card paper was marked with pain and marked with heavy lines dug into the card, your hand to hard and shaky on the paper.

You smiled at the note, planning to steal it on your way out, collecting one of the missing pieces of your old life and taking it away from the crummy world you’d left it in. Before you’d take it, however, you’d show Dustin, out of pride.

Nancy returned with visitor passes on cheap lanyards, hers already strung around her neck. “Rhonda says hi.” She said, handing you the plastic pass, which you shoved into your back pocket.

“Rhonda’s still here?” you asked, giggling more than you should’ve.

Rhonda White had been assistant head secretary when you were in high school, a marriage obsessed woman with long, sharp red nails that often mimicked talons and brown lipstick that was permanently on her teeth. She was always smoking, always reading magazines instead of working, always cracking bubblegum, and always in a bad mood.

“Apparently, still as annoyed as ever.” Nancy chuckled, shaking her head.

“You see a ring?” you asked, craning to look into the big, supported glass window to catch a peak of her.

“Why? You wanna pop the question?” Nancy giggled, beginning down the hallway. You rolled your eyes, trailing behind her. “Since you’re curious, no I didn’t, at least not a wedding ring.”

You clicked your tongue, shaking your head “Poor thing, she just wanted it too much.” You said, a smirk pulling at your lips.

“You wanna get married?” Nancy asked, pausing to let you catch up with her intense strides.

You gasped, a hand coming your chest as you tried to hold back a smile “Nancy! But what would Jonathan say?” you replied, feigning astonishment.

Nancy rolled her eyes “I meant in general and you know it.” She replied.

“I-I don’t know,” you said, trying to regain your composure, stomach clenching it fits of giggles “I mean…if I found the right guy and blah blah blah.” You said.

“I mean, I get it and I don’t wanna sound like your mom, but it’s nice.” Nancy replied.

“I’m sure it is but I’m not even thirty, so like I’m not worried about it. You know, not everyone meets their soul mate at seventeen.” You said, rolling your eyes.

A heavy arm came around your shoulders, making you jump out of your skin. “I mean I don’t know, I think we could’ve been soul mates.”

#stranger things #stranger things 2 #stranger things fanfiction #stranger things au #stranger things imagine #stranger things aus #stranger things headcanon #stranger things headcanons #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve x reader #steve x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington au #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington imagines #billy hargrove #billy hargrove x reader #billy hargrove x you #billy hargrove au #billy hargrove imagine #billy hargrove headcanon #billy hargrove headcanons #joe keery #dacre montgomery #steve harrington fluff

[kellykadesperate]

Mr Photographer

the prequel to ‘my model man’: (https://littlelooneyluna.tumblr.com/post/176438329207/my-proposal-week-ficlet-exchange-fic-for-the)

He’s late. He’s running around the streets of London trying to find this obscure little studio whilst carrying all this heavy material on his back. All he can do is pray that the camera doesn’t slip, fall, crash against the floor because that would be even more of a nightmare and he doesn’t have the time. 

The fact that it starts raining just for the sake of raining as well is enough to make him sort his shit out as much as he can and eventually he finds the place. It’s all white walls and fancy lightning and yeah he’s grateful for the opportunity to shoot with some well known models or whatever but he’s quickly starting to realise he doesn’t fit in here.

There’s some woman waving over towards him, all pink suits and sharp hair and a hand extended out towards him. “Oh you must be the photographer.” She looks him up and down, eyes slightly wider than what he suspects is normal for her. 

He nods, extends his hand and shakes hers. “Yeah. Aaron. I’m sorry I’m —“

“You’re not blond, tallish and a girl.” Her face falls slightly like she’s not sure what she should do and yeah, Holly was supposed to here. He was only supposed to shadow her but she got a better offer and now he’s here, alone, not knowing what the fuck to do. 

He explains and she fusses. 

“You sort of look the part.” She says, like she’s psyching herself up just a little and then she shakes her head and flashes a smile. “I’m Leyla by the way. The stylist consultant/model advisory consultant/overall director-ish.”

And just the words make Aaron cringe and feel pretty fucking pathetic. He’s been given this opportunity of a lifetime or whatever and he’s really pleased with himself but he knows fuck all about working with models or being in the fashion industry and this is not what he expected to happen.

“Look, I don’t want to make ya pull that fade again but, I don’t know anything about —“ Aaron waves a hand out across to a rack in the corner of the room, there’s suits lined up there and beaded dresses draped over the sides. He crinkles his nose slightly and Leyla just laughs at him and shakes her head.

“Yeah, you just click the camera and tell them where to move alright? We’ll do everything else. You have had experience right?”

Aaron nods, he’s landscape and cool breeze and no one but him and his lens. This is completely different.

Leyla nods. “Good. Well, your friend could have given us the next Bruce Weber.” It flys so far over Aaron’s head that he nearly wishes the ground swallows him up. 

Then she starts laughing and sighs.

“Just click the camera button and everything should be good.”

She makes it sound easy but it’s not really. The first bloke up looks like he’d rather be sleeping in a bus shelter than be here and it shouldn’t even be Aaron’s problem but the fact that he takes almost no direction when he tells him to you know, move the fuck about is enough to make Aaron bite down hard on his lip and forget all he knows. 

The angles are good, well they’re not hideous and that’s what he keeps up until another girl walks in. She’s fancy. She knows exactly what she’s doing and there’s an air of elegance about her as she tells Aaron the way she likes to be shot.

“Right well, just look right at the camera and lift your dress high and then — then we can do some over the shoulder shots if ya want.” 

Aaron obviously gives the wrong bloody answer because she sniffs him out as new blood almost instantly and looks less than impressed. 

“Whatever you say.” She says, and she’s stiff with her movements until the camera is back on her and she knows how to get a good picture. Her shoot doesn’t last nearly as long as it feels and she’s gone without even a polite thank you for Aaron to wordlessly nod at.

He feels a weight dissolve in his chest when her heels disappear from sight but then another prick is walking in and he has to hold his breath for a second. He doesn’t even know why but —

Leyla is practically like some little dog running in between his legs. She’s got him a coffee and a pastry and Aaron is fucked right off as soon as he realises that he’s just been given a bottle of water since he’s been here. It’s been nearly two hours. 

“Right, so we’ve only got the one evening wear for you. Then you can be off again yeah?” Aaron can almost see the eggshells she’s walking over and he physically cringes as he watches her and the way everyone else seems to be staring at the man in awe.

Aaron rolls his eyes and decides to clean his equipment whilst he waits for the man to get into the outfit, ignoring the rounds of muttering around him is harder than he thinks but then it suddenly goes all quiet and he has to lift his head.

Time has clearly gone by because the man is standing in front of him in some three piece suit looking like God’s gift and —

Aaron suddenly finds that he has to hold in a breath again and it won’t budge. He’s just staring at the idiot standing in front of him, clearly trying to be intimidating or whatever but he isn’t. He’s all sharp jaw and blond hair and these eyes that seem to only want to stare straight into Aaron’s soul.

And yeah, Aaron turns red from it, has to clear his throat and gulp hard and keep his shit together as the man raises his eyebrow and looks like he’s getting ready to say something. Aaron hopes he doesn’t, he sort of doesn’t even want to look at the man because he keeps getting reader and his chest doesn’t want to stop thudding does it?

“I’m Robert.” The bloke says, and Aaron looks over his shoulder to see Leyla with her mouth open. She looks shocked and Aaron just frowns at her before looking back at Robert. “I’ve never seen you before?”

Aaron fails miserably in explaining that he’s new, that he hasn’t done this before and Leyla rushes over to stop anymore damage taken place as Robert starts scowling.

“Are ya kiddin’ me?” Robert says, all boomy and loud and enough to make Aaron want to wallop him one for being so dramatic. “Leyla I didn’t come here for some stupid kid’s uni project.” 

And oh, the thudding in Aaron’s chest starts to die down as he realises what a twat this model is. One who seems to be looking at Aaron in his black jeans and black top and black hoodie like he’s a fucking reckless youth. He wants to slap him as he goes on about it like Aaron isn’t standing right there.

“Oi. I don’t know who you think you are but —“

“He thinks he’s Robert flipping Sugden.” Leyla hisses, she’s got this false smile on her face as she leans in towards Aaron and looks like she wants to rip him apart. 

Aaron just blinks as Robert looks smugly at him. He supposes he’s probably meant to be aware of who he is, what that gets to mean but he just shrugs.

“Yeah. Because I know all about him.” Aaron shrugs and there’s an echo of laugher around the room that gets Robert’s jaw on edge, tight and looming.

“How about you just take a decent picture and then you can run along back to your rock.”

And oh yeah, that’s funny for a single second and then Aaron’s back to wanting to absolutely flatten Robert for being the most stupid, cocky little weasel he’s ever met. He fits all the stereotypes for a male model of his age doesn’t he? He’s standing here being absolutely everything that Aaron didn’t think models still were and he wants nothing else than to be done with it all.

He won’t be coming back, that’s all he knows.

He ends up taking the pictures of him though and it’s even worse than it was with the other models. Robert is that sort of model that demands that absolute best on shoots and Aaron has to wait for him to drink some green muck of a smoothie half way through whilst everyone fawns over him.

He sees girls taking pictures with him and he seethes. He doesn’t even get it, well he does, he’s not blind but —

His personality is fucking shocking.

“The lighting is coming in better from this window.” Robert acts like he’s he photographer and it’s naturally the last straw. “Stand on a box, or two, you can catch the —“

“Oh fuck off.” Aaron says, and it’s not to himself either, it’s to the whole room and all the stylists look as though a bomb has just exploded in the middle of the room. 

“Sorry?” Robert says, he’s unbuttoned the waistcoat part and he’s still oozing all this fucking charm that’s coming from the pictures and it’s not fair. It’s also really annoying.

“Yeah you should be mate.” Aaron mumbles, “I’m done here.” He says, looks towards Leyla. “I’ll send the photos over and —“

“You’ll never work here again.”

“Like I’d want to be surrounded with poxy arrogant models like you ever again.” Aaron’s breathlessly cocky himself, big smile on his face and almost laughing about how stupid Robert is. Then he has to look away again because he’s a good looking idiot and that isn’t helping anything.

He turns away before Robert gets to say anything else, he walks towards the small little room where all his equipment has been kept and sees that his hands are shaking a little. He’s tries to keep it cool, tried to act like Robert isn’t the biggest twat he’s ever clapped eyes on but —

He’s managed to get right under his skin for some reason.

Aaron packs away as quickly as he can, tries in vain to fit everything in nice and neatly and disappear before Leyla can shout in his face about ruining the precious Robert’s day with his mouth and then the door goes.

Aaron has his back towards it and winces just slightly before he starts speaking. “Look before you have a go, he’s an arsehole and —“

He makes the mistake of turning and looks right at Robert standing there. He’s not wearing the suit anymore, he’s got this other one on, blue and checkered. 

“What do you want?” Aaron says nervously, keeping the scowl on his face and wanting to just push past the idiot but he almost can’t? He’s stuck here, firm against the floor and unable to be his usual cocky self. He’d push past Robert if he was any other bloke. He really would.

“To see my photos.” Robert leans against the door, half a smile on his face and then he leans towards Aaron and then away again like he’s playing a game.

Aaron doesn’t expect it. He doesn’t want to show him either because he hasn’t ever taken pictures of models let alone hot shot ones like Robert is supposed to be.

“No.” Aaron says, crossing his arms over. 

“No?” Robert clearly doesn’t hear that very often because he acts like Aaron’s just told him that he’s going to die any second now. 

Aaron half nods and Robert looks like he’s backing away until he’s leaning over and holding at Aaron’s camera.

“Oi.” Aaron says, elbows and arms pushing up as he tries to get the camera back and Robert pushes him against the wall. The camera hangs in Robert’s hand and he holds Aaron back as he goes through the pictures on the little screen.

