#i’m working it out with my mum && hopefully it will be fixed after some phone calls && appointments

[let-me-luve-you]

Don’t Be Clingy

Tom Holland x Sister

Summary: Being Tom’s little sister means getting to go visit the Spider-Man set. You want to spend as much time with Tom as possible, but everyone else don’t think you should. 

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, cussing, Rude af brother and spiderman cast, Tom being the best big brother ever

A/N: I don’t think Harry or Zendaya or Jacob or any of the Spider-Man cast would actually act like this. It’s just for the story. Also, I just googled Smok’d. Idk the age limits in England. If I’m wrong, just pretend for the story. 

MASTERLIST

With Tom filming Far From Home mostly in London, it means you get to go to set often. Kevin Feige had met you on multiple occasions and he knew you wouldn’t tell any Marvel secrets. He allowed you to come to the set whenever. Unlike the rest of your family, they could only come on certain days.

You loved being able to watch the movie be made. The whole process blew your mind. You are only ten years old and you already knew that you wanted to make movies when you were older. Tom loved having you on set. You were this ball of energy and when he needed a little pick me up, he would talk to you about what you had learned and what you thought worked and didn’t work. He would always listen and if you said an idea, he would usually mention it to Jon to see what he saw. A few of your ideas were actually going to be in the movie.

This was the last week that the cast and crew were going to be in London before they ventured off to other countries. They flew out on Tuesday to go to Berlin. Tom was kind of disappointed he had to leave his home and family, especially you, but he knew he would be back once the movie was done filming.

It was Friday afternoon and the cast was almost done for the day. You were sitting in Tom’s chair watching the final scene being filmed. Between takes you could hear Tom and Jacob talking about going out to dinner tonight. You knew you had to ask Tom if you could join. You watched Harry walk over to Tom and Jacob while they fixed the lighting.

“Where are we going tonight? First rounds on me.” Harry said.

“Thinking maybe we could go to Smok’d and then maybe find another pub.” Tom said.

“Sounds good to me. You know where the best places are.” Jacob said. “We can get everyone else to join us too.

“Okay. Ready on set.” Jon said. Harry looked over to him and nodded before walking off set. Tom and Jacob getting back into character. The scene filmed on for another thirty minutes. When it was over, Tom walked over to you and held a hand out to help you down from his chair.

“You have fun today bug?” Tom asked you as he guided you to his trailer.

“I did.” You beamed at him. “I wish I could go with you to Berlin.”

“Mum and Dad are flying out when we go to Venice. They are using it as a minivacation, but I’ll tell them to bring you and you can stay with me and come to set with us.” Tom said. He moved to the bedroom part of the trailer to change out of his Peter Parker clothes. When he was in his own clothes, he walked out and asked, “ready to go home?”

You nodded and followed him out. When you walked out of his trailer you saw Jacob, Harry, Zendaya, Jake, and Angourie standing in a circle talking. “Can I go with you to dinner tonight?” You asked Tom as you walked up to the group. The whole group heard you and you saw the awkward glances of everyone.

“No Y/N. You’re going home.” Harry said flatly. “We don’t need to babysit a kid on our last Friday night in town.” Tom gave him a what the heck look before he turned to you.

“What Harry means to say is, we are going to do adult stuff tonight. It would be safer if you stayed home.” Tom said with a gentle voice.

“But I want to hangout with everyone. I’ll be good I promise.” You begged. Everyone stood awkwardly and watched the oldest Holland and youngest talk it through.

“I know you would, but you need to be 18 to get into here.” Tom said. “You’re eight years short of that.” Tom grabbed you by the shoulder and led you away from the group. When they thought you were out of ear shot Harry spoke up.

“She’s so clingy. Hopefully Tom can distract her so she’ll leave us alone tonight.” Harry said with a laugh. The whole group laughed with him. “I can’t stand when she’s always around. That’s why I always travel with Tom.”

“Come on man. That’s your sister.” Zendaya said. “But you’re right. Tom’s been too nice to her and letting her come around too much.”

“Yeah. Doesn’t she have Barbies or something to play with? Why is she always here. I’d hate to be Tom and have a shadow following me when I’m trying to do my job.” Jacob said.

Everyone kept talking about you and it broke your heart. You fought the tears that were wanting to escape. Tom also heard these things. He felt you tense up next to him. He looked down at you not knowing what to say. You refused to look up. You found your shoes way more interesting.

“Is mum here yet?” You asked quietly. Worried if you spoke louder that you would start crying.

Tom looked around the lot and saw Nikki talking with a guard. “Yeah. She’s over there. But list-” You ignored Tom and walked away from him. He was shocked you didn’t even say goodbye. “Y/N come back here.” He said chasing you down and grabbing you by the arm to stop you. “Look, what they said back there, it wasn’t okay. I’m going to let them know that.”

“I’ll talk to you later.” You said yanking your arm from Tom’s grasp. He watched you walk to your mum and hop in the back of the car. Nikki looked over at Tom with a confused look. When she saw the pain in her eldest son’s eyes, she knew today wasn’t a good day for you.

Tom walked back over to the group. He was pissed at what Harry had said. Pissed at what his friends had said. As he got closer he realized he needed to cool off some before he said something he didn’t mean. He kept walking towards his trailer and Harry called out to him.

“Yo div. Are you coming with us or driving yourself?” Tom ignored him and slammed the door of his trailer. He started to pace the length of it when Harry barged in. “Dude. What’s up with you? Y/N say she hates you or something?”

“No.” Tom said shortly.

“Okay? What’s your problem? You were fine just before that whole situation.” Harry said.

“You really had to say those things about Y/N?” Tom asked, finally looking at his younger brother.

“I didn’t mean anything by them. I was just joking around.” Harry said defensively.

“She’s hurt, man. You started something that got everyone else involved. Y/N will never want to come to another set again. She thinks the whole cast hates her and thinks she's annoying.” Tom said, starting to raise his voice.

“She doesn’t need to come to set so much anyway.” Harry said, acting like he didn’t hear anything else.

“Dude..” Tom said with disgust. “She’s our sister. She loves us. I love her. I want her around. This is the only set she can come to because this movie is kid friendly. I’m going into movies after this that she won’t be able to visit, which means months without seeing her in person unless I fly from the US back home on a weekend.”

“I know, but all this hollywood stuff is too much for her.” Harry said.

“Have you even talked to her when she’s been here?” Tom asked. Harry shook his head no. Saying he was too busy working. “She’s observant as fuck. She’s seeing things that Jon isn’t. She’s told me things between takes and I’ve mentioned them to Jon and he has used the ideas. I don’t know when you started to think she was a thorn in your side, but you need to apologize to her.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong.” Harry stormed to the door. “Catch your own ride to Smok’d. We will see you there.” Harry paused halfway out the door, “And check the attitude.”

Tom sighed as he fell back onto the couch. He was so frustrated at Harry for not seeing what he did to you. Tom knew he had to make it right, so he got up and went to his car. He drove straight to your favorite restaurant and got your favorite meals and desserts.

Driving home, you stayed silent. You didn’t want to cry from the rude words you heard. You definitely didn’t want your mum to see you cry and get mad at Tom. So the whole 45 minute drive, you stared out the window.

“Y/N, can you tell me what happened?” Nikki asked gently. She looked in the rearview mirror and saw you shake your head no. She sighed and decided to leave it for now. When she pulled into the drive, you immediately went up to your room and slammed the door. You weren’t supposed to lock it, but you did anyway. You fell onto your bed and finally let the tears fall down your face.

“I thought we had a couple of more years before she started acting like this.” Dom said, trying to make a joke.

“She didn’t have a good day. She wouldn’t tell me what happened. Tom looked upset too, so I’m not sure. I’m going to give him a ring.��� She said, setting her purse onto the kitchen counter and took her phone out. Tom answered after a couple of rings.

“Hey mum.” He said with a sigh.

“Tom, dear, what happened today?” She asked.

“She wanted to go to Smok’d with us.” Tom answered honestly.

“She can’t get in there.”

“I know. I was trying to explain it to her, but almost the whole cast was standing there so I pulled her away. As we were walking away, things were said about her being clingy.” Nikki gasped as she heard people were talking ill of her daughter. “I tried to tell her it wasn’t true, but she walked off before I could get it through her head. I’m getting her food right now and headed over.”