Aaron’s stunned into this state of shock as he stands closer towards the prick, feels his weight against him, strong and heavy and not what he expected. He’s close enough to hear his fucking breath and he shouldn’t be but he listens and then he watches his face turn from surprise into —

“Yeah yeah, they probably won’t be even published ‘cause they’re so bad so —“

“They’re good.” Robert says, almost emotionless but he shrugs and Aaron tells him to piss off. “Yeah?” He says, pulls the camera down onto the desk and looks at Aaron. “You need to watch how you speak to me you know?”

“Do I?” Aaron says, almost can’t meet Robert’s eyes and he expects that the older man wants to punch him in the face, “Why? What are you going to do about —“

He really doesn’t expect to be smacked across the face with a kiss. 

It’s all tongues and banging against the door and hands through hair over and over again and Robert only pulls away to ask Aaron to lock the fucking door.

Aaron’s blushed bright red, eyes wide and gulping hard as he doesn’t think twice. He sort of doesn’t have to does he?

••

“So, that was —“ Aaron ended up on his knees and then Robert was collapsing against his shoulder in pleasure and it was definitely an experience.

Robert licks his lips almost shyly and then brushes them against Aaron’s. “Yeah.” He says, “It was.”

Aaron stares at him for a second, unsure of what had just happened and what the fuck it is supposed to mean. He’s never felt so strongly about a mindless fuck before.

“Yeah.” He says, because he doesn’t have anything else to say. “I won’t tell anyone about this, if you’re wondering.”

“I wasn’t.” Robert says, chest puffed and eyes smiling and he’s fit isn’t he?

Shit.

He’s still fit and Aaron’s already had his seedy little way with him. He shouldn’t still be looking at him like this. Aaron manages to trip over his words as he pulls his trousers up and gathers his equipment again.

“Just for the record, you’re still an arsehole.” Aaron says as he watches Robert looking at himself even the mirror. It catches Robert off guard and the half smiles which makes Aaron look away. 

“Whatever you say Mr Photographer.” He says and Aaron bites his lip as he thinks about it before offering an awkward wave and leaving.

••

Holly catches him being a stalker, he’s hunched over his laptop with his mouth open because he’s finally understanding what all the fuss was about.

There’s endless images of Robert looking fit and Aaron has to shuffle about a little on his seat to stop him from getting too excited. He sort of hates himself for even allowing it to happen.

But then he gets distracted by all the images of Robert staring up at him. There’s no denying that the camera loves him a way that most models envy and it explains his success.

And he is, very successful. 

Aaron feels like a twat for not knowing him, because if he did, if he knew that he’s a celebrity model, known for his craft, then he would have never got on his fucking knees.

“Oh, he’s fit.” Holly says, she makes Aaron jump and slam his laptop down because she’s just standing in his flat without even knowing. “Door was open.” She explains, passes him and offers out the biscuits she’s eating.

He half smiles at her and tries to act like he’s pleased to see his mate when in reality he’s freaking the fuck out inside. She’s the whole reason he was in this mess wasn’t she? It was her who gave him the opportunity, using her on photography artsy connections to get Aaron something decent. And now he’s sitting here sweating over Robert Sugden. 

“How comes you’re looking him —“

“I photographed him today.” Aaron has a hand against the table and drums his fingers a little before hearing Holly gasp. 

“What? The thing I set up for you?” It was the thing she was supposed to be at, she seems to keep forgetting this is all her fault. “Shit that’s a big deal.“

Aaron nods weakly. “Yeah. It was.” He says, “It was different,” yeah it was different, it was so different that I ended up getting off with the first model who I hated because you know, that makes sense. “Don’t think I’ll be going back.”

Holly arches an eyebrow. “I’m surprised they even let ya considering you’ve not had experience.” She eats a jammy dodger all in one and he wants to tell her to piss off back to her hippie art friends and stop bothering him. But it’s been like this for years, Holly being stupidly endearing and thawing how grumpy Aaron can be.

“Yeah well, Robert wasn’t pleased about that.” 

He wasn’t, that’s the thing, and then he saw his work and he ended up telling him to lock the door so who knows.

“Maybe you had a lucky escape, I heard he’s a bit of a dick despite being a heartthrob or whatever.”

And Aaron, he just laughs nervously.

••

He sees his face plastered in a magazine a week later and he’s got this other model on his arm.

He remembers her face from the shoot, the one who was unnerved about his lack of experience slightly less than Robert was. Chrissie White. Pristine. Fucking gorgeous and he doesn’t want to care.

He doesn’t even know why he even reads her name, or the fact that they were spotted out together after weeks of rumoured dating.

He doesn’t read the rest, he sighs and huffs and turns the page.

••

He gets woken up at half one in the morning by the sound of someone at his door and naturally he decides not to answer it until it persists.

He psyches himself up enough to answer it and suddenly he sees Robert Sugden standing there with a smile on his face.

“What are you —“

He was going to ask what he was doing but then Robert shows him, plants a kiss to his mouth and want stop until Aaron’s being stripped in his hallway by a famous male model.

“Anyone in?” Robert breathes out and Aaron doesn’t have the strength to do anything else but shake his head.

••

So Robert stays.

He sort of just chucks Aaron onto the bed and fucks the life out of him for a few hours until Aaron gets his breath back and asks what the fuck he thinks he’s doing here.

“How do you even know where I live?” Aaron whispers, pulls the covers up towards him and frowns slightly as Robert lays flat against his back and smirks. 

“I found your card on the floor of the dressing room we were in. Figured the mailing address was —“ he stops and raises in the bed. “I can go if you want?”

He says it like he means it and Aaron doesn’t want him to, but he needs to get a few things straight. No fucking pun intended.

“You’re straight?” Aaron says, punches out as Robert’s eyes flicker like he’s actually affected by what he’s saying.

“Is that a question or just another assumption.” He’s quick and Aaron waits, holds back for a second. “I’m bisexual.” He says. “Maybe don’t trust everything you read.” He shrugs.

Aaron nods slowly, it’s new, it’s a relief, it’s not what he expected.

“Any other questions?”

“I thought you hated me.” Aaron says, because yeah the first time was clearly just a passionate haze but to come back again now seems like —

Robert licks his lips again and Aaron finds it difficult to breathe. “You don’t seem to care about the whole model thing, it’s — refreshing.”

“I’m refreshing?”

“Well now you’re just annoying but yeah.” Robert says, and Aaron still sort of wants to slap him. He doesn’t want he feeling to go. 

••

Robert crashes into his flat late at night for a reason apparently. It’s because he doesn’t want people knowing that he’s spending nights having sex with Aaron.

“It’s not fair on you.” Robert shrugs, “I know I seem heartless or whatever but —“

Aaron watches Robert pull his hands up and the younger man straddles him a little. 

“You want to protect me?” Aaron snorts and Robert tenses a little. “Hey I’m joking?” He says, “I just don’t understand, what with you and Chrissie being all over the magazines.”

It stings. It’s genuinely getting worse.

Robert rolls his eyes. “We’re mates. If that. It’s ‘cause we used to do shoots together, they think we’re at it.”

“And you’re not?” Aaron says. 

Robert blinks. “We’re not.”

Aaron smiles a little, and Robert looks almost ready to bolt because of how obvious he’s being. “Well, I mean you could, if you wanted to. This is just sex. Good, nice sex.”

“Nice?”

Aaron’s eyes flicker gently. “Shut up.”

“You’re going red.”

And Aaron can’t stop himself.

••

“How long have you been modelling for then?” Robert’s at his on a weeknight, it’s nine instead of one, it’s progress or whatever.

He’s drinking a can of beer, wearing one of Aaron’s jumpers like he can and Aaron’s dishing up their Chinese whilst making small talk which is new.

“Since I was nineteen.” He says, “Got lucky after leaving home.” Robert doesn’t say anything more than that, in fact his eye seems to twitch like he’s a little uncomfortable about it and Aaron doesn’t push.

“Saw that face and snapped you up did they?” 

He’s joking, only Robert takes it in his stride.

“Of course. One look at this beautiful face and —“

“Piss off.”

“I’m fit Aaron. Give me that at least.” But Aaron’s silent, focusing on the noddles in front of him and smiling to himself. “You’re good at taking pictures and being a decent bloke and I’m —“

“Am I?” Aaron likes catching him off guard. 

Robert squirms underneath it something rotten and Aaron feels his chest explode.

“Yeah, you are.”

Aaron kisses him, gently. 

It sort of says it all.

••

“You know, you can stay the night if you want.” Aaron shrugs, only with one shoulder, something in his voice that steers on the side of sounding almost desperate.

He casually hates himself as Robert sits on his bed and stares down at his phone. He hasn’t even heard him and it’s so embarrassing that Aaron wants to hide in the bathroom until he’s gone.

But then Robert raises his head silently, a sly smirk forming. “For after sex cuddles?”

Aaron’s face twitches and Robert takes the piss way too often, it’s why he’s flying out the room before Robert can make him feel even more soft.

Only Robert follows him, slowly comes up behind the younger man and gulps hard. “I’d love to stay the night Mr Photographer.” He says, a kiss presses to Aaron’s neck and he melts causally.

He hitches his breath weakly and Robert has an arm around his waist.

“You’re really great at being a dick you know?” Aaron mumbles as Robert attempts to pull him closer. He spins around and Robert frowns slightly, he looks sorry and Aaron decides almost instantly that it would be easier to hate him. 

“Yeah. And you’re good at photography.” Robert looks over Aaron’s shoulder and up towards a framed photo of what looks like some deserted beach. “Is that one of yours then?”

Aaron clears his throat. “One of my first.” It means a lot, makes him proud. 

He suddenly wants Robert to like it.

“It’s great.” Robert shrugs slowly and then turns towards Aaron and smiles. “Bit artsy but ... you’re good at what you do.” Aaron blinks quickly and he sort of can’t take it. 

“Yeah well, you don’t know anything about this sort of photography do ya?” 

It’s a guard, but Robert makes it slip as soon as he huffs out a laugh and smiles.

“You’re really impossible.” Robert says, eyes flowing up and down Aaron’s body before he stops and Aaron nods slowly.

“And you’re still staying.”

“Yeah. I am.”

••

The thing is, Robert is still very much a dick because he doesn’t understand how Aaron feels. 

They’re in Aaron’s bed, and they’ve just had sex, and Robert goes and says he’s amazing. He says it with a soft smile and kind eyes and there’s all this beauty about it that’s almost instantaneously crushed by the way Aaron tells him to stop.

“Why say that?” 

Robert rubs at his eyes a little. “I didn’t realise it was a crime.”

“You don’t say things like that.” Aaron says and Robert laughs at him, eyes wider now.

“Are you serious?” He stops himself and Aaron is. He is serious because he was speaking to Holly only earlier about diving head first into situations and realised that he was doing it himself. “I don’t even know what I’ve —“

“I’m not some stupid girl you get to call beautiful and then fuck over.” It sort of explodes out of him and yeah they’ve been happy these past few weeks. Robert has somehow not got on his nerves nearly as much as he thought. He’s discovered that he’s kind and smart and brilliant but —

Now he’s petrified.

“Cheers.” Robert says. And he doesn’t get to be upset. It’s weird, seeing Robert hurt or whatever. He bends over and reaches for his clothes, hands reaching out everywhere he can to get his top on. “I’m glad I know where we stand.”

“Says you.” Aaron bites. “I have no idea what you’re thinking or —“

“So when I tell you, you tell me to piss off.” Robert shouts back, and Aaron bites down on his gum hard to stop himself from getting emotional.

“Rob.” He says, small, frail and Robert backs away.

“Maybe I shouldn’t come back.”

“Why? Just be honest with me.” 

“Because you wouldn’t believe me even if I’m being honest.” Robert snaps, and shouts and they haven’t had a proper argument about anything really except for that very first day. Now it hurts. It’s ten time worse actually. “You want to believe I’m some sleazy cocky model who was born into all this wealth and I treat people like scum but —“

“Yeah well maybe you are. I wouldn’t know.”

“Maybe you don’t want to know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Aaron’s scared, so he shouts louder and Robert pulls his hands in front of him and waves them about in frustration.

“It’s easier for you to see a prick than the real me because you’re —“

“The real you?” Aaron huffs, heart thudding. 

It hurts a nerve and Robert gulps hard. “I’m so sick of this.”

“Yeah, well I’m sick of your face.”

“Well then I’ll go yeah?” Robert is taller, yet smaller at the same time and Aaron freezes before shouting his mouth again.

“Yeah!”

It’s a petty argument over absolutely nothing, something that could be resolved in a matter of seconds if Aaron could only ask Robert how he felt. If Robert could do the same.

But Robert heads towards the door. 

“What are you going?” Aaron panics, hopes it doesn’t show in his voice but Robert doesn’t seem to care as he bolts down the hallway.

“Leaving.” 

“Because I don’t know where your head is at?” Aaron feels himself vibrating with emotion, eyes wide and alert and then Robert sighs. 

“Because you don’t trust that I’m being genuine.” And Aaron doesn’t say anything. “You know, you expect the worst and that’s what you get.”

••

Aaron calls a couple of times but he doesn’t get anything back. He doesn’t sleep either and it’s half four in the morning by the time Aaron works out that Robert’s been out making a fool of himself.

It’s all over Twitter, there’s a picture of a few girls parading around Robert and he looks like he’s in his element. It leads Aaron cold, makes him sorry for ever panicking over a fucking comment in the first place and letting it escalate. 

He decides to just stare at the picture and torture himself until he hears his phone go and it’s Robert’s number. He hovers and waits and then decides to answer because he’s a joke.

“It’s four in the mornin’.”

“Can you open your door.” Robert slurs a little and Aaron tells him to go home. “You’re the one — who upset me, let me in, please.”

So he does and Robert ends up sitting on his sofa with a glass of water towards his chin because he can’t hold it up. Aaron hasn’t seen him like this before. He doesn’t like it.

“There were girls everywhere you know.” Robert says, “Some lads too. But I wanted you. I want you.” He goes to stand and drag Aaron down for a kiss but Aaron holds a hand against Robert’s waist and frowns.

“You’re drunk.”

“Not like that.” Robert says suddenly, sobering almost and Aaron hates how much it’s music to his ears. “I know I’m a dick. I’m a proper dick but you really are amazing for puttin’ up with me.”

And Aaron wants to scoff, so he does. “You’re the model, I’m just -“

“I feel like I’ve met my match Aaron.” Robert whispers, and there’s a lightness about him that Aaron wasn’t ever expecting. He adores it. 

He sort of really adores him too.

“Come here.” Aaron says, pulls Robert towards him and kisses him softly before he’s pulling him towards the bedroom and stripping him down to his pants. “Go to sleep.” He bosses him about and Robert lets him, shuffles towards Aaron’s chest and smiles faintly.

And then he’s sleeping and Aaron admired him a little more. He’s such a model that it almost makes Aaron roll his eyes against it. Against the fact that he’s got some famous model in his bed who likes him, who think he’s amazing, who he has somehow made stay. 

He traces a hand across Robert’s back, feels him moving up and down as he sleeps and he bites his lip against just how much likes him. It’s slowly becoming embarrassing, becoming all encompassing too.

He traces exactly what he feels over Robert’s back.

Three stupid words.

••

Robert has a sore head in the morning and Aaron’s anxious about him not remembering anything. 

“Mornin’.” Aaron says, bites his lip like always and Robert smiles with his eyes closed and lifts his head up a little. Aaron passes him a mug of coffee and nearly drops it.

“Thought I was the one who was hungover.” Robert mumbles as he takes it and then opens his eyes a little more. “You look nervous.” He says.

Aaron blows out a breath. “You came back last night and said things.” He says anxiously. “About wanting me and —“

“I do.” Robert shrugs. “I know it’s — me being known,” he’s more than known, he’s a celebrity, his face just so happens to be all over every social media platform after last night. “It’s going to be hard but, you’re different.”

“Different?”

“You’re just you, and you like me for some reason so.” Robert stops himself, pauses slightly and then smiles. “And it’s not the money or the fame.”

“Of course not.” Aaron says indignantly, bright red and Robert holds his hands and laughs. 

“I believe ya.” Robert says, “It’s just weird.” He whispers, and Aaron almost knows that Robert’s been hurt in the past. He doesn’t want to hurt him.

“I know.” Aaron strokes Robert’s cheek softly and then hears the door go. He scrambles to his feet to see Holly there yapping away about the bloke Aaron clearly has a massive stalker crush on being all over Twitter.

And Robert just steps the fuck out of the room half naked and waves.

“Robert!”

“What? She’s bound to see me.” Robert says, cool as anything. 

Holly’s face is a picture, eyes wide and she shakes her head. “But — you were with all those —“

“Yeah well he ended up with me last night okay?” Aaron gets all defensive and then blows out a breath. “You can’t - can’t tell anyone okay?” 

Aaron watches Holly’s mind working overtime and then she nods eagerly. Promises. Looks like she wants to take a picture but instead she turns and leaves and Robert rubs at Aaron’s shoulder as the door shuts.

“It’s alright.” Robert pushes out, shrugs slightly. “It’s not like the whole world knows that we’re together.”

“Together, together?” Aaron whispers, like a year eight kid. Robert nods slightly, hides his face. “Yeah?”

He kisses Robert then, a proper little jump up on the older man.

He catches him. 

••

For a few days everything is soft and then the news breaks and Aaron’s face is on the front of the magazines too.

“This is — Aaron I didn’t mean for this to happen!” Robert says, hands over his face as he sits on his bed and watches Aaron walking up and down. 

He called Aaron, made him come round to his house for once because of the security or whatever and he should be getting a house tour but he’s getting this.

Robert is losing his shit.

“It’s okay.” Aaron half lies, because although Holly swears it wasn’t her, they’re all swarming around his flat this morning like he had found the cure for cancer or something. 

“This could effect your career?” Robert pulls his palms down against his thighs and rubs up and down. “You don’t seem to get that.”

“I get that I want you.” Aaron shrugs. “I get that I — I’ve fallen for you.” He feels his eyes widening a little because it’s just flopped right out and now he feels goosebumps on his skin. 

“Fallen for more?” Robert stops losing his head to be a cocky shit. “I made the grumpy photographer fall for me?”

Aaron rolls his eyes and holds back for a second before Robert drags him to the bed. 

“I feel the same.” He says, and for a second it’s all hearts and flowers until Robert sighs. “They’re going to have their opinions you know, you’re going to get sick of it.”

And Aaron knows that he’s reserved, not in the public eye, the list goes on but —

He doesn’t want to let this go.

“I’ll handle it.” He says simply, and the whole handling it comes into play when he hears Robert on the phone to his manager. He realises pretty quickly that his name is Clive.

“That was Clive.” Robert says, jumpy, quick as he sits on his bed still in the exact same position that he was in hours ago. “There’s some catwalk show in London tonight, I forgot I’d even been invited but —“

“You want me to come with ya?”

Aaron’s heart thuds against the idea that it could smooth it all over, get the confusion and the secrecy all out in the open. 

“They’ll be other photographers there as well.” Robert says like he’s trying to put Aaron at ease, like he doesn’t already do that by just smiling. It’s enough to make Aaron agree, step into some suit and make Robert catch his breath as he stands by the door.

“You look —“ Robert struggles and Aaron tells him to piss off. “You should wear a suit more often.”

“Yeah?” Aaron flattens the blazer he’s wearing and smiles faintly. “You look pretty decent yourself.” And when he means decent he means —

Robert still sort of has that ability to take Aaron’s breath away.

••

There’s paparazzi everywhere and Aaron hides away from most of it until Robert has a hand on his back and he strokes slowly. It’s a sign, it’s telling him that he should relax.

So Aaron looks up at him and forgets they’re there. He keeps forgetting and focuses on pissing about with Robert for most of the night, laughing at the shit Robert has to wear when he’s on the flipping runway.

“Oh come on, if I had to wear what looks like a sack of potatoes I’d have summat to say.” Aaron has Robert to himself in the corner of the room, there’s well over a hundred people here and they hide in plain sight and be themselves for a while.

Robert snorts, he’s happy, it fizzles through Aaron. “That’s why you’re behind the camera and I’m in front of it.” He says, head tilted a little and a smirk on his face. 

“Is this the part where I tell you that it’s ‘cause you’re hot as well?” Because he is, because he really is.

“I’d like to think so. He is a model you know.” They’re interrupted and Aaron jumps back as he sees Chrissie standing there with a smirk on her face. She looks beautiful, golden fabrics and the light catching her eyes and —

Aaron pales in comparison to it all.

“Chris?” Robert says, like they’re mates. Robert has a hand on her waist as he kisses her cheek and then he moves away and looks at Aaron with a smile on his face. “This is —“

“The lucky landscape photographer.” Chrissie eyes him, up and down and up and down before faking this smile. “I heard you were a bit difficult at the shoot after I left, didn’t expect to see you two here together.” She makes it sound like the weirdest thing in the world and yeah okay they didn’t exactly hit off but they were practically dry humping each other only an hour later.

They had spark. Plenty of fucking spark so Chrissie can just take that. 

Robert laughs almost nervously. “Yeah well, we hit it off don’t worry.”

“That’s professional.” Chrissie mumbles, and Robert shoots his back up straighter. 

“Yeah well, you and that photographer Donny didn’t keep it strictly professional either.” He snipes a little with it and Aaron’s eyes widen, he almost scoffs into his hand and then Robert is dragging them over towards the edge of the catwalk just before the show starts.

“She doesn’t like us together.” Aaron says simply and Robert just stares at him, doesn’t say anything until he blows out a breath and kisses Aaron. 

He kisses him until the show starts and Aaron rests his head against Robert’s shoulder for just a second. 

It’s soft and gentle and unlike everything else.

He still doesn’t understand why everything is still so bloody expensive though.

••

Robert’s outside waiting for the car with some work friend of his that Aaron actually doesn’t mind. He thinks her name is Kate.

Aaron’s busy by the bar, one last drink and the promise to ring his mum back because she’s gone and lost it over the fact that he’s dating Robert Sugden — or so the papers say. By this time tomorrow it should be as official as it can be in Robert’s world.

“Look, I’m happy okay? We didn’t expect, no, yeah I wouldn’t be with him if he was just a cocky bastard. Yeah. Just. No I’m joking, he’s actually pretty amaz—“ 

Aaron spins and sees Chrissie standing there with a scowl on her face hidden in a smile. “Can I help you?” He says, straight back and everything after telling his mum he’ll have to call her back.

“Robert’s not really known for being all out and proud.” Chrissie says and Aaron supposes she means he hasn’t been out publicly with a bloke before. 

Aaron frowns slightly. “But he’s always been bi, that was never a secret.” He shrugs and Chrissie smirks like she knows she’s been caught off guard and can’t do anything else. 

“You know being with you could have an impact on his cliental?” 

Aaron knows what she’s doing but it doesn’t stop the way it hurts, the way it seems to be the most honest thing to say in the world. 

“He’s already out about —“

“Well you should know that an abstract idea is a lot different to something presented. Something evidential. Like the pair of you, on the front of some trashy magazine tomorrow.” There’s a piano playing in the background of her fancy words and Aaron can’t speak. “He’ll lose clients alright.” 

She cements it and Aaron’s forced to say the first thing he can think of.

“Robert’s a big boy, he knows what he wants.”

He wants you, he wants to say, like it somehow will be true if he wills it into existence. If he says that Robert Sugden wants him.

Chrissie huffs. “And that’s a low rent photographer who knows not a thing about fashion or his world at all?” 

‘His world.

The thing is that’s true as well. 

Aaron hides his face from her.

“Why don’t you just do him a favour and quit whilst you’re ahead.” 

The thought makes him boil over in anger, snap his head up towards her. “And you’d love that wouldn’t you?”

“I’d like that, yeah.” Chrissie says, half a smile and Aaron thinks about the fact that it was her and Robert in the papers months ago. 

“You want him to yourself?”

She doesn’t speak for too long and aaron knows something collapses in his chest before she finally puts him out of his misery. “We help each other, getting publicised together makes us —“

“Attractive?” Aaron raises an eyebrow, raises higher. “You sound crazy.”