“Tom, that’s sweet of you, but maybe give her the night to calm down. She’s really upset. How about just drop the food off with us and we will give it to her. You can go to Smok’d with everyone else.”

“Maybe. I’m not really in the mood to go out now. Especially after my fight with Harry.” Tom said. He cringed wanting to keep Harry out of this with his mum.

“What about Harry? Why did you two fight?”

“Nothing. Just a rough day is all. I’ll see you in a few, mum.” Tom said, hanging up before she even got another word in. He knew he would pay for it, but he was fine to take any punishment. After fifteen minutes, he pulled into his parents’ driveway. He stared at the house trying to gather the courage to face his protective mum and his hurt little sister. He finally got out and reached into the backseat for the bag full of goodies. He walked into the house and walked straight for the kitchen.

“What did you and Harry fight about?” Nikki asked when he walked in. He sighed.

“He said some hurtful things and thinks she’s overreacting. Thinks she has no business on the set anyways. I got mad at him because his words started everyone else's.” Tom said.

“What?” Nikki asked, shocked.

“I know. Where is she? I want to go talk to her.” Tom said looking in the living room.

“She’s in her room. Hasn’t come out since she got home.” Nikki said pointing to the stairs. “But I really think you should let her calm down a bit. Go out with the cas-”

“I don’t want to see any of them right now. I have to make sure Y/N is okay.” Tom said with pleading eyes. Nikki whispered okay and nodded her head for him to head up. She was proud of Tom for caring for his sister. She was happy she raised him to care for others.

Tom walked slowly up the stairs. When he got to your door he could hear your quiet cries. His heart hurt hearing it knowing he shouldn’t have ever let it get to this point. He should have called Harry and everyone else out on their shit the second he heard it. Tom tried the door and noticed it was locked. Tom knew about the strict no locking the door rule because he was the reason for it. He knocked and waited for an answer.

Tom heard the cries stop. Like his sister was muffling it with her hands. He knew she was hoping whoever was at the door, they would leave. “Y/N/N baby, please let me in.” Tom said. He didn’t hear any movement. “Please. I have a surprise for you.” Again nothing. “That’s it. Y/F/N Y/M/N, you know you aren’t supposed to lock this door, so let me in before I get dad.” That did it. Tom heard you get off your bed before he heard the lock unclick.

He tried the door again after a second and when he walked in he saw you in bed with the covers over your head. He walked over and gently sat next to you. He put his hand on your shoulder and turned you to face him. He pulled the covers down and saw the broken look on your face.

“Go away.” You whispered and tried to turn away from him again. He wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m not going anywhere. I want to have a movie night. I have all your favorites for dinner. Even got desserts.” He said trying to bribe you.

“Keep it. Throw it away. I don’t want it.” You said not looking at him.

“Come on. I can’t apologize for what they said, only they can. But I can say what they said isn’t true. I love that you are on set. You are the pick me up I need between takes. You are seeing these things for the first time and you bring new light to it. I told Jon all of your ideas. He’s using a lot of them. Did you notice that?” Tom asked, pushing some of your hair out of your face.

You shook your head no. “I love having you there. I really do. You make it so much better. When you aren’t there, it’s just a job. When you are, I can share that experience with you and we can discuss things. I love having you on set. If Harry wasn’t helping the crew, I would exchange him for you.”

“Hey now.” You turned towards the door to see Harry.

“Why are you here?” Tom asked him.

“You never showed. Came to check on you.” Harry said before turning to you. “Also came to apologize. What I said wasn’t true. It was rude.”

“No. You don’t like me.” You said with a pout. “That’s why you are always gone.”  

“No it’s not. I just said that as a joke. It was a bad joke and it was horrible to say. I shouldn’t have said it. I love having you around. I get to watch you grow into this beautiful young girl. I just wanted a night with our crew where we could do whatever and not have to worry about you.” Harry said kneeling beside your bed.

“I’m sorry I always tag along. I won’t do it again.” You said look from Harry to Tom.

“No, no, no, no.” Tom was quick to say. “We want you around. We love taking you out to dinner with the cast, but sometimes, we need to be able to do some things without you. It isn’t because we don’t want you around, it’s because we just want to let loose of responsibilities for a little bit.”

“It’s like when you go into your treehouse to read. You just want to be away from things.” Harry added.

“Oh. I think I understand it now.” You said.

“I’ll always love you. You’re my best friend.” Tom said leaning over to kiss your forehead.

“Can you do me a favor?” You asked looking from both brothers. They both nodded. “Go out to Smok’d. Have fun with your friends. I’ll stay here and eat all the food Tom bought me.”

“No, I can’t do th-” Tom said before you interrupted.

“You can hangout with me this weekend before you go. Go join the cast for a fun night. I promise I’m no longer upset.” You said. “Please, for me?” You begged. Both Tom and Harry sighed before looking at each other.

“On one condition.” Tom said. You looked at him confused. “Come stay with me until I leave. Sam can cook us food and we can watch movies, go to the arcade, or do whatever you want. We can even build a fort in the living room like we did a few months ago.”

You smiled widely at Tom’s one request. “Okay. Yeah. Maybe mum can run me to the store so I can get us snacks.” Tom laughed as you started planning. “Now please go have fun. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said hugging Harry before hugging Tom.

“Okay, we’ll go now. Go eat that food I bought. I don’t want it to go to waste.” Tom said as he stood up to follow Harry out the door. “Love you Y/N.”

“Love you too Tom.” You said with a smile.

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland one shot #tom holland fanfic #tom holland fanfiction #brother!tom holland #brother!tom holland x sister!reader #tom holland sister #tom holland x sister!reader #tom holland x sister #tom holland x holland!reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x reader #holland!sister #holland!reader #tom holland rpf #y/n holland #tom holland angst #tom holland au

[talatomaz]

lockdown | jj x fem!teen!reader

a/n: i can’t believe that a year ago today, the last ever episode of criminal minds aired. i miss jj so much 🤧

this is sort of in line with my own experiences (to a certain extent). and there’s not as much jj x d!r as i’d intended but I hope you still like it.

(feedback/positive comments are appreciated)

requested by @ouat2017 : “could you do a jj x daughter where the daughter’s school is on lockdown and jj is worried or something like that?”

warnings: gun violence. blood

word count: 2.6k

masterlist | request list | request rules

r is jj’s 18 year old adopted daughter and suddenly finds herself on lockdown after someone brings a gun into her school

i do not give you permission to repost or translate my fics on any platform - likes/reblogs are okay and are much appreciated

“Look, you’re the one that needs to be tutored so can you please focus?”

You huffed, crossing your arms over your chest in annoyance.

You were currently in the tutoring centre trying to help a self-absorbed jock pass English so he could remain on the school’s football team.

Looking around you, you saw a handful of students giving both you and Cameron - the man-child you were tutoring - disparaging looks.

“You’re not supposed to be yelling at me. You’re meant to be telling me the answers.”

The aforementioned narcissist leaned against his chair, smirking at you in a way that made you fight to hide a shudder.

You could have easily wiped the grin off his face by mentioning who your mother was and who she worked for but instead, you decided to just continue ignoring his advances and carry on teaching him.

“That’s not how this works, Cameron. Now either you listen to me or you fail and get kicked off the team. And quite frankly, I’d rather the latter happen.”

You watched as his brows furrowed in confusion. Sighing, you answered, “latter means the second thing of two things mentioned in a sentence. Now, for the love of God, just finish writing your paragraph on Heller's satire of capitalism in Catch-22.”

You let out a breath of relief when he finally relented and started to scribble on his sheet of paper. You glanced over at one of your friends, who was also tutoring for extra credit, and smiled when she rolled her eyes at Cameron’s actions.

Leaning against the large desk that stood at the front of the room, you relished in the long-awaited silence aside from hushed whispers that came from other students asking for help.

Taking out your phone, you glanced at the screen to see that it was only midday and soon the lunch bell would be ringing.

You smiled softly at your lock screen.

It was a photo of you and JJ, your adoptive mother.

It was taken a few weeks prior at your 18th birthday party. You’d been living with JJ for almost 5 years now; her having fostered you before later adopting you when you were 14.