Chrissie rolls her eyes and yeah, she’s back on top. “Look around you Aaron. I don’t think I’m the crazy one.” She says his name and he sinks a little. “You don’t belong here. Different worlds and all that rings true doesn’t it? Come on, admit it.”

Aaron’s eyes flicker, and he thinks of their bubble being burst.

••

They go back to Robert’s and tries to fuck his insecurities away until he submits to the fact that he isn’t in the mood. Instead he’s subtly dropping hints about how incompatible they are until Robert gives him this sorry look and is concerned.

“What did she say to you?” He guesses because of course he does, and Aaron caves in a little with a frown on his face like he can’t help it.

“We’re different people.” Aaron admits, looking around at the place and thinking about his own flat. “You have to admit that at least.”

Robert doesn’t say anything, just nods his head slowly and then pulls Aaron into the hallway. There’s pictures of him when he was younger, he looks adorable, blond hair and those eyes and a goofy grin.

“That was my dad.” Robert points, and then Aaron squints a little closer and sees that they’re on a farm. “Yep, I was destined to be a farmhand until I was kicked out.” 

There’s a moment, just between them both, and it seems to settle in the air with Aaron holding Robert’s waist. Kicked out is a lot different to leaving and he wants to hug him suddenly. 

“We’re not that dissimilar you know?” Robert says, looks up at the pictures again. “I just got lucky I suppose. Still don’t feel like any of it really makes a lot of sense.”

Aaron sees human Robert poke out again and he can’t breathe for a second until he’s holding a hand against Robert’s chest and then cupping his face. “Maybe because you’re handsome.” He offers, and there’s this honesty in his eyes and the drinks piling up in his brain. “Did you see the way everyone was lookin’ at you?” He says, eyes wide and mad with the memory of jealousy he felt as soon as they walked in together.

“Looking at you more like.”

Aaron scoffs and then shudders as Robert kisses him hard and fast.

“Take me to bed.” Aaron says, and Robert does, gladly.

••

“You know they’ll see we don’t fit together.” Robert leans over Aaron’s naked body and kisses his back. “But I know that we do.” He says. 

Aaron turns towards him and his eyes flutter. “Chrissie said, being with me, a bloke, it could affect —“

“Yeah it could. It probably will.” Robert acts as if it isn’t a big deal and Aaron jumps up from the bed, sits up straight and shakes the idiot. “Oi. I know what I’m gettin’ into.” He says seriously. “I wouldn’t be doing this if I didn’t.”

He’s got it all worked out then and Aaron tries not to feel guilty.

“All for the bloke who called me an arsehole.” Robert teases, a firm shake of the head and Aaron turns bright red at the memory.

“You were.” Aaron says.

“Only because I fancied you.” Robert hides his face, and shy Robert is the Robert that Aaron —

“I’m in love you.”

It’s rushed, it’s almost like word vomit and the fact that Robert just stares at him almost vacantly seems to add to the way Aaron literally wants to be sick.

But then Robert comes closer, until he’s practically on Aaron’s lap. “With this arsehole?” He says, like he’s not shaking like a leaf.

“Yeah.” Aaron says, because he’s been in love before but not like this, not this quickly, not this openly and —

“Well.” Robert looks like he’s going to be calm and cool and then he runs a hand through Aaron’s hair and smiles faintly, gives the game away. “I love you.” He says, and it’s so dramatically simple that Aaron slaps his chest and sighs hard.

“You’re a dick.” Aaron says, and he’s not felt this happy in a long time, a very long time actually.

Robert smiles shyly. “Who you happen to love. After two months.” He says, and Aaron punches his side and squeals as Robert hooks him closer. “This is mental.” 

“What?” Aaron whispers, “You loving me? Or everyone knowing.”

Robert blinks quickly and doesn’t say anything for a little while. “No.” He whispers. “Someone loving me, for me.” And not the cocky bastard with all the money, that’s what he means. Aaron knows. 

Aaron ruffles Robert’s hair. “Well get used to it.”

He isn’t going anywhere.

••

The papers snap up the pictures of them and Aaron wakes up to it right in front of his face as Robert brings him some coffee. 

“Hey.” Robert says, and Aaron sees the picture of them, Robert’s got a hand on Aaron’s back and Aaron’s looking up at him and yeah —

If Aaron hadn’t already told Robert he loved him last night, he’d be forced to this morning basically.

“Have you seen the headline?” Robert says, and Aaron looks right down and sees it staring up at him.

‘Mr Photographer’

“Wow. Original that.” Aaron scratches at his eyebrow and reads the article clearly written by a teenage bloody girl. It’s all ‘who is this romantic stranger?’ and ‘low brow photographer aaron dingle seems to be robert sugden’s latest...’

Robert lands on the bed and smiles. 

“Which reminds me, I have a shoot later.” Aaron says, and Robert offers to drop him there, plays this sweet boyfriend that makes Aaron’s heart thud in his chest. “You don’t have to do that, don’t you have a job or something.”

“Work’s being a bit slow.” He doesn’t meet Aaron’s eye and it sucks. “Not because of —“

“Of course because of me.” Aaron says, and Robert raises his chin and winks at him slightly. 

“I’m just going to have to be your model for a few days.�� Robert shrugs, half naked and beautiful and Aaron’s.

“Yeah?” Aaron says as Robert lowers over him and takes the coffee from him. “Oi.” He says suddenly and then he’s flat out onto the bed with a smile on his face.

“I’ve just woke up.” He says, like he’s not in the mood.

He’s a flipping liar.

“Get your camera out then.” Robert teases, kisses Aaron’s neck deeply until Aaron pushes him off with a smile on his face and pins him towards the bed. They’re breathless for a second until Robert holds Aaron’s hand. “You know I’m serious about ya? Properly.” 

Aaron nods slowly. “I know you are.”

“I know I’m a dick and everything but — I’m really lucky you love me.” Robert says stuff like that a lot. He acts all cocky and confident but there’s pain there and Aaron knows it. He kisses Robert’s hand and smiles faintly at him because he’s the lucky one.

Somehow this happened, somehow they fucked each other into this love.

Aaron bites his lip as he hangs over Robert. “Where’s that come from?”

“You didn’t even react to the papers? They’re all talkin’ and you don’t give a shit.”

Aaron shakes his head slightly because they’re talking about the Robert that shows up and smiles for the camera, not this one, not the one with bed hair and half naked and croaky throat. 

Aaron gets him, and it’s all he honestly wants.

“I love you, I don’t care about anything else.”

Robert clearly hasn’t heard that before. He nods slightly as Aaron starts kissing him, and strokes Aaron’s arms slowly until the younger one pulls away.

“Yeah?” He says, blinking quickly and holding his breath as Robert nods and accepts it.

“Whatever you say Mr Photographer.” Robert whispers, gentle, kind and hands everywhere on Aaron like he can’t get enough of him.

Aaron could really get used to this, trashy tabloids talking about him and Robert snogging weekly, and all the rest of it.  

#ta da #i have more coming #robron #robron fics

[nedcanquen]

Chapter 6: Mr 7th Floor

Tags: Slow Burn (like…really slow burn) - endgame is NedCan but they don’t get there directly, Single POV, Yep, Canada will date other people before endgame because he’s very desirable even if he doesn’t always know it, Audit firm AU, Office AU, some angst…

Pairings: NedCan (endgame), NorCan, implied NedDen, DenNor (I can’t believe I missed this in the last update), implied Spamano, France/Jeanne d’Arc, GerIta

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 |  Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8

Photo from Pexels / Pixabay

Matthew doesn't know why he’s once again, riding the elevator to his desk. It’s an odd kind of detachment, he’s controlling his body but he isn’t. It’s on autopilot, but mostly because he doesn't know what else to do when he wakes up that morning. Well, he doesn't really wake up, because he hardly slept in the first place, so he went for a run. After the run failed to do whatever it was he wanted it to (he had no idea), Matthew showered and got changed for work. The best explanation he can give himself is that it’s routine, and routine is comforting right now because he doesn’t have to risk thinking - down that path led to ugly doors and ugly thoughts. Still, Matthew’s brain isn’t the type to just fully shut off, it needs something to be distracted. Right now, between Francis’ command that he take a step back from work, the reality of fighting his personal demons over his lost promotion and lost potential relationship, or being a workaholic, the latter was sadly, the much preferred option. He knew how to work, he could do it on autopilot, but perhaps his mistake hasn’t so much been being a workaholic, but that he’s been focusing on the wrong thing.

“Patrice, Sylvie, sorry for the short notice, but how about we change our setting and have a brainstorming session?”

His team has been walking on eggshells around him all week and it’s not healthy. It’s one thing for his unprofessionalism to affect himself, but it crosses a line when it affects everyone else. It’s time to fix that. He’s lucky that the team is pretty self-sufficient but still. Patrice smiles and nods while Sylvie looks relieved. That’s a good sign at least. To continue the positive mood, Matthew decides to completely change their scenery. They pack up their computers and walk to the building across the street to set up in the firm’s bar.

The PK&DE bar is actually located on the opposite building of the one where he usually works - an odd halfway measure to compromise PK&DE’s rapid growth - they had to rent floors across the street to seat everyone comfortably. On normal days the extra walk can be frustrating, but today it turns out to be a good thing because the distance liberates him in a way and he can be the mentor that he needs to be. He still takes pride in being a professional and the work that he does, the lack of a promotion wouldn’t hurt otherwise, but he hasn’t been doing a good job of being that professional in the past two days.

Their productivity is off the charts that morning, so this is definitely a good call. Sequestered away in their own corner, Matthew walks Patrice and Sylvie through the process of actually resolving the issues they raise in their audit reports based on what they’ve learned from sitting with the client for months. Well, Patrice should be promoted to Manager soon so he’s been through this before, but for Sylvie it’s still a process of being given knowledge. She needs more experience before she’ll be able to connect the dots. Without exposure to sessions like these though, there are no dots to connect. It’s not good enough to write a long audit report and flag problems. PK&DE charges a premium because they’re supposed to be able to deliver more. Clients were not receptive to inane textbook issues and answers after putting up with you sitting in their office for months, digging through all the paperwork of the past year and knowing that audit findings could cost them their jobs. If they raised an audit point, it had to actually be something worth raising, and something worth raising, needed a worthwhile solution.

They’ve drawn mind maps with a spider’s web of linkages and scribbles on several pieces of A3 recycled paper that’s been taped together and covers two tables. They could do it on a computer, but there’s some kind of connection that the brain makes when you physically draw something out, especially drawn out this big when you’re discussing it at the same time. It helps to make sure that Sylvie is adding her own notes to the mind map as well so she feels invested and can therefore contribute more to the process - she’s the one literally sitting at the client’s and reading through every single document they have, so she is the one with the most knowledge here.

Having the issue illustrated in front of them also makes the knots somewhat easier to unravel. Matthew is already drawing links to where the problems are and potential solutions lie and he can coach Patrice and Sylvie towards them as much as he can without giving the game away. For Patrice he’s mostly teaching management skills by this point, so really it’s Patrice doing most the leading with Matthew jumping in occasionally and filling in whatever gaps are missing.

Matthew feels better already, and it’s good to be reminded of these rare moments of accomplishment, hidden behind the many more moments of frustration behind office politics or administrative paperwork that otherwise takes up his time. Matthew does care about his team, and it’s likely a more healthy driver, to be driven by working with good people, rather than believing that your life is worthless if you aren’t the best at everything. It’s easier said than done though. It also doesn’t take away the reality that Matthew is an introvert by nature and part of the reason why today is working out so well is because he’s only sharing space with two people, rather than everyone in the department, as much as he likes them. It’s also a lesson in trust, he knows that sometimes he takes on too much of the work because he doesn’t want to overwhelm the younger staff. He does less of that now, but he needs to figure out better ways to do that more often and let them have the hands-on experience for themselves without him abandoning them. Some things you have to let people experience and fight through for themselves after all.

“You could have booked a meeting room - those have whiteboards for you to play with.”

They turn and greet Ha, who’s walking to them. Matthew is grateful that she hasn’t sat him down and demanded that he leaves Francis, or asked him what he feels or needs to do. Matthew supposes that she just knows he needs some time to calm down. After all, he knows her well enough to know what she would do in this situation - fight tooth and nail then leave (she is terrifying if you get on her bad side), but he’s not Ha, or Michelle, or Arthur for that matter. Matthew wishes more than occasionally, that he could be more like Arthur, or Daan, or even Alfred when it comes to work, if he’s being honest. It would certainly make things much easier, but he’s not. He’s just Matthew, and it’s exhausting to try to be someone else.

But ‘exhausting’ is oftentimes still easier though, because now he has to re-figure out who ‘Matthew’ is. Today seems to be a good start on that.

“Meeting rooms are all booked, I already tried.” Matthew responds. “HR is on a hiring push. I don’t want to interrupt the hopefuls. What’s up?”

“Lunch?”

Matthew looks at his watch - it’s 11.55 already, where has the time gone? Ha is looking over at their mind map and Matthew has to shake his head. “You guys go ahead. Thanks for coming all the way to get me but,” He wants to avoid potential uncomfortable questions over how he feels, which may come up at a lunch setting but not an office setting. “But I think I want to keep working on this. I can grab something here anyway.”

But Ha just smirks and winks, she’s looking at his computer screen now. “No need to lie Matt, I can keep a secret you know.” She whispers, giving a sly grin to both Patrice and Sylvie, who look confused but dangerously intrigued.

“What?” Matthew asks with some worry.

“Oh so he didn’t tell you two?” Ha asks Patrice and Sylvie.

“Secrets Matthew? I’m hurt.” Patrice jokes and Sylvie just smiles, waiting for the punchline. Yeah, Matthew wants to know it too.

“It’s exciting but don’t you think it’s a little too soon?” Ha is leaving the question open ended. Too soon after what?  

Matthew still has no idea what she’s talking about. Something nags at the back of his mind though. Ha’s expression slowly changes as she realizes he isn’t lying.

“Your calendar Matt, it’s showing a lunch appointment with Daan deBoer at noon.” She waves her hand at his screen.

“OH SHIT!!!”

“OH WOW!”

“WHY ARE YOU STILL HERE?!”

Somehow all of this was exclaimed at the exact same time. Matthew forgot. How had he forgotten lunch with Daan?! Fuck fuck fuck, it’s 11.56 now, and it’s lunch hour he’s going to be late because the elevators are slow as molasses uphill during lunch and of course this is the day he decides he has to work in the OPPOSITE building! It’s too late to send a message now and all he can do is run. “My computer! The mind map!” It’s confidential, all of it, and yes these are technically the firm’s grounds but Matthew hasn’t locked his laptop to the table as IT policy insists he does and they follow a strict clean desk policy.

“We’ll take care of it Matthew! We’ll bring everything to your desk, just GO!” Ha yells.

Matthew is a good head taller than her but he’s not going to argue with that tone or expression so he sprints out of the bar and desperately presses the elevator button several times. He had barely looked at his laptop all morning, since he was so focused on Patrice, Sylvie and the mind map, and with how much he had shut down parts of his mind, fighting between indulging in the voice that emphatically berated him for being forgettable and not good enough and stamping it out with everything else, he had plain forgotten. It was embarrassing to the extreme. The elevator doors finally open, filled with disgruntled and hungry workers but Matthew pushes himself in anyway.

He’s not a small man. Usually it’s not a problem, but now he gets some stares, no doubt annoyed at him for insisting on entering a full elevator, but Matthew spares them that as soon as the doors open by sprinting out the doors. The building doors slide open fast enough and he can see Daan standing across, as he promised, in the lobby of the opposite building and looking at his watch. Matthew knows he’s late, Matthew knows that Daan has a reputation for hating tardiness when he’s in Canada, Matthew sprints across the street and hopes that he can be forgiven for a few minutes since this is the first time they’re having an appointment.

Matthew doesn’t see the car. He sees Daan look up with a frown on his face that quickly turns into alarm. Then he hears the horn, the screech and burnt scent of stressed brakes and a car taps him just enough to make him fall off balance onto the road, more from shock than any actual impact. He lands on his shoulder. If the car doesn’t stop, there’s nothing to save him, but thankfully it doesn’t move. Matthew lets out a breath and realizes that he doesn’t feel hurt, it’s just the smell of engine and rubber that’s assaulting his nose and eyes. He looks up at the nose of a silver Porsche and hears someone wailing from inside the car. Matthew rises so fast he feels dizzy and has to lean on the car hood for a moment, but his main concern is making sure that whoever’s in the car is unhurt from such a sudden braking, especially in a car this powerful. A shocked blonde man with somewhat disheveled, but mostly slicked back hair is sitting on the driver’s side, holding a smaller crying man with auburn hair.

Footsteps run up beside him and Matthew feels himself manhandled off the road to the safety of the sidewalk. He looks up to ask the person to release him, he’s being held with a desperate grip on the forearm that he didn’t fall on and it’s not helping - oh. It’s Daan. Of course it’s Daan. And he looks absolutely livid.

“WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?!”

Matthew opens his mouth but no words can come out because at this proximity, Daan’s angry voice sounds like it has an echo. Matthew also doesn’t appreciate being yelled at, but he has to admit that what he just did was pretty stupid and dangerous, and not just to himself. A car door slams and Matthew turns to see that the car has pulled over to the side and the blonde driver has stepped out of it. It wasn’t an echo, it was Daan and this man yelling at him at the same time. “I’m sorry.” He says to the other blonde man, who looks uncomfortably familiar.

“And you…” Daan glares at the approaching man. “Are you blind as well as fu-”

“Daan it hurts.” Matthew says calmly, tensing the arm where Daan is still gripping tight. It’s an exaggeration, Matthew can take pain, but he’s finally remembered who the two men in the car are and he doesn’t want Daan to say something absolutely career-killing over a dumb mistake that Matthew made.

Daan stops mid-rant and looks back at Matthew, bewildered, as he drops his hand. “I’m sorry. But damnit Matthew-”

“Luddy!” The formerly crying man has stuck his head out the window completely, and is calling out from across the road. It didn’t look like Daan was going to get to finish his sentences, for that, Matthew is grateful.  “Everyone’s alright? I have tomatoes in the back, let’s feed everyone tomatoes! All will be well!”

What? That is the most random thing Matthew has heard today but he also hears some laughter from the crowd that has gathered at the lobby and on the side of the road. ‘Luddy’s’ face lights up with a slight smile, so it seemed to be the right words to break the tension. Until today, Matthew has only known of Feliciano Vargas by reputation. He’s a male socialite who is a social media celebrity and has a reputation for randomness with a strong streak of social genius. This is a man who can act stupid and do stupid things but make a lot of money off of it. He understands people in a way Matthew knows he never will.

“Oh...joy.” Daan seems to murmur to no one in particular and doesn’t look particularly joyful. Matthew looks back at Daan while Daan looks back at him with wide eyes. He tugs Matthew closer and says more calmly. “You’re lucky to be alive. If it were Feliciano behind that wheel, and not Ludwig, you wouldn’t be.”

“He is right about that.” Ludwig Beilschmidt, Managing Partner of Heta&Lia, approaches them. He had taken over as Antonio’s successor after a scandal. A man built from completely different cloth from Antonio, Ludwig was an Assurance man all the way, just like Matthew. He was likely selected to give his firm undoubted integrity after that mess, and his famous husband gave Ludwig some degree of likability, even to those who thought he was too stony. But the ‘stoneman’ only ever melted for his ridiculous husband. Seeing has how he had inadvertently made Feliciano cry, Matthew now knows that if he ever wants to change jobs, he may as well cross the entirely of Heta&Lia off his list. “Are you alright?” Ludwig asks.

Matthew blinks in surprise. “I was going to ask the same about you and your husband. I’m alright, you barely tapped me.”He holds his arms up, as if to prove it. Other than some minor scrapes and bruising that Matthew can feel, he is fine. The reality is exhilarating. Thanks for…” Not driving over him? “Stopping, that was entirely my fault, I’m so sorry.”

He could say a lot more, how his mind has been anywhere but present this whole week, but it sounds silly now. Matthew can barely contemplate how sad it truly would have been if he had died in some meaningless accident with his mind anywhere but here, sad and upset about his life. “I really haven’t been...I’m sorry. If there’s any damage to your car…” Matthew gulps, even a minor problem on a Porsche would probably be monumental.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Daan scoffs. “Ludwig, he’s one of mine. He was running to meet me. If there’s a problem, let me know.”

“No!” Matthew objects, but Ludwig simply nods.

“I checked just now. There is nothing. If my brakes were to break over such a thing, Porsche should not be selling cars. And Feliciano and I are alright. You really have no idea how Feli drives. I actually hope that this experience will instill some sense into him.”

Daan lets out a snort. “If you believe that, there’s a bridge I’d like to sell you Ludwig.”

“Hey!” It’s Feliciano again, who seems to have snuck up behind them, holding a small box of the tomatoes he promised. “I offer you tomatoes and that’s how you repay me? They’re free tomatoes Daan! Don’t you like anything that’s free?”

Amazingly, Daan rolls his eyes and cracks half of a sarcastic smile. “Yes, yes, and you only care about food and fashion, Ludwig is stupid and has no sense of humor, Matthew here is niceness incarnate and oh what else have I forgotten? I received coupons for all my birthdays and went Dutch on every date.”

“I do have high food standards! Don’t pretend you don’t agree!” Feli teases, dropping the box into Daan’s arms. “And don’t you dare go Dutch on this date, this guy almost got run over just to see you!”

The words fall on Matthew like a ton of bricks.

“Fe-Li…” Ludwig grumbles.

“What?! Oh give me a break! The whole industry’s been repressed since Antonio! It’s ridiculous!”

Ludwig sighed but his lips are still upturned, fond. “It is not ridiculous Feli, and not everyone who eats lunch together is on a date. I’ve also explained why, multiple times, that what they did was-”

Feli waves his hand with an impatient flourish. “It’s a job Luddy! A job! You can always find a new job but your soulmate? That’s for life!”

They’re all silent for a few beats then, and Matthew can’t quite believe how unbelievable this week has become but here it is. It has cumulated into his narrow avoidance of being manslaughtered by the man in charge of a rival firm, who’s being told off by his husband for thinking that Partners should not tie up people to their desks to publicly have sex with them. Okay, fine, Matthew is being uselessly pedantic, that’s because he knows Feliciano’s words are going to echo uncomfortably with him for a long time. There really isn’t any argument one can put up against what he was saying, which is why they’re all standing there uncomfortably and Ludwig finally takes his husband in his arms and starts murmuring something that Matthew assumes is Italian but with an odd accent. Meanwhile, Daan simply rolls his eyes and begins studiously gazing at the label on the box of tomatoes in his arms - a funny distraction, but at least he has one. Matthew is quite jealous of him in this moment.

“Right, well…” Matthew decides to say because he needs to get out of this awkward situation right now! “Thanks for the tomatoes, I think I’ll get going.”

“Wait!”

“What?” 

Ludwig and Daan both yell at him the same time. Ludwig wants him to wait it seems, while Daan looks equal parts worried and offended.

“I mean…” Matthew desperately waves at Daan. “You’re hungry aren’t you?”

Daan just gives him an exasperated look while Ludwig sighs loudly. “At least let us take you to a clinic to get checked out! You cannot simply go walking on back to work!”

Oh right. He looks at the husbands and for some reason feels even more exhausted at the idea of dealing with them for any longer. On any other day he could do it, well no, any other week. But not this week. Feliciano is...a little too much honestly and Matthew feels exhausted at the thought of having to deal with him for more than five minutes. Ludwig is...well the sad part is, he’s kind of the role-model of any auditor and Matthew isn’t so sure he likes the image of Ludwig as his future self. Also, the codependency they exhibit - he’s not sure if it makes him jealous or makes him cringe. “Thank you but I’m really really..ready to move on from this. I’ll take myself to the clinic, I promise I’m absolutely fine.”