You still didn’t know what she saw in you on that day you’d first met her - you’d lost your family in a home invasion, barely surviving yourself - but whatever it was, you were grateful because you’d gotten a second chance at life.

Several minutes passed and you’d only broken from your train of thought when you heard someone clearing their throat beside you.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw your friend, the one who’d rolled her eyes earlier at Cameron, standing beside you.

“I see you finally got him to do his work.” She whispered, loud enough for your ears only.

“Barely. He still has an essay to write and hasn’t even finished a paragraph yet.”

“I would have smacked his sorry ass by now.”

You laughed before clamping your hand over your mouth, her comment having caught you off guard.

“Ally!” You whisper-shouted, playfully hitting her arm.

She looked at you with a raised eyebrow causing you to smirk, “Trust me, I’ve thought about it but-”

Before you could finish your sentence, a large bang rang out, shattering the silence the room had once held.

With wide eyes, your head whipped to the door where the gunshot had presumably come from and you listened as the hallways were filled with panicked screams.

Running to the door, ignoring the gasps and shouts from the other students behind you, you turned the lock on the door, pulled down the blinds, switched off the lights and jammed a chair under the handle.

Looking up, you saw everyone had the same look of panic in their eyes; a few were crying, including Ally, and others were pale with shock, Cameron was one of them.

“Guys, we’re gonna be okay but we have to be quiet.” You whispered harshly, constantly looking over your shoulder at the door, listening for any indication of the shooter coming your way.

Everyone stared at you, as if you were the leader of a camp and they were small children awaiting for further instruction.

You supposed it wasn’t far off.

By taking charge, you were the one who’d been unwillingly given the role of protector.

“First things first,” you walked over to the group of 10 students, “I need you all to make sure your phones are on silent. We can’t risk being caught.”

You watched as everyone followed your instructions.

“I know you all want to call your parents but that’s going to attract attention to us so for right now, we need to be quiet.”

Your heart was beating out of your chest and as you spoke, one thought repeated in your head. JJ.

Taking out your phone, you scrolled to find your mother’s name in your contacts. You watched as your thumb hovered over her name.

Just breathe, y/n. Breathe.

Tapping your mother’s name, you brought the phone to your ear.

“I thought you said we couldn’t call anyone.”

Your eyes locked onto Cameron’s, his face pale and his eyes filled with terror and a hint of anger.

“My Mum works for the FBI.” You whispered as the phone rang out.

Any other time and you probably would have laughed at the way his face grew paler, if that was even possible. But, in a situation this tense, it was going to be difficult to find any levity.

Your Mum picked up on the second ring and you let out a shaky breath when you heard her voice.

“Hi baby. A bit early for your lunch, isn’t it?”

You closed your eyes at her soft tone, as if you were trying to engrave the way she spoke into your mind lest you would never hear it again.

From your lack of response, the blonde sensed there was something up, “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

A single tear dropped down your cheek as you struggled to maintain a steady tone. Catching a glimpse of Ally staring at you, you steeled yourself and spoke.

“Mum, you need to come quick. Someone’s brought a gun into school.”

“Oh my-AARON.”

You winced when you heard her shout for her boss, listening as you could hear her run up stairs. You held your breath as she filled Hotch in on what was happening before telling Garcia to hack into your school’s security system.

“Are you okay? Stupid question. But are you hurt?”

“Mum,” you interrupted her rambling, “I’m fine. I’m in the tutoring centre with 10 other people. I don’t know how many people are injured. It just all happened so fast.”

“It’s okay, baby. You’re gonna be okay.”

Though you could hear the clear panic in her voice, her words did bring some form of reassurance to you.

“Penelope’s hacking into the system so hopefully she can have eyes soon.”

As she spoke, you could hear the clacking of keys in the background of the call; presumably Garcia doing exactly what JJ said.

“Mum?” You questioned when you heard Garcia swear.

Instead of JJ answering, the usually peppy tech analyst replied, her voice shaky and wet, as if she was crying.

“Y/N, thank God you’re okay.”

“What’s wrong, Garcia?”

“Someone’s disabled the cameras remotely. I can only get them back online if someone reprograms them from the inside.”

Grasping what she was explaining, you nodded, “I’ll fix them.”

“What? No!”

Your mother had taken the phone off of Garcia.

“You are not leaving that room, y/n. We’ll find another way in.”

“Mum, someone needs to fix the system from inside the school. I need to do it.”

Ignoring your mother’s worried shouts, you continued to speak, “Mum, I have to. I love you.”

You disconnected the phone and switched it off, preventing her from being able to call you back.

“Y/N, you are not leaving this room.”

You’d only just realised that everyone had been watching you intently during that entire interaction.

“Yes, I am.”

Moving away from the huddle, you rose to your feet and replied to your friend.

Cameron rose to his feet and towered over you as he challenged you, “No, you are not. You’re going to put us in danger.”

“Do you know how to hack into our school’s security system and then reconnect the transformer and enter the Mastercode?”

His face contorted to a look of confusion making you reply,

“Exactly.”

Turning to leave, you felt a large hand enclose around your arm.

“I said, you’re not leaving.”

Your eyes flickered from Cameron’s hand up to his face that dared you to take another step.

“Remove your hand from my arm before I remove your hand from your body. You may letter in football but I’ve been trained by some of the best FBI agents there are and unless you want to end up in a sleeper hold, I suggest you shut up and do what I say for once.”

His harsh grip almost immediately lessened as his hand returned to his side.

“Good. Now, have any of you been shot? No? I didn’t think so. Well, I have and whoever did get shot is probably bleeding out in the hallway. I can’t not do anything.”

No one dared to respond and instead, shook their head ‘no’ at your asking if anyone else would try to stop you.

Content that you weren’t going to deal with any more unnecessary distractions, you made your way to the door and gently removed the chair that was beneath the handle.

“Ally, you’re in charge. Lock the door when I leave. By my count, the FBI will be here soon. And Cameron, you do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself.”

Unlocking the door, you stepped out into the empty hallway and hastily made your way to where the main security hub was located.

Just a couple of hours ago, all you had wished for was silence but now that your wish had been granted, all you wanted was to hear the playful shouts and conversations between your friends and fellow students.

The silence that currently fell on your school was unnerving and unbearable. And with each step you took, you flinched at the sound your shoes made against the marble floor. Each noise practically acting as a beacon for the shooter to come find you.

You let out a sigh of relief when you found the Hub and you quickly worked to reconnect the security system. Typing on the laptop that rested atop one of the servers, you couldn’t help the smile that formed when all the cameras re-engaged.

Tapping on one of the keys, you navigated through the various cameras, looking for any indication of the shooter or of any injured people. You stopped when you caught a glimpse of someone.

Squinting at the screen, you saw, what appeared to be a freshman - since you didn’t recognise him as being a part of your year - laying on the ground, a hand clutching his stomach as blood coated his clothing.

Immediately knowing where he was, you cautiously made your way to the east hallway before running when you noticed him laying on the ground, his blood coating the once-white marble floor.

Falling to your knees, you pressed your hands against his wound, trying to stop the steady flow. He groaned out in pain, tears staining his face.

“H-Help me.” He choked out.

“What’s your name?”

“Jackson. But everyone c-calls me J-Jack.”

“Jack, you’re going to be okay. I just need you stay with me, okay? I’m-”

“Y/N.”

You failed to hide the surprise from your face making the younger teen smile despite his predicament.

“You’re t-tutoring Cameron. Everyone knows who you are. Y-You’re the one who doesn’t take any of his shit. I think h-he likes you.”

“Well, tough shit for him. I may be bi but he’s definitely not my type.”

Jack’s laugh quickly turned into another groan of pain.

Unzipping your jacket with one hand, you used the other to keep pressure on his wound. After removing the jacket, you harshly pressed it against his torso and watched as it barely absorbed the blood.

“I’m gonna die, aren’t I?”

“No, you’re not. I won’t let you.” You said, tears filling in your eyes as memories rushed back of when you tried to save your brother after he’d been shot.

“You’re going to be okay. I just need you to-”

You stilled when you heard footsteps come up behind you.

“Well, what do we have here?”