Ludwig looks like he’s about to object so Matthew squares his shoulders and puts more authority in his voice. “If I have any other questions or feel odd for any reason, I will get a hold of you. I really appreciate everything, truly but you’ve done everything you can - most importantly, you didn’t kill me. No one is harmed.”

Ludwig at least gives him a sympathetic look. Matthew feels that the man can understand him at that moment. “Right. Well, enjoy the tomatoes.” Ludwig says. “Matthew, if you feel odd for any reason, definitely give me a call and I will organize a visit to a specialist for you.” He hands Matthew his card, even though Matthew can likely find him through an online search. Then again, he sees the handwritten mobile number written on it and takes the card. It does help, having the direct line rather than having to jump through unnecessary hoops.

“And Daan.” Ludwig turns to Daan. “If it makes you feel any better, they are good tomatoes. You know how picky -”

“Yes, yes.” Daan cuts in tersely. “Even psychopathic nutjobs can have hobbies and be good at them.” He waves farewell immediately after, and Matthew does the same, pondering those words.

After some polite farewells, Ludwig and Feliciano turn to leave, then Daan calls out, “Wait, Feliciano, how is your brother doing?”

Feliciano turns with a warm smile. “He’s happy Daan. Happiest I’ve ever seen him.”

Daan just nods. They leave and Matthew wonders what that was all about. Daan hands him the box before he can ponder too deeply. There’s a giant label on the side that boldly displays the brand ‘LOVE’S TOMATOES’ that temporarily confuses him.

“Wha?”

“You’ve kind of earned them, I mean, you did survive getting hit by a car and Feliciano isn’t lying when he says he’s picky about his food. I saw the trunk when he opened it to get these, the whole damn thing is full, no wonder he’s trying to give some away...” He rambles. Daan rambling, this week has gotten odder. “Honestly though, are you alright? I’m sorry for grabbing you earlier.”

Matthew can only nod. “It’s okay, I mean, I feel alright, but after lunch I’m going to a clinic just to get checked out, and then I’m definitely going home. I’ve learned my lesson. This is the type of week where I should just stay in bed.”

Daan laughs and nods. It occurs to Matthew that Daan is uniquely positioned to know about all of the blows Matthew has suffered this week, and maybe that’s why he wanted to speak to him.

“Well that’s good at least.” Daan says. “But why don’t you go now? I’ll come with you. At the very least, you need someone to help you carry a box of tomatoes.”

Matthew shakes his head and also finds laughter bubbling out from himself. “This is the most random thing, ever, I mean…”

Daan shrugs. “That’s Feliciano and Ludwig for you. The most unlikely, sickeningly sweet couple you’ll ever meet. You’d expect that level of mutual codependency to explode but it seems to work on them. You know they’re actually childhood sweethearts? Poster childs for choosing to stay together and accept change...a lot of it.”

Matthew has to smile at that, he doesn’t believe in two people staying together no matter what if it causes more pain than good, but Ludwig and Feliciano seem especially happy together, despite their differences.

“Which is also why Feliciano never had to grow up, well, they’re both kind of unevenly matured, to be honest. Ludwig is emotionally constipated because Feliciano can project enough emotion for three people and Ludwig handles all the responsible things, like drive in the city, so that Feli doesn’t accidentally kill anyone. But they’re happy.”

Matthew smiles and shrugs. “Well, to each their own. Anyway, I can put the box in my car, I’m not parked too far.”

Daan nods and they set off. “You know,” He starts, not too long into their walk. “If you need to be late, that’s...fine, I know it happens. Just let me know ahead of time.”

Matthew doesn’t want to admit that he forgot their lunch appointment, so he just nods and smiles out of habit, before he realizes that he’s too tired to continue swallowing things down all the time. Besides, as significant as Daan is to the periphery of his life, if Matthew is going to offend the man, he may as well do it now with some honesty rather than later when it would actually hurt.

“Uh yeah about that...I’m sorry, I was having a brainstorming session with my team and we got carried away. I completely forgot and didn’t look at my phone or computer or anything...”

He tries to bury his face in the tomatoes  but that’s not a good solution. From this close he can see how good they are though.

“Alright then,” Daan shrugs. “That happens too, but when it does, I’d like to imagine that whatever I’d lay on you is better than this. If it’s not, well, just say so.”

And that was that. Simple, except there are weeks where Matthew is willing to put up a fight and weeks where he’d rather avoid one. Still Matthew is relieved, yet he wants to kick himself for his habit of making mountains out of molehills. It’s a little funny that Daan thinks it’s so easy for anyone to just tell him anything, but maybe it is for his actual team members.

It’s strangely comfortable and companionable after that, having Daan as a walking partner on these familiar streets. As nervous as he is, Matthew doesn’t really want their conversation to stop, though right now it’s inane and work-related. Daan is kindly not bringing up Mathias and Lukas, or the fact that he hasn’t been promoted, maybe because he’s also recovering from the fact that he almost saw someone get run over. He seems a little...overly engaged, like he’s trying too hard.

When they reach the car, Matthew’s much more humble twelve-year-old Ford pickup, at least in comparison to a Porsche, Daan takes the tomatoes so Matthew can get his keys to open the car.

“Do you need me to drive?” Daan hesitantly offers. “In case you’re still shaken up?”

Matthew let’s out a chuckle. “Thanks but, no offense, you seem more shaken up than I am. Box can go in the back seat, thanks.”

“Hey!” Daan objects. “You’re fine now, wait till the adrenaline disappears! You’ll be exhausted in seconds. Also...I don’t really like driving, that’s where more of the nerves come from.”

What? “Really?!”

Daan shrugs. “I can drive, sure, but I feel better when I’m cycling. Driving a car feels too, hmm, stressful. You’re always surrounded by idiots.”

“I don’t see how cycling on the same road as those idiots with no protective casing or air bags makes that better.” Matthew retorts honestly, now a little worried. He knew that Daan liked to cycle but not this much.

Daan smiles and climbs into the passenger seat next to Matthew. “I’ve been cycling for as long as I can remember, it’s like walking or talking for me, I’ve been driving for far less years. My reflexes are better on a bike.”

“What about winter?”

The man shrugs as Matthew climbs into his own seat. “It’s the same as winter driving - you change your mindset, make sure you have the right equipment…” He shrugs. “And if it’s really bad out then yeah fine, you can’t cycle, but you can’t really drive either. It’s not that big a difference.”

There kind of is. “Buying groceries?”

Daan gives him an incredulous look. “I’m just one guy, I don’t need a car to hold them all, and my housemate,” It’s the first mention of Mathias all day and Matthew imagines that Daan says the word rather pointedly. “Buys his own stuff. If we’re really desperate we get a supermarket to deliver. How much do you eat at home?” He teases.

Matthew can’t really imagine life without a car at all, so finally he settles on, “If the heating in your building goes out in winter, where do you run to so you don’t freeze to death?”

Daan laughs. “That has never happened, but I guess if it really came down to it, the cafe isn’t too far from where we live and it’s a different building.”

Matthew gives up, if Daan can’t see the correlation between Matthew’s recent near accident and literally cycling everywhere... “Right, well, we’re going to the clinic. If you get hungry, holler and we’ll stop there first instead?” Besides, if Daan avoids driving to that extent, he’s not trusting the man with his car.

“Nah, clinic first.” Daan answers the unspoken question as he buckles his seatbelt. It’s all so casual, as if they’ve been friends for a long time.

Matthew nods, figuring that both of them wouldn’t really have an appetite right now. “Then take out and we can eat at my place, and then I’m serious! I’m asking the doc for the rest of the week off and I’m not leaving my bed!”  

It’s only after he says it that Matthew realizes what he’s just done, but he can’t hit himself in front of Daan, so he starts up his car instead.

 The doctor gives Matthew the rest of the week off, a clean bill of health save for some scrapes and bruises (as expected), sleep aids and at Matthew’s final hesitant request and brief discussion, a referral to a therapist. Matthew has no idea if it’ll actually be effective, and his promise to Lukas is probably not binding anymore, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t a good idea. Maybe it was almost getting run over earlier in the day, but Matthew is willing to think a little differently, even if he’s still hesitant to make life-changing decisions in the heat of the moment. He’s not actually going to get the rest of the week off, there’s too little notice, but Francis said that Matthew can claim the lost time back. Matthew is grateful but he wonders if time will allow him to actually do that. Or if he wants to. He still doesn’t know what to do with free time or with himself. There are meetings he has to ‘attend’, which he will do by calling in or video conferencing, and he’ll work on urgent deliverables in the quiet of his home. Backup plans were made, emergency texts were answered as much as possible. Now all Matthew has to try to do is relax a bit.

Lunch is terribly indulgent, but hey, if you can’t indulge after surviving a near-death experience, why live? They pack two giant burgers from Harveys and head over to Matthew’s flat (Daan actually insists on paying for the burgers - survival comfort food, as he calls it). It occurs to him that since this crazy week started, he’s had guests over for three days in a row. His dining table is being used more than it has in years. With the exception of the previous night’s unpleasant ending, he was always happy to welcome these friends into his home. He also knows that at some point he will be ready to welcome Lukas into his life and home again, it’s not like he wouldn’t open the door if Lukas knocked on it tonight after all. But Matthew had never been nervous with these other guests. That is not the case with Daan behind him as he opens his door. Daan is probably the last person he ever expected to end up in his home.

“Right well, it’s humble, but it’s home.” Matthew hangs his keys on the hook next to the door and feels at a loss for a moment, not having a heavy bag to set down either. He had texted Ha earlier as well to help him bring his stuff over afterwards.

For now though, it is nice to come home without the added weight of his laptop hanging on his shoulders.

“Thanks for having me,” Daan says, somewhat formally after walking in. “Uh do we need plates?”

Matthew laughs nervously. “We’re going to rough it, straight from the wrap, if you don’t mind.” He really didn’t feel like doing the dishes afterwards. He also really didn’t know why he invited Daan over without thinking about it, at that moment he had just desperately wanted to retreat home. “But if you want plates, they’re in that cupboard over there.” He points it out.

Daan shrugs with an amiable, “Wraps it is.” And places the box of ‘Love’s’ tomatoes on the kitchen counter. As Matthew walks over to his table with the takeout, Daan calls out. “Want some fresh tomatoes with that? They’re pretty good just sliced up with olive oil, salt and pepper.”

There are already tomatoes in the burgers but okay, he may as well experience how good these tomatoes are, presumably grown by Antonio Fernandez-Carriedo. It had been years since he had thought of the man, but he supposed Feliciano did have a point. Ever since the scandal, inter-firm relationships between management and any kind of junior staff seemed to have shuttered to a halt, at least publicly. If Matthew were younger and had first had his crush on Daan after the scandal, he probably would have been allowed to forget it. Heck, he wouldn’t have admitted to it in the first place, 3am or no.

“Sure. Salt and pepper’s on the table, olive oil in the cupboard above the stove on the right, knife’s in the drawer next to the sink, uh, second drawer down.”

It was a miracle he had maintained some semblance of adult life in the past year, but he’s grateful for it now. He doesn’t know if he’d be able to live it down if he had invited Daan back to a cluttered flat with piles of things carelessly tossed everywhere, which was the state that he lived in before he had an honest conversation himself one day about how he wanted to live. It also helped that he had been having guests recently; he had just cleaned up yesterday for Lukas. Still, none of these musings prepared Matthew for the sight of Daan doing extremely domestic kitchen things in his home.

It’s odd, and Matthew tries to ignore the confused beating of his heart in his throat because he’s simply too...fascinated at the sight of Daan with his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and cutting tomatoes. His Partner persona is not really present. It hasn’t been since the near-accident, actually, now that Matthew thinks about it. He just can’t stop observing. At this moment, Daan is clearly annoyed at how blunt the knife is and is digging for the knife sharpener. Who would have thought that after having uncomfortably faced the front of a car just inches from his face a few hours ago, that the sight that would finally make his brain fry up and stop working this week is simply Daan in his kitchen? 