You didn’t recognise the voice and couldn’t bring yourself to turn around to face the person who’d caused all this pain.

You opened your mouth before closing it again, unsure of what to say.

Closing your eyes, you readied yourself for your inevitable death when a shot rang out and a body slumped to the ground beside you.

Jumping at the action, you turned around and almost collapsed in relief at what you saw. Your Mum and her team stood behind you with several SWAT members flanking them.

The tears that had once filled your eyes now spilled shamelessly down your cheeks.

Without saying a word, JJ holstered her gun and ran to your side, hugging you as best she could since your hands were still pressed against Jack’s wound.

Paramedics soon followed and after that it was all a blur. It was as if you were floating outside of your body. Logically, you knew it was the effects of an adrenaline crash but you felt so disconnected from your body.

You barely took note as your mother gently lifted you to your feet, allowing you to be briefly looked over by the paramedics. Nor as your mother escorted you to one of the school bathrooms where she rinsed the blood off your hands.

You didn’t even say a word until you’d arrived back at the BAU where a worried Penelope wrapped you in a tight hug which you returned.

“I’m gonna take her up to my old office, Hotch.”

The Unit Chief simply nodded as he and the rest of the team watched as JJ led you to the abandoned office that was still filled with random case files.

Closing the door, she sat you down on her sofa and stared at you, not touching you in fear that even a simple caress would cause you to shatter.

You exhaled a long breath before finally speaking, “I’m sorry.”

Her brows narrowed, “Sorry? Sweetheart, why?”

You looked at your hands that had been coated in blood less than an hour before and then up at your mother; her blue eyes filled with nothing but concern, love and confusion.

“You told me not to leave and I did. I’m sorry.”

And with that, you started to cry heart-wrenching sobs that made your shoulders shake.

JJ gathered you in her arms, gently rocking you as her long blonde hair draped over you.

“It’s okay, y/n. I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

Her arms wrapped tightly around you as she laid soft kisses on your head, her hand stroking your back.

That only served to make you burrow into her even more, seeking comfort in her motherly embrace.

You muttered your apologies as she continued to reassure you that you were okay.

JJ was afraid that if she stopped, you wouldn’t be here, safe in her arms.

Still rocking you in her arms, she whispered in your ear,

“I got you, baby. You’re safe now.”

#criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #jennifer jareau #jennifer jareau x reader #jj x reader #jennifer jareau imagine #elle greenaway #elle greenaway x reader #emily prentiss #emily prentiss x reader #derek morgan #derek morgan x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #david rossi #david rossi x reader #jemily #aj cook #cm #cm x reader #criminal minds imagine #c: jennifer jareau #c: jj x d!r #s: mine #c: lockdown

[itsallyscorner]

Ik someone else already asked for like a delivery part (and honestly, that would be amazing. Like imagine the girls reacting to Baby Mix casually dropping it in their chat). But, also imagine Tom and Y/N haven’t released anything to the public and Perrie (my loose-lipped queen) let’s it spill over a virtual interview or something, how chaotic would that be????

Anyway, I truly loved your Baby Mix stories. You’re combining two of my favourite things so effortlessly. Thank you💜💜💜

Hello my love! So sorry for the long wait, I hope you don’t mind! Thank you for requesting this and being so patient with me❤️ I’m so glad you’re enjoying the Little Mix reader! stories🥰 I haven’t written a delivery part yet but I already had an idea of how I wanted to write this so...here ya go! Happy reading🤎🧸

💌.

Meet Aunty Pez

She would be the best aunty in the world, ugh🥺 Also I’m so sorry I haven’t been active, school has been keeping me busy, but hopefully it’ll ease up soon! Sending all my love to all of you💞

At 3:14am, on an early Monday morning, the bundle of joy that you and Tom have been waiting nine months for has finally arrived. After hours of enduring pain and labor, Amelia May Holland was born. Weighing at 7.5 lbs, she had the same bright chocolate colored eyes as her father, gorgeous brown hair, a mix of your and Tom’s nose, and thankfully she inherited your lips. She was a precious little thing, always cradled in the arms of either of her parents, since they both couldn’t believe she was finally in the real world with them.

The sun casted soft rays of light into the hospital room you and your little family occupied. The warm light added to the peaceful atmosphere you were all currently in. You were sat against the hospital bed, cradling Amelia in your arms, while you and Tom stared at her in fascination. You lean your head against Tom’s shoulder, eyes never leaving your baby girl, who’s nose momentarily scrunched up.

Softly chuckling, you glance at Tom, “Not even a day old and she’s already doing a habit of yours.” The gentle smile grows even wider on Tom’s lips, a sense of pride rushing through his veins.

“Well she’s definitely her father’s daughter.” He hums, his arm around your shoulder pulls you flush against his chest. Tom hides his face in the crook of your neck, placing feather light kisses onto your skin trailing down to your shoulder, where he rests his chin.

“I can’t believe we made her. Isn’t she the most gorgeous baby in the world?” He speaks in a hushed voice, cautious of startling his newborn daughter awake. He gazes at Amelia with a fond expression on his face, large fingers gingerly reaching out to softly stroke the back of his baby’s hand. She’s only been here a few hours and she’s already wrapped him around her dainty little fingers. He would go to extreme measures to do anything for her and to make sure she lived the best life she can. She was to be treated like a princess in his eyes; because she was his princess and you’ve been bumped up to be his queen.

“She’s all we’ve ever wanted.” You turn to face Tom over your shoulder. The whole morning, ever since you gave birth, the two of you spent most of the time admiring Amelia and would burst into tears at how proud you were of each other. Not only had you both just made the most precious baby in the world, but this was a new chapter in your lives. A new experience of life with a stronger bond, full of love, and years of memories that’ll be looked back on in the future.

Tom shifts his gaze to you, the look in his eyes changing to adoration. He tenderly kisses your lips, repeating the actions a few more times before speaking. “Thank you so much for this. Thank you for being an amazing wife and giving me a family. I love you so, so, so, so, much. You have no idea.” He brushes his nose against yours, shutting his eyes, to savor the meaningful moment.

“I wouldn’t be doing this with anyone else but you. You’re gonna be such an amazing dad.” You beam at him. Tom softly chuckles, leaning his forehead against your temple, “God, I hope.”

“You will, you’ll be the best one in her eyes. I already know it.” You reassure him, pecking the corner of his mouth. You turn your attention back to Amelia, who was still sleeping peacefully in your arms.

“So when should we tell everyone?” Tom asks, resting his chin on your shoulder again. You lean the back of your head against his shoulder, making yourself comfortable in his arms.

“I think we should tell our family and friends first. I’m not ready to share her to the public yet, I want her to only be ours for now.” You quietly explain. You feel Tom smile against your skin.

“Of course, darling. Whatever you’re most comfortable with, that’s what we’ll go with.”

(Y/n)🌻: sent a photo

We thought Amelia might want to pop in and say hello to her favorite aunties for the first time!❤️

Perrie🦋: oh my goodness! Congratulations🥳🥳 I’m over the moon for the both of you!!

Oh she’s precious! Look at those cheeks!! I can’t wait to meet her🥺

Jade💜: OMG WE SHARE THE SAME NAME!!

I’m so happy for you and Tom!! You guys are going to be the most amazing parents in the world!❤️

Leigh-Anne😻: Baby Amelia, you are the most adorable baby I’ve ever seen!!!😍 Babe, you and Tom have some really good genes👀

Congrats you two!! I’m so proud of you both❤️❤️❤️

Jesy💖: Thank god Amelia got (y/n)’s genes for her lips!!😂😂 I can’t imagine another loose-lipped Holland!

I’m so happy for you guys!! I can’t believe you’re already a mum, darling🥺 We love you so much and can’t wait to see you and Baby Amelia❤️

(Y/n)🌻: You guys🥺🥺 I can’t wait to see you all and get out of this hospital! This bed isn’t doing anything for my back😭

Perrie🦋: You must be so exhausted lovey, how are you doing? I hope everything went well during delivery!

(Y/n)🌻: Very painful, I felt like I was about to pass out omg😭 The doctor kept on telling me to push, I didn’t know if I was shitting myself or pushing the baby out😭

Tom’s been amazing the entire time. Bless him, I think I broke his hand while I was pushing :(

Jesy💖: Omg!! What was Tom’s reaction to childbirth?!!