He’s so fucked. A million and one thoughts fly through his mind in an instant and it’s amazing he still manages to stand - ‘Of course you’re losing your mind over this guy in your fucking kitchen,’ he thinks ‘You’ve never been allowed to forget about him for years, but don’t get carried away Matthew, he’s just, well, who the hell knows why he’s here? You’re going to ask him though! Hey why are you so fixated now? Are you rebounding? Damnit Matthew, it’s barely been a day! But Feliciano said - who cares what he said! This is the unattainable guy you crushed on because you saw him in an elevator! Not your soulmate! Get a grip!’

“Are you judging me?” Daan’s question cuts through Matthew’s panicked thoughts and he can only stare dumbly.

“Huh?”

“You’ve been giving me this kind of scary look for the past minute or so. I swear Matthew, and you have to trust me on this, but a sharp knife is just one of those small things that makes a huge difference towards a more satisfied life. Now, is this cheapo Ikea sharpener the only one you have?” Daan’s tone may be teasing, but it is still laden with judgment.

“Yes, it is. There ought to be another knife that’s sharp, I think Ha sharpened it on Monday when she made dinner.” There are only two knives after all.

“Well how about I sharpen this one as well and then you can have TWO sharp knives.” Has his tone changed? Yes, what did it mean? Why did it change? “How about that? You’ll owe me one forever.” 

Matthew’s mind can puzzle over the mystery of Daan deBoer all day, but it can’t, nope! It’s been a stressful day but Matthew knows he has to get a grip on himself, so he simply starts taking out the food and drinks and placing them on the table.

Still, Matthew has to laugh as the sound of a blade being pressed against stone echoes off the walls. “Are you always this silly when you’re not at work?” He has to ask.

Daan turns, temporarily stopping his work. “You think I’m silly? Sharp knives are serious business Matthew.” He runs the blade across a few more times. “Sharp knives lead to good food, good food gets you a market and connections, and those...get you money.”

Matthew can’t figure out if he’s joking, so he gives up at this inane line of reasoning, and simply grins. “Fine, I’ll sharpen my knives.” He walks into his kitchen to hand Daan a plate for the soon-to-be cut tomatoes. He distantly wonders if this was what Daan’s younger siblings had to endure - strange anecdotes about life and money. Daan’s a bit odd sure, but who isn’t? It’s strangely endearing.

Eventually they eat, and Matthew savors the juices and taste of familiar cooked meat on his tongue, allows the smell of his burger assault his nose and lets out a sound of appreciation. Survival comfort food indeed. Once they had finished their burgers (it didn’t take long, they must have both been starving), Matthew decides to cut to the chase. “So why did you want to have lunch with me so urgently this week? Was it because you knew I was going to start it with a demotion, followed by getting dumped?”

Daan freezes for a moment and there’s a second of uncomfortable silence before he regains his composure and chuckles. “That’s what I like about you Matthew, when it counts, you get straight to the point.”

Room full of Alfreds. Room full of Alfreds. Can’t show hesitance, you can handle this. “Well?”

Daan takes a breath. “I didn’t know that Francis was going to pull such a stupid stunt. I thought the Communications team made a silly mistake and left out your name until Arthur brought it up at the Partner meeting and Francis didn’t deny it. I originally wanted to see you to give you a heads up about Lukas and Mathias. I wasn’t there when they spoke at the cafe, but I sure as heck saw Mathias when he got home. I also had no idea if you’d even want to see me today, but when I didn’t get any message from you canceling our lunch plans…” He shrugged.

Matthew almost asked why he wouldn’t want to see Daan, before remembering that Daan was a reminder of his job and Lukas wrapped up in one. Except, Daan was kind of two guys - the guy he admired before he even met Lukas, when his job was still fun - gruelling, but fun - and he was also the actual guy who was sitting at his table that he’s only getting to know now. “Why give me a heads up?” He asks. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful but...I’m not actually one of your team members, we run into each other but we’re not exactly...close, we’ve worked together once.”

Daan nods and has that smirk again, Matthew is starting to wonder now if it’s not so much confidence, but a defensive quirk. “On the firm front, well, you reached out to Emil when you thought you could help him. I know we’re used to doing that for junior staff but it isn’t actually supposed to stop the moment you become a manager.” He leans back in his chair and looks at Matthew in that searching Partner way. “I guess what I’m trying to say is, sometimes it helps to talk it out with someone who’s not in your team. You can talk to me, if you want. If you’re not comfortable with me because I’m in the same firm or whatever, maybe you’d prefer to speak to Belle? She can keep a secret, isn’t part of the firm and has worked with both Francis and Arthur before…”

Wow that’s… “That’s really kind of you.” Matthew has no idea what he’s done to warrant this, but maybe Emil felt the same way when he was adopted by a manager he had avoided, impromptu, in a men’s bathroom.

“Secondly, unrelated to the job, back when I thought you and Lukas were going to be a fixture I figured I was going to see quite a bit of you, one way or the other. And…” He shrugs. “I didn’t mind that. You seem cool. I know it’s kind of awkward, given our professional relationship but, I was going to ask you to be my friend.” Daan laid that out in a matter-of-fact manner. “Hey, you know about my rabbits, and my travel schedule is finally going to fall back to a slightly more normal pace. I look forward to spending time actually living here and making friends again who aren’t my relatives, Mathias, or clients.” He laughs.

“Oh…” Matthew can’t help the smile breaking out on his face. “Really?”

Daan’s expression turns lightly calculating. “Why would I lie?”

Matthew is sure there could be plenty of reasons but he can’t think of them at the moment. He doesn’t know Daan well enough. Then again, what was it that Lukas had said? Daan was capable of deceit, but not so much outright lying. And there wasn’t much deceit involved in asking a no-name manager who couldn’t even get promoted to be his friend. This means that for some inexplicable reason, Daan really thinks he’s cool. Even if not, there’s no way Matthew will pass this up. Handsome or no, he’s wanted to get to know Daan for years, it would finally get rid of the awkward feeling he has, especially if Daan can reveal things that Matthew already knows about him, organically. Besides it’s just...well he doesn’t know why Daan thinks he’s cool, but there’s no doubt that Daan is, and intriguing, and just plain admirable.

Matthew is definitely going to wake up tomorrow morning and find out that he’s dreamed the whole thing. “I can’t think of a reason.” He answers, but he’s grinning from ear to ear, he just can’t help it. “I just didn’t see that coming. Can I be honest about my ulterior motive to being your friend though?”

Daan’s expression changes, somewhat wary, but intrigued. “Sure, since we’re being honest. What is it?”

“I really want to meet your bunnies.”

Matthew expects laughter and gets it but not quite like he expected. Not this beautiful, bowled over laughing, happy kind. He can’t help but join in, it’s too infectious to hear Daan laugh and to see the man smile. He has no idea what he’s doing but that’s the point of friendship isn’t it? You’re not supposed to calculate friendship. But Matthew also knows better. He’s been on the receiving end of this question before, in the States, from people who wanted to be his brother’s friend. He earns his money based on his ability to be likable by the most amount of people possible...but he can’t control other people’s motives. He can only be honest with himself about his own. He does want to be Daan’s friend.

But why him? Why Matthew? A guy who wears a mask all the time when Daan is so straightforward and has never needed to pretend to be likeable. Or…

Has he?

Matthew doesn’t know why it’s never hit him before. Time seems to slow down a little as he just looks at the silly guy in front of him, laughing. The silly guy who whined about being locked out of his apartment after a long journey home, the silly guy who lives with his childhood best friend so that friend wouldn’t get too lonely after the love of his life left him...and never asked him to leave. The silly guy who bought a third rabbit because he thought the first two were getting lonely. The silly guy who’s scared of driving cars! None of this matches the image of the Partner he’s heard about and worked with, the miser, the taskmaster, the robber, the prodigy. Maybe he’s all of these in one, or maybe some of these are a result of masks that he wore so that he could climb so high while so young, so that the rest would take him seriously.

Whatever it is, whoever Daan is, Matthew wants to know. He’s always wanted to know. Heck, if he actually gets hit by a car tomorrow, one of his last thoughts would probably be cursing himself for a coward if he couldn’t let himself believe Daan and try.

“Deal.” Daan grins. “You know, my sister always says that the only reason I have these rabbits is so I can have friends. Now I can tell her that she’s absolutely right. I am a genius. She should listen to her brother. Now come take a look, I took a really good pic yesterday!”

Matthew shoves the paper wraps aside like the messy slob he is so he can move closer to see (he’s a reformed messy slob, he’ll clean it up later, but for now, cute bunnies take priority).

“Okay, so introductions are in order. Maple is the baby of the lot, he’s the brown-colored one, Hitam, she’s the black one, she was a baby when I adopted her, together with Nijntje, who is the grand dame of them all. I got them when I first moved back to Canada, which was in…”

Maybe this isn’t going to be the worst week of his life after all.

#nedcan #hetaliararepaircentral #fic: mr 7th floor

[talhaghafoor2019-blog]

Beatles Engineer Geoff Emerick Died: Rob Sheffield on Music Influence – Rolling Stone

Geoff Emerick was just a lad of 19 when he became the Beatles’ engineer, bringing his own brash approach to the experimentation the band was beginning to try in the studio. The immediate result: Revolver, the 1966 masterpiece that forever changed pop music. “A lot of that was down to Geoff Emerick,” producer George Martin told Mojo in 2007. “He brought a new kind of mind to the recordings, always suggesting sonic ideas, different kinds of reverb, what we could do with the voices. He was quite prepared to break rules. ‘You call that top? This is top!’ he’d say, turning [the dial] all the way round.” At Abbey Road, still a formal environment where the technicians wore white lab coats, Emerick meant trouble. “He was always experimenting and the bosses at EMI didn’t like it,” Martin says. “He got severely reprimanded when they found him putting a microphone in a pail of water to see what the effect was. I loved that freedom of thought.”

Emerick, who died Tuesday night at the age of 72, was a crucial collaborator in the Beatles’ glory years, helping them find endless new ways to reinvent the way music sounded — and the way people around the world heard it. He’s one of the few non-Beatle voices to appear on one of their records — you can hear him say “Take two” at the start of “Revolution 1,” as John Lennon responds with a cheerful “okaaaay.” (Actually, this might have been the most polite conversation these two had during the White Album sessions.) But he’s buried deeper all over their music — for instance, the primal boom in Ringo’s drums, the massive thump everyone else went mad trying to copy? A wool sweater, which Emerick stuffed into the drum during the sessions for “Tomorrow Never Knows.”

Innovations like this endeared him to the band, who quickly came to depend on the wizardry of their teenage engineer, who they lovingly called “Ernie” or “Emeroids.” He helped them blow minds with Revolver and Sgt. Pepper, even though he’d never tried a drug more psychedelic than lager. He was a creative spirit who threw himself into the try-anything improv ethos of the Beatle sessions. As he put it in his 2006 memoir Here, There and Everywhere, ‘Whereas Paul might say, ‘This song needs brass and timpani,’ John’s direction might be more like ‘Give me the feel of James Dean gunning his motorcycle down a highway.’ Or ‘Make me sound like the Dalai Lama chanting on a mountaintop.’”

That last one was John’s command at the session for “Tomorrow Never Knows” — Emerick’s first day on the job as engineer. Talk about getting thrown into the deep end — yet he came up with tricks that helped bring John’s vision to life. At another session, John presented Emerick and Martin with an impossible task: edit two different versions of “Strawberry Fields Forever” into one song. As Martin tried to explain why it couldn’t be done, John walked out with the simple words: “You can do it.” His faith was well-placed. After hearing Emerick’s delicate tape splice, John crowed, “Good on yer, Geoffrey!” As McCartney sang on Revolver, this kid had “another kind of mind there.”

Emerick came to work at EMI Studios when he was just 15, as a humble assistant tape op on the sessions for “Please Please Me,” “She Loves You,” “This Boy” and “I Want To Hold Your Hand.” But after the Beatles stretched out on their December 1965 album Rubber Soul, even breaking all taboos by staying in the studio working after midnight, their engineer Norman Smith (“Normal” to the lads) decided this music was getting too far out for him, so he handed over the gig to the new kid. Emerick was made for this job. His youthful enthusiasm could keep up with theirs. As he wrote, “We knew that the word ‘no’ didn’t exist in the Beatles’ vocabulary.”