(Y/n)🌻: If you thought he couldn’t get even paler, you thought wrong! He was as white as the walls in the room😭😭 He was a good sport through it all though!

Also, Amelia’s crying. I’ve got to go, I’ll talk to you girls soon!! And good luck with the interview today, you guys are gonna smash it xx

Perrie🦋: Don’t worry about us! You’re officially on maternity leave now! We’ll send your regards for the interviewer❤️

Leigh-Anne😻: Look at our baby mama! We love you❤️❤️❤️

Jade💜: Say hello to baby Amelia and that Aunty Jade loves her🥰

Jesy💖: ^Kiss ass, she’s not even a day old and the competition for best Aunty has already begun smh.

Bye darling, we’ll catch up with you soon❤️

You smiled at your screen before turning it off and placing it onto the table beside your bed. Tom was pacing the room, cradling Amelia against his chest. He was gently rocking her back and forth, alternating from shushing her to humming some sort of tune underneath his breath. You sat back and admired the curly headed boy that’s claimed your heart. Not only was he the love of your life but he was also the father of your child. Sure you guys were young, both in your late 20s, but the daddy role definitely fit Tom perfectly.

Tom must’ve felt your stare because he turned around and sent you a tired smile. He walked towards your bed and motioned for you to lay down. Using one had to cradle Amelia, he used the other to help you get comfy in the hospital bed. Still with one hand, he fixed your hair on the pillow so that it was away from your face. His large calloused hand cradled your jaw, “Get some sleep, darling. I know how tired you are.”

You pouted at him, “But what about Amelia?” He shook his head, his thumb stroking your cheek, “Don’t worry about it, I’ll try and get her to sleep. You just close your pretty eyes and get some rest in.”

“What if she’s hungry?”

“If she doesn’t fall asleep, then I’ll wake you up. Just please get some sleep, love. You haven’t taken a proper nap since this morning and I know you’re already close to knocking out.” He reasoned with pleading eyes. You sigh finally giving in, lazily nodding in response. Tom beams at you and leans down to place a tender kiss onto your lips.

“I love you both.” You mumble against his lips. He pecks your lips once more, “And we love you too, mummy.” The moment you closed your eyes, you were out like a light.

You managed to take a nap for about half an hour until you felt a few pats on your shoulder. You were immediately awake, turning your head to look for Amelia. You looked at the hospital bassinet, where you could see her sleeping peacefully.

“What’s wrong?” You ask Tom. He was sat beside your bed with his phone held in his hand watching something.

“I’m so sorry for waking you, but you should see this.” He apologized with a pitiful smile. He scoots closer to the bed so you can look at the screen. Your brows furrow together in question as you stare at Tom; it was the girls’ interview.

“Just watch.”

“Hello ladies! Thank you for joining me today!” The interviewer started. A round of “hellos” and waves were seen on the recorded Zoom session.

“Thank you for having us!” Leigh-Anne said.

“Yeah, it’s always a pleasure to be on your show, Zach.” Jade gushed. Zach made a show of flattery making them all laugh.

“I mean I guess I should start by asking how are all of you?”

Jesy was the first to answer, “I’d say we’re all doing pretty good, aren’t we girls? You know—just trying to get by especially with all that’s going on in the world.”

Perrie agreed, “Yeah, we’re lucky enough to be healthy and have the privilege to work. So I’d say we’re very blessed and making the best out of situation.”

“That’s great for you girls. AND speaking of making the best of the situation, thank you for giving us entertainment! I’ve been watching The Search and I’m absolutely obsessed.” Zach began, complimenting the show. He continued, “Although I did notice, that there’s only four of you at the moment, and in the show. How is it like to not have (y/n) around?”

Jesy pouted, the other girls having familiar reactions at the lack of your presence.

“As much as we miss her, it’s best for her and the baby to stay home and away from the public. When it comes to your career or family; family comes first, so it was totally understandable.” Jesy explained.

Jade chirped in, “Well, she’s not completely missing out. She’s had a few virtual appearances on the show and we’ve all been in contact, we always know what she’s up to.”

“How’s she doing? With the baby preparations and all?” Zach asked the girls. Their faces immediately brightened with joy, especially Perrie how squealed and clapped her hands in delight.

“Oh she’s doing wonderful, we were just texting her! She’s officially on maternity leave!” Perrie cheered. On the screen, Jesy eyed Perrie warily.

“Officially on maternity leave?”

Perrie smiled widely, “Yes, she is! She sent us a photo of the baby in our group chat and my goodness! Their baby is so cute, I just want to pinch her little cheeks!”

The three other girls’ eyes widened at the things coming out of Perrie’s mouth too stunned to say anything.

Zach squinted at Perrie, “Wait she’s already had the baby?”

“PERRIE!”

“Yeah, today actually.” The blonde answered proudly.

“PERRIE SHUT UP!”

“STOP TALKING!”

Perrie stopped, looking at the three girls offendedly, “What?”

“Oh my god, she did not.” Leigh-Anne facepalmed herself. Jade’s jaw was slack and Jesy’s eyes were wide with horror.

“Babe, do you know what you just did?” Jesy questioned Perrie, fingers pinching the bridge of her nose in stress.

You paused the video, taking in what just happened.

Tom eyed you carefully, “Your phone’s been blowing up consistently. Pez even called me to apologize, she feels really bad (y/n).”

You frowned knowing that Perrie was most likely upset at herself. You’ve been friends with Perrie for years now. It was common knowledge amongst you and the girls that if something big and secretive were to happen, you were to never tell Perrie. Not that you all wanted to leave her out on propose, she just didn’t know how to keep her mouth shut. When Perrie found things that made her happy or excited, she didn’t know how to contain her happiness. So it wasn’t completely a surprise to learn she’s told the world you and Tom were finally parents.

Tom noticed that you were still quiet, “Are you mad, darling?”

You shook your head, “No—no, I’m not mad at her. I know Perrie can get too excited sometimes.”

“So you’re okay with this?” Tom asked you, knowing that just an hour ago you said you wanted to keep Amelia away from the public. His hand reaches for yours, grasping it.

You tilted your head at the ceiling, “Yeah, I guess I am? I mean it’s not like she said Amelia’s name or anything. All she told them was that I gave birth already.” You paused and turned to look at Tom.

“Plus, I think she’s saved us the trouble of figuring out how to tell the world about Amelia.” You send him a smile. He reciprocates the action and brings your hand up to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “We don’t have to tell them anything more. All they have to know is that you’ve given birth and our little princess is healthy. Also that we’re very happy. The rest of the details will only be for us. For now.”

“For now.” You confirmed squeezing his hand. You glanced at your phone and motioned for Tom to give it to you. Scrolling through your contacts you clicked on Perrie’s name, “I guess we should call her and thank her.”

You clicked on the FaceTime icon and not even a second later, Perrie immediately answered the call.

“I am so sorry.” She apologized, hand covering her face. You chuckle at her and shake your head, “We’re actually calling you to thank you Pez.”

Her face contorts into confusion, “What do you mean thank me? I just exposed the two of you during a live interview.”

Tom poked his head into frame, “Well one, you’ve announced that Amelia’s here already, so that’s one thing off our list. And two, you just saved me months worth of relief during interviews. Now that everyone knows we have a baby, I don’t need to be scared of accidentally slipping it out when I have to do promos!”

The blonde looked between both you and Tom I’m disbelief, “Are you kidding me? If I knew you two would’ve responded this way I wouldn’t have been spending the last hour beating myself up for it.”

You laughed smiling at her. Perrie beamed at the both of you, “For just delivering a baby, you look gorgeous hun. You’re glowing.”

“Aw thank you, lovey.” You look at Amelia from the corner of your eye. “Do you wanna see her?” Perrie eagerly nods at the camera. Tom takes the camera and rounds your bed to the bassinet. Aiming the camera above Amelia he said, “Amelia, meet Aunty Pez.”

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[bibbawrites]

Don’t Get Caught - Owen Joyner x Reader (16+)

Request: mischievous/playful/giggly sneaking around with Owen on set or evading Charlie in their apartment

Word Count: 3142 words

Summary: You are a makeup artist on set for Julie and The Phantoms and quickly began messing around with Owen, but the fear of potentially losing your job if anyone finds out has the two of you sneaking around and trying your best to not be caught aka 4 times you and Owen were almost caught messing around and one time you were 

Warnings: Swearing, sexual references, implied oral sex, reference to m*sturbation

A/N: hi all! so this is my first attempt at a jatp related fic so hopefully i do okay, sorry for any mistakes, most of this was written and edited from 2am-6am because those are my motivation hours  i also don’t usually write reader insert so fingers crossed i dont mess this up lol. i have a ton of requests to work through so keep an eye out for things coming soon (hopefully)  also, to the person who requested this, sorry it took so long (my dumb ass deleted 90% of it and had to start again) i really hope i did your idea justice :)

1. Makeup Trailer 

The first time you met Owen was on your first day on set. Kenny had dragged the cast in to meet you, and something about Owen drew you in and you just knew you had to get to know the beautiful blonde boy. 

Luckily your chance came sooner than expected when you were working alone in the makeup trailer a few days later. The door opened and Owen came in, smiling brightly when he saw you.

“Hey, you’re Y/N, right?” He asked. You nodded.

“I am.” You replied and he grinned.

“I’m Owen. Nice to meet you, again.” He said awkwardly.

You giggled at his awkwardness. 

“Nice to meet you again too. Sit down.” You gestured to the chair in front of you and he sat down. You got to work quickly, working in silence for a few minutes before Owen spoke up.

“So how long have you been doing makeup for? You look young.” He asked.

“I’ve been doing it professionally for 5 years now. I started working in my mum’s salon when I was 15, and when I graduated I did a course to get me this job.” You told him. He paused.

“So you’re 20?” He questioned, and you nodded.

“I am.” 

“Cool, I’m 19.”  He said, and you hummed in response, concentrating on making sure his face didn’t looked cakey.

“So are you from around here?” You shook your head.

“Nah I moved here from Quebec.” You said.

“Alone? Or with your family or... boyfriend?” Owen asked, the last part sounding slightly bitter.

“Yeah I came alone, my mum is too busy with her salon, and my siblings are still in school. And I don’t have a boyfriend.” You told him and he grinned slightly.

“Good to know.” He muttered quietly. You raised an eyebrow, not quite hearing him properly.

“Sorry?” You asked. He shook his head.

“Nothing.” 

“Okay...” You trailed off, not believing him. “Well you’re all done.”

“Already?” He frowned slightly. 

“Yep.” You smiled.

“Oh. Thanks.” He stood up, pausing slightly. 

“Can I get your number?” He asked, somewhat hesitantly. Realisation dawned on you.

“So that’s why you asked about a boyfriend.” You said, eyebrow raised. 

“Guilty.” He grinned cheekily.

“Give me your phone.” You held out your hand and he placed his phone in it, and you quickly added a new contact, typing in your number and texting yourself from his phone.

“There. I’ll text you pretty boy.” You said, handing him his phone back. He grinned.

“I’ll see you around Y/N.” He said, turning to leave for the hair trailer. You watched him leave with a smile on your face.

A week of texting and flirting later and you found yourself alone with Owen in the makeup trailer again.

“So what scenes are you filming today pretty boy?” You questioned as you began to apply his makeup.

“Why do you always call me pretty boy?” He asked, ignoring your question.

“Because you’re pretty? And a boy?” You said, pulling a face.

“Are you flirting with me?” He grinned, and you raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe.” You said. He bit his lip.

“So if I tried to kiss you you’d say?” He asked, and your heart skipped a beat.

“Eh why not?” You said it like it was nothing but inside you were freaking out.

“Y/N.” He groaned and you giggled.

“Just kidding.” You teased.

“So?” He asked again after a moment of silence. You rolled your eyes.

“Oh my god just kiss me you dork.” Owen didn’t even take a second to think about it, he wrapped his arms around your waist and pulled you into his lap, connecting your lips in a less than innocent kiss. Your lips fitted together perfectly, and he tasted faintly of blueberry and spearmint. After what felt like a lifetime he pulled away from you, leaving you panting and wanting more.

“Wow that was...” He was the first to speak, his voice breathy. You nodded.

“Yep.” You said simply. “I should probably...”

You stood up from his lap, and had barely stepped away when the door opened.

“Hey Y/N, one of my lashes came off and... oh...” Savannah’s voice came, the young actress pausing when she saw how close the two of you were.

“Hey Savannah.” You said with a smile. She returned your smile before glancing back at Owen.

“Sorry, did I interrupt something?” She asked. The two of you shook your heads.

“No, not at all.” You said.

“I was just leaving.” Owen added, standing up from his chair. Savannah raised an eyebrow.

“If you say so.” She replied as Owen left the trailer quickly. The door shut behind him and Savannah grinned at you.

“You like him.” She said, her tone teasing.

“No...” You denied. Savannah rolled her eyes.

“You so do Y/N. And I know Owen, he definitely likes you too.” She told you.

“If you say so.” You said, grabbing a new fake lash to fix the missing one.

Savannah grinned. 

“Oh I know so. You’ll see.”

2. Julie’s Bedroom Set

“Come on Y/N, what’s the worst that could happen?” Owen had said as he dragged you through the filming lot towards the set of Julie’s bedroom. You had been heading off to grab some lunch when he had intercepted you and asked if you wanted to “hang”, which by this point you knew was code for hide somewhere and make out for a while. You had originally said no, but those darn puppy eyes had made you say yes before you even realised you were saying it. 

“What if someone catches us?” You had questioned, but Owen silenced your worries with a blistering kiss that left you breathless. 

“We’ll be fine.” He muttered as he pulled away. “Don’t stress.” 

“Famous last words.” You muttered, allowing him to pull you back in and kiss you again. You ran your fingers through his hair, knowing that he would have to have it fixed up before his next scene anyways. 

It had been a few weeks since that first kiss in the makeup trailer, and since then you had learnt the taste and feeling of Owen’s lips on yours, a feeling that was now so familiar to you that it felt like second nature. 

You mindlessly kissed him back, thanking your past self for deciding to use your favourite chapstick flavour, choc mint, on him earlier that morning when you did his makeup for the day. 

You pulled away to take a breath and he grinned at you. 

“I’m glad we met.” He said. You blushed slightly.

“Me too.” You agreed.

He pulled you back in and kissed you again, this kiss more passionate than the last, and you shuffled closer to him, your lips never leaving his for a second. You could feel his hands resting on your waist, his tongue in your mouth, the scent of his cologne filling your nostrils.

Suddenly you heard a noise and you pulled away quickly, the fear of being caught overpowering your feelings for Owen.

“Someone’s coming.” You said quickly. Owen frowned.

“What?” He questioned.

“There’s someone coming.” You repeated and his expression changed to fear.

“Fuck, what do we do? Run?” He asked and you nodded.

“Yes.” 

He grabbed your hands and pulled you up off the bed, linking your fingers together before dragging you off the set, the both of you giggling the whole way back to his trailer.

“It’s kinda fun, almost but not quite getting caught.” You admitted once the two of you were curled up on the couch in his trailer.

“It is.” He agreed. “But do you know what’s even more fun?”

“What?” You questioned.

“Making out with you.”

And if Owen went back to set with the taste of your orgasm on his tongue that was for only the two of you to know. 

3. Owen and Charlie’s Living Room 

You had just finished some finishing touches on Savannah’s makeup when Owen burst into the makeup trailer. 

“You’re all done.” You told Savannah and she grinned. 

“Thanks Y/N.” She stood up from the chair. “See you later. Bye Owen.” 

She glanced between the two of you, before turning and giving you a quick wink as she left, leaving you and Owen alone in the trailer. 

“So?” You spoke, beginning to pack up your brushes. “Why are you here?” 

“Well you see, I’m finished for the day and I checked your schedule and you are too, and I was wondering if you wanted to come back to my place to watch a movie and chill or something.” Owen spoke, plopping himself into one of the chairs and spinning around. 

"What about Charlie?” You asked, placing your brush bag into the large drawer of your makeup supplies. 

“He’s filming the Perfect Harmony scene with Madi. We’d have the place to ourselves for at least a few hours.” You paused, considering his offer. 