Emerick notoriously walked out on the White Album after one too many versions of “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.” It’s ironic that there’s so much creativity and camaraderie on the splendid new White Album reissue, to be released November 9th, which has hours of previously unheard studio sessions and demos. The whole White Album box set is a magnificent tribute to the Beatles as a team, forever shattering the myth that it was the four Beatles working solo. But making it drove the band — and everyone else in Abbey Road — to the edge of madness. Emerick broke down from the retakes and all-nighters and arguments. Yet the White Album package contains some of the greatest music he ever worked on — even if it remained one of his most miserable memories for the rest of his life.

McCartney wooed him back for Abbey Road, a much mellower experience. “Quite muted,” Emerick recalled. “Everyone seemed to be walking on eggshells, trying not to offend.” As McCartney put it later, “It was nice to return home, to something we knew and understood: George Martin, Abbey Road Studios, songs done quite quickly … not too much heavy breathing.” The band joked about calling the album Everest, after the cigarette brand Emerick smoked in the studio. (“His ciggies were just lying on the control room desk, and we went, ‘What about that? Everest!’) They even bantered about traveling to Mount Everest to shoot the cover photo, until they contemplated the prospect of having to spend that much time together. Finally, Ringo said, “Fuck it; let’s just step outside and name it Abbey Road.”

In the Seventies and Eighties, Emerick became famed for his old-school approach; Elvis Costello called him “the last of the blacksmiths.” He produced Costello’s 1982 opus Imperial Bedroom, laying on the studio frippery as if in response to the stripped-down Nick Lowe production on Costello’s previous records. He also worked on many of McCartney’s finest post-Beatles records, including gems like 1973’s Band on the Run and 1997’s Flaming Pie. He engineered the Zombies’ 1967 classic Odessey and Oracle, including “Time of the Season,” going for the same Pet Sounds-inspired precision (“a really clean American sound”) Paul requested for “Penny Lane.” He did the honors on hits like Stealers Wheel’s “Stuck in the Middle With You” and Manfred Mann’s “Pretty Flamingo,” along with albums by Seventies troopers from Mahavishnu Orchestra to Robin Trower to Cheap Trick. In 1975, he engineered a demo David Gilmour was producing for a shy 16-year-old schoolgirl, terrified at her first time in a studio, a song she wrote called “The Man With The Child In His Eyes.” Her name? Kate Bush.

Here, There and Everywhere also stands as one of the best and funniest books about the Fabs. The best story: the night John storms into the White Album sessions and yells, “I am fucking stoned! I am more stoned than you have ever been! In fact, I am more stoned than you will ever be! And this is how the fucking song should go!” Then he bangs out the piano intro to “Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da.” Paul is pissed — but he’s no fool, and he knows a damn good idea when he hears one. So they try it with John’s piano intro — and that’s the version we all know and love from the White Album. No wonder Emerick found it traumatizing to listen to.

It’s the book of a guy who spent countless hours with the Beatles, but never saw them outside work, so he doesn’t pretend to know or care a thing about their private lives. He’s mostly interested in technical details, the kind of lore Beatle freaks live for. How did Paul get that bass sound on “With A Little Help From My Friends”? (He sat in the control room, watching the monitors, with an extra-long lead connected to his amp on the floor of Studio Two.) How many hours did George spend trying to nail the “Taxman” guitar solo? (Two. Then Paul stepped in and got it in one or two takes.) Why is John chewing gum as he sings “All You Need Is Love”? (He just forgot it was there.) Yet the whole book is candid, irreverent, unsentimental, poignant, not to mention hilarious.

“It was always a matter of capturing the moment,” he says at the end of the 10-week Revolver sessions. “Exhausting as it was, both mentally and physically, it was a good way to work — really, the only way to work.” That work — the Beatles, their producer and their engineer on fire with new idea — changed the world.

This content was originally published here.

[sheisrelationshipanxiety]

He was the first to listen to me.

I’d always tell myself that this is where it all started for me. My anxiety definitely manifested largely through this experience, but this can’t be the only reason why.

I was 14, 15? Perhaps. I come from an extremely provincial town where our population is probably the size of most normal high school populations. For scale, I graduated with only 80 people in my senior class. I was the only student of asian descent in my entire school. It was hard growing up where I was from. I had friends, but I was often mentally alone. No one understood me, and thus I was outcasted for who I was. My life was very mundane, until he came into it and stirred up a storm. 

This story is a sad and silly story about an internet crush that went very south. 

I started an Instagram page around this time, it wasn’t anything special. Just awkward photos of myself that I thought were cute at the time, but in hindsight they were outright cringey as fuck. I was that asian girl that liked to take cute photos and model after that ulzzang theme, which is a Korean word meaning “best face” or “good-looking”. These ulzzang models would have contact lenses that made their iris bigger (I never actually went this far thank god), eyeliner to make their eyes appear puffy because somehow that was cute, and very minimal facial expressions that were just...well cute. It was a regular day where I continued to post these awfully adorable photos. However, this time, I received a special comment. 

“you’re so cute!”

His fake name is Roy. Damn was he handsome. Perfectly exemplifying the desired image of a male ulzzang. If you are still confused by this term and by what these models look like, simply look it up and you will catch my drift. We kept commenting in my comment section like a bunch of losers, but nevertheless, it gave me butterflies. He was so handsome, and he noticed me. My 14 year old self was enthusiastic. We exchanged kik usernames (wow this was further back than I thought) and started to chat over the app. I learned these things about him. He was kind, honest (italicized for a reason...wait for it), handsome, talented, uni student, lived internationally, and came from a family with a lot of money. He sounds perfect right? I’m not a gold digger, I don’t care for the money, but I was 14 at the time and it was just an added bonus. Plus, I was so traditionally asian when I was younger. We are always trying to look for a secure partner for the future, and that’s of course in financial terms as well. We spoke back and forth everyday. He lived in Singapore, so the time difference was quite dramatic. He fed me compliments that made my little heart soar. 

I come from a very traditional asian family where not many words of affirmation and appreciation are exchanged. It just simply isn’t a part of our culture. The children are expected to be the best, and any slip up resulted in a very harsh berating from their parents. I didn’t have the best childhood because of this. I was always walking on eggshells, waiting to be yelled at. Waiting to be told that I was worthless because I grabbed the wrong soysauce off of the shelf. This cultural habit of my parents translates into emotional abuse here in the states. It wasn’t until I was much older when I realized how much it fucked me up. I was a small, insecure, and brittle teenager. My parents pushed me to be perfect, while simultaneously uttering insults under their breath any chance they could. Their parents and family members treated them like this, so why would they raise their children any different? We couldn’t communicate about our problems because there was no way to do that. We had no form of communication. My parents were so traditional in the worst way possible that they never understood how I felt, and they always thought I was ungrateful because I had depression and major insecurities. I would tell them that I was sad because people in school didn’t understand me and my dad would say “Get over it. It doesn’t matter.” I’d tell my mother I was depressed and she would tell me “You have nothing to be depressed about. I was depressed when I lived in poverty in Asia, you are so ungrateful.” In the hierarchical sense, children weren’t allowed to speak to their parents about many things because it would be a form of “talking back”, especially if the parents disagreed.

That’s why Roy had me hooked. He was giving me these words of affirmation and constantly listened to my feelings when I struggled with my family. He had me wrapped around his finger. I felt like for once someone was there to listen to me. He was my little secret. He felt like a warm blanket freshly out of the dryer, He felt like hot chocolate on a chilly day outside. I’d message him while I was in class, when the kids were being stupid, being bullies, he was there for me. I was that one girl smiling at her phone in the back. He really made me happy. But then everything started to go downhill from here. 

He claimed that he started to feel sick, so sick that he was often passing out and was in need of medical assistance. As you can understand, this troubled me deeply. I suggested that he go and get his health checked-out. He returned from his appointment to tell me that he was diagnosed with - a brain aneurysm. “What the hell is that?” my very confused 14 year old self thought. After much research I realized how serious those conditions were. He would get major migraines everyday. They would hurt so bad that he would disappear for days because he would be in the hospital. My whole world was falling apart. What would I do without him? We have never spoken on the phone, or have we ever facetimed. It wasn’t him, I just never suggested it. We planned a lot of things for the future. We wanted to meet, eat ice cream together, talk about our lives, embrace, and just comfort one another. He didn’t have a supportive family either. They were always gone working, because his family was so focused on making money. He was raised by a nanny, and she was like his own mother. He had many insecurities in his life, despite the nice cars, nice clothes, nice haircuts. I have a soft spot for people who need someone there for them. It’s always been in my nature to nurture others. At the time, I really believed that I was in love with him. He was all I knew when it came to boys, and he was so kind to me. 

“You’re the most beautiful girl I have ever seen.” “I want to help you realize how amazing you are.” “I think all of your insecurities make you perfectly imperfect to me.”

 We go back and forth for many weeks regarding his brain aneurysm. I stayed up many nights crying and praying for things to be alright for him. I’d cry and wonder why life was so unfair. The one time I find someone who seemed to really care about me, to seem to really listen to me, life wants to take them away. His aneurysm progressively got worst and eventually he had to get surgery. Surgeries for this type of problem are extremely risky. He briefed me over what percentage of living he had, when the surgery was, how long it would take him to recover, what they would do to him. It was all so awful. I felt so alone, I was so young, I couldn’t do anything to help him, certainly not through a screen. I was invested in him. He doesn’t message me for a while after that, and when I confronted him about it he said he didn’t want to drag me into this problem. That I should “move on” so that I wouldn’t suffer. But when I was stubborn and insisted on staying put, he tells me the worst thing imaginable.

“Wait for me. If I make it, I will come back for you. I promise.”

So I did. Days turned into weeks, which turned into months, and eventually years. I never heard from him again. I was utterly heartbroken. Cold. Empty. He left me, just like that...and in the worst way possible. For the longest time I thought he died, I thought that the operation was unsuccessful. But then, I was shrouded by doubt, insecurity. What if he left me because I wasn’t enough? What if there is another girl? What if this was a scam this whole time? What is wrong with me? Why won’t he love me? Is he alive? Is he dead? Where is he? Is he okay? This became one of the darkest moments of my life. I was so vulnerable, so alone because I couldn’t talk to anyone. All I had were my thoughts, my nasty thoughts fighting me. My parents words turned into my own as I tore myself apart. My chest felt heavy, my head hurt with all of the insulting words, my heart burned like fire. 

Of course I wasn’t good enough. But what if it was real? What if he died? No, I’m just a loser. I hate myself. 

This type of thinking was chaotic and toxic. I cried every night for months, I lost all of my self confidence, the little that I had. I was a mess and I felt deep down inside there was no way to fix it. One night, I distinctly remember crying by my bed. I was bawling, all alone, frustrated at the world and at myself. I made a promise and said

“You will never be with another man. You will never trust another man. You will never be in a relationship.”

That statement still stands today. I started something completely and totally irreversible. This situation, my childhood, all of my traumas, come together to form the most confusing, painful, and frustrating case of relationship anxiety.

I found my closure in this story a few years later. Two girls reached out to me through my instagram DMs. Both at different times, and both unaffiliated with one another. They tell me that they were his ex. One girl was just as confused as I was about what happened for him. I found out that he was dating her during the time that he and I were talking. But then the other girl finally fills me in. She tells me that she was his current girlfriend and that she had answers to end my restless inquiries. She tells me that he’s known for talking to multiple girls, that she was trying to change him. She told me that he is not who he said he was, that he was a different guy disguised as whoever was in those pictures. He was a catfish. But she fell in love with the real guy. However, I am convinced they were both kind of crazy. He was awful to her, distrustful, flakey, yet she loved him and couldn’t leave him. I found an out to that situation and finally received my closure. Years later I finally know it was all bullshit, and it really fucking sucked because the damage had been done. An attitude becomes a habit, and there was no way I was breaking this habit anytime soon.

#relationshipanxiety #relationship #heartbreak #love #advice #personalstories #psychology #pain #anxiety #positivity #hope #selfhelp #lovestories