“Okay.” You replied simply. He cheered. 

“Are you ready to go now?” He asked, standing up, and you nodded. He grinned slightly, pulling you in and kissing you softly. 

“Hi, by the way.” He whispered once he pulled away. You rolled your eyes playfully. 

“Let’s just go.” 

You somehow managed to make it off set and back to the building where most of the cast and crew were living without anyone noticing the two of you together.

“What floor?” You asked as you hopped into the elevator.

“6.” He replied, and you pressed the button, riding in silence to his floor. He took your hand, pulling you towards the apartment he shared with Charlie, unlocking the front door and dragging you towards the couch.

“So you mentioned a movie?” You said once the two of you were settled. Owen nodded. 

“I did, what do you wanna watch?” He asked. 

“I actually have a better idea.” You grinned, climbing on top of him, straddling his waist.

“Oh I see.” He replied, grabbing your top and pulling you down to kiss you roughly.

It felt like no time had passed at all when suddenly the front door unlocked.

“Fuck.” You said, jumping off him quickly and settling onto the couch next to Owen, pretending as if you’d been there the whole time. Charlie entered the room, frowning slightly when he saw you sat on the couch.

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” Charlie questioned, throwing his bag onto the chair. 

“I.. Um...” You stumbled. “I was just leaving.” 

You stood up quickly, thankful that the shoes you wore were slip on’s. 

Charlie eyed Owen carefully as the door shut and Owen shrugged.

“Should I ask?” Charlie questioned. Owen shook his head.

“Nope.”

4. Owen’s Bedroom 

After a couple of close calls on set and in the living room, the next time you came over you and Owen went straight to his room.

He laid down on his bed and you climbed on top of him, kissing him instantly.

“God you’re perfect.” He muttered, lips and tongues combining in a mess of passion and lust. Owen pulled at your shirt, tugging it over your head, and you did the same for him. His lips trailed down your neck, sucking gently to leave a mark.

The front door opened and Owen groaned.

“Shit, is that Charlie?” You asked. He nodded. “What do we do?”

“Uh... get in the closet.” He suggested and you giggled, grabbing onto your shirt so Charlie wouldn’t see it if he came in.

“Owen? You here?” Charlie called, and Owen dragged you into the closet, pulling the door shut behind you.

“Shh.” Owen whispered. You tried to hide your smile.

“I didn’t say anything.” You told him, and he rolled his eyes playfully. The door to Owen’s room opened and the two of you froze, bodies pressed together.

“God I hope that’s your phone pressed against my leg.” You whispered after a moment. Owen pulled a face in the darkness. 

“Uh... no.” He replied, and you giggled awkwardly. 

“Don’t laugh, this isn’t funny.” He whined.

“It is funny. We’re trapped in your closet waiting for Charlie to leave and you still manage to be turned on?” You questioned with a giggle

“I can’t help it when someone as attractive as you is pressed up against me. Plus you don’t have a shirt on so...” He trailed off.

“Oh yeah?” You pressed yourself against his body more forcefully. Owen groaned quietly. 

“Fuck, stop it.” He muttered. You smirked. 

“No.” You whispered, and Owen placed his hands on your waist. 

“Y/N...” His voice was low, and just the sound of it sent flutters through your stomach. 

“Owen...” You replied just as quietly. “Before you ask, I’m not gonna fuck you in a closet.” 

“Why not?” He whined. You rolled your eyes. 

“You shouldn’t even have to ask that question.” 

The front door slammed shut and Owen let out a sigh of relief, pushing open the closet door. You stepped past him and made your way over to the bed, Pulling your shirt back on before sitting down to pull your shoes on. 

“Wait where are you going?” He questioned, pouting. 

“Back to set, I have a job to do, remember?” You reminded him, tying your laces on your left shoe before reaching for the right. 

“Can’t you call in sick?” He tried. You raised an eyebrow. 

“From my lunch break?” He shrugged. 

“Food poisoning?” 

“Owen.” You gave him a look and he groaned, flopping onto the bed. 

“Fine. But what am I supposed to do about this?” He motioned towards his crotch. You stood up, grabbing your phone, and walked towards the door, pausing before you exited the room. 

“You have a hand. Use it.” And with that, you left. 

+1. Owen and Charlie’s Kitchen 

It was a day off from filming so you decided to have a lazy day. It was almost lunch time when you woke up, and you would have slept longer if it wasn’t for your phone ringing obnoxiously from its spot on your nightstand. 

You rolled over, grabbing the phone and answered without even checking the caller ID. 

“Hello?” You spoke, voice full of sleep. 

“Good morning, Charlie has gone for a hike, wanna come over?” Owen’s voice came through the phone. 

“Sure, why not. Give me half an hour to have a shower and get changed.” You replied, already climbing out of bed. Owen cheered causing you to smile slightly. 

“Awesome, I’ll see you in half an hour.” He said. “And don’t eat anything.” 

“Okay.” You replied, and before you could even say goodbye he had hung up. You rolled your eyes, throwing your phone back onto the bed and grabbing a simple outfit of a crop t-shirt and shorts out of your wardrobe, before heading into the bathroom to get ready. 

25 minutes later you were knocking on the door of Owen and Charlie’s apartment. The door opened, revealing a shirtless Owen, and you had to stop yourself from checking him out as he let you in. 

“Any reason why I wasn’t allowed to eat?” You questioned, following him down the hall into the kitchen. 

“Because, I thought we could make pancakes together.” He gestured to the pile of ingredients sitting on the counter. 

“How domestic. Didn’t realise we had become a married couple.” You teased, and he blushed slightly. 

“I just thought it would be fun.” He defended, and you placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

“It will be. And delicious.” You agreed.

He grinned, grabbing the ingredients. 

“Let’s get started then.” 

Somehow you found yourself sitting on the counter, eating the batter while Owen cooked the pancakes. 

“There!” Owen exclaimed, flipping the last pancake onto the plate he had gotten out. “All done.” 

He turned to face you, his smile turning into a look of concentration. 

“You have a little something...” He said, positioning himself between your legs. You paused, waiting for him to move. Slowly he lifted his hand, running his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Much better.” He muttered. The two of you were still, a stand off to see who would make the first move. You leaned in slowly, connecting your lips in a soft kiss.

It was as if the first brush of your lips opened the floodgates. Owen grabbed onto your thighs, dragging you forward, and you wrapped your legs around his waist, the pancakes long forgotten.

You tangled your hands through his hair, moaning slightly when you felt his hands on your ass, and he took that as an opportunity to slip his tongue into your mouth.

You were so caught up in each other that you didn’t even hear the front door open.

“Hey Owen, I forgot my-” Charlie’s voice came, stopping abruptly as he took in the scene in front of him.

Owen stepped away from you quickly, but even if Charlie hadn’t seen you kissing, it was obvious what the two of you had been up to.

No one blinked. Finally, Owen broke the silence.

“You were meant to be hiking all day.” He said, somewhat defensively.

“I forgot my phone, so I came back for it. I figured you’d be on the couch where I left you. I didn’t realise you’d be...” He stopped, focusing his attention on you. “Hi Y/N.”

You waved awkwardly.

“So...” Charlie looked between you and Owen. “Am I pretending I didn’t see this, or...” He trailed off. 

You and Owen shared a look before nodding.

“Just for now, at least.” You said, and Charlie nodded.

“Got it. Well, have fun. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do. Oh, and if you have sex on the kitchen counter please clean it afterwards. I eat off that thing.” He winked at Owen and before either of you could respond he had left the room.

“Sorry about him.” Owen sighed slightly.

“You didn’t know he’d leave his phone. Besides, now we can hang out here together and not have to worry about Charlie walking in on something he doesn’t know about.” You replied, and Owen grinned, leaning in to kiss you again.

You had just started to find a rhythm in kissing again when a cleared throat broke you apart.

“Dude!” Owen exclaimed, glaring at Charlie who was leaning against the wall, grinning cheekily.

“Just wanted to say goodbye. And warn you that I’ll be back at 3, so make sure any... activities-” He winked suggestively. “Are done by then.”

“Get out.” Owen glared at him. Charlie grinned, turning to leave quickly.

“Bye Y/N!” He called back as he left.

“Bye.” You called, giggling slightly.

Owen rolled his eyes as the front door shut behind Charlie. Focusing his attention back on you he smiled slightly.

“Now where were we?” He questioned, pulling you back in and connecting your lips again.

And if you did end up having sex on the kitchen counter, Charlie would never have to know.

#owen joyner #owen patrick joyner #owen joyner smut #not really smut #more implied smut #julie and the phantoms #charlie gillespie #owen joyner x reader #reader insert

[ampintherain]

I’m Yours:

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Chapter I

Y/N is Kenny Ortega’s ‘niece’ after going through a rough breakup, Kenny decides to fly her over to stay with him, will her broken heart mend?

(Female Reader, NO SMUT, Romance, Friendship, THIS IS MY FIRST EVER FANFIC/IMAGINE, I hope it’s good, Kenny is lifelong family friend so reader calls him Uncle Kenny. I’m British so the writing is going to be British so like ‘mum’ not ‘mom’ yanno?)

I sighed as I rolled over in my bed, resting my phone on my chest, feeling the warm tears roll slowly down my cheeks before wiping them away, I clear my throat and sit up quickly. He’s not worth your tears Y/N, you’re stronger than this, I tell myself, although, no matter how hard I try I can’t seem to fight off the aching pain in my entire body, it felt like somebody just turned the off switch and my body was slowly shutting down.

I hear my phone ring, glancing over to the lit phone seeing his name, I smiled happily to myself, quickly answering, “Hey stink,” I said lightly, but only getting a deep sigh in return, “Hello...” I trailed off, “Zac, you there?” I laugh,

“I have something I need to tell you” was all he said, I shuffled uncomfortably on my bed, grabbing one of my cushions and placing it on my now crossed legs, I sighed and felt my face twist involuntarily, I’m guessing that Zac took my silence as his cue to continue talking “look, I love you, you know I do right?” I opened my mouth to respond but there was never any time to reply before Zac continued “and we’ve been together for like 3 years” this was true, we started dating at 16 years old, I began to anxiously fiddle with the corner of my cushion,

“Where is this going Zac... what’s up?” I asked nervously, feeling my heart beat faster as I anticipated his response, he sighed deeply, “Zac, just talk to me” I began to feel agitated at his dramatics,

“I cheated...” he mumbled so quietly, I almost didn’t hear it, he coughed slightly before repeating himself “I cheated Y/N, I’m sorry,”

“How many times?” Was all I could muster, I knew Zac and once he can get away with something, he likes to see how far he can push it, “how many times Zac?” I questioned further, as he continued to stay silent

“Um.. well it’s not really how many times, it’s more like- how, how long...” he trailed off, I could physically feel my heart shattering as he started to talk once more “it’s been um, 13 months” he finished,

“13 MONTHS” I screamed down the phone, I gave myself a few seconds to calm myself down before continuing “you’re telling me... Zachary, you’re telling me that for 13 months you have been in another relationship? Kissing another girl? Loving her... taking her on dates...” I felt my voice crack, I coughed quickly to hide it, “who is she?” I questioned, hearing nothing but a sniffle on the other side of the line, I felt myself anger, “you better not be crying Zac, you don’t get to be upset right now! Who is she?”

“It’s.. it’s Quinn” he replied, voice cracking and hoarse,

“Quinn... Quinn my best friend Quinn?” I swallowed thickly, “I- I can’t believe this, all I ever did was love you... that was all I ever did, I just don’t understand what went wrong” I mumbled,

“You didn’t do anything, it’s just- she, she just brought me in, I love her” Zac replied,

“Well you could’ve been a decent person and left me instead of staying... and making me believe that you truly loved me” I sniffed, I heard Zac cry on the other side of the line, “no, you don’t get to cry Zac, you do not get to cry right now, you’re the one who’s done this, you’re the one who messed me around, you don’t get to be sad”

“How can I not be sad, I love you!” He screamed back to me, I shook my head and laughed,

“Clearly you don’t, I’m not sticking around Zac, you can’t keep me around when you’re with Quinn” I hung up the phone abruptly and let out all the emotions I was previously hiding, I crumbled, my hands began to shake as the tears continued to stream down my face, I stuffed my face into my pillow and screamed repeatedly, until my throat felt tight, I closed my eyes and buried myself deep into my covers, letting sleep consume me.

I replayed last nights events over and over in my head, my phone rang through my ears whilst I groaned, covering my ears with the ends of my pillows, as the phone continued to ring, the feeling of my phone vibrating on my chest was beginning to aggravate me, I groaned and sit up looking down at my lit up screen, seeing the name ‘Uncle Kenneth 🕺🏼’ I half-smiled before answering,

“Hey Uncle Kenny” I sighed, placing my head gently against my headboard, I heard Kenny sigh back at me dramatically which made me laugh,

“I heard that my favourite niece has had her heart broken, and I am here to cheer that wonderful niece of mine up” he said, I could hear his smile through the phone, “and before you say anything, I know you are about to say ‘well Uncle Kenny, that’s hard to do when you’re so far’ blah blah blah” he imitated me, causing me to stifle a short laugh,

“Well... would I be wrong to say that? No, you’re in Vancouver... I’m in California, it wouldn’t be that difficult if you were here but you’re not” I mumbled, fiddling with my bottom lip absentmindedly,

“Well that is where you’re wrong my darling, I’ve been wondering, what if I fly you over to Vancouver and you stay with me for a while?” Kenny asked, “I know you won’t want to be around your mum all the time, she’ll question you too much and it’ll break your heart every time” he continued,

“Uncle Kenny, that sounds amazing” I smiled, feeling a weight come off of me that I didn’t even realise I had, “when do you want me to fly over?”

“I’ve booked the tickets for tomorrow, I’ll pick you up from the airport and we’ll head to boot camp together, I hope you’ll be alright with just coming with me to work? Maybe you could help me direct, I know you’re good at it” he said proudly as I shared my passion of Performing Arts with Kenny as he taught me all he knew from a young age.

“Uncle Kenny, I would love that! I’ll see you tomorrow” I smiled, he bid me farewell and hung up the phone, I turned to my wardrobe and searched for my largest suitcase before turning and packing it with everything I needed.

Hopefully my aching heart would heal once I was with my Uncle Kenny, he always knew how to cheer me up, he and I have always been so close, he got me more than my own mother, she always thought that singing, acting and dancing was a waste of time, she didn’t support me going to college to study musical theatre, she didn’t support me trying to get into the business, of course Kenny offered to help me and I refused, wanting to do everything on my own, but maybe it wouldn’t hurt to have some help from Uncle Kenny and I’ve really missed him.

♡︎𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔♡︎

#charlie gillespie x reader #charlie gillespie imagines #luke julie and the phantoms imagine #luke patterson imagine #Charlie Gillespie #imagines #fanfic #reader #song #Charlie #luke patterson #julie and the phantoms #Spotify

[petersasteria]

Love Documentary - Harry Holland

Harry || Main || Taglist

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Requested? Nah.

3,470 words

TW; one mention of death, heartbreaking

* * * *

“Hi everyone! I’m Harry Holland and what you’re about to see, are short interviews that I did with people as I ask about what great love really is. Sit back, relax, and enjoy this love-filled journey.”

-

“Are you ready?” Harry asked and the old couple looked at him and nodded with a smile. Harry smiled too and started filming them. “So, how did you two meet?”

“We were childhood best friends.” The old man smiled as he reminisced the early days of his childhood. “I was a hopeless romantic and she wasn’t, but it all worked out in the end.”

“He was really cheesy.” The old man’s wife added with a laugh, causing Harry to laugh too. “He recited lines from movies just to get me to be with him. It was like he knew that we’d end up together.”

“Did the lines work?” Harry asked.

“They didn’t, but look where we are now.” The old lady smiled at her husband.

“We’ve been married for 60 years.” The old man proudly said.

“Are you each other’s greatest love?” Harry asked.

“I’d say we are.” The old man responded as the old lady nodded in agreement.

“We are.”

“So, for you, what is great love?” Harry asked. That was the important question. He needed that to be answered.

“Great love is loving someone unconditionally. No matter what happens between the two of you, you’ll still love them.” The old lady answered. “Right?” She looked at her husband.

“Right.”

-

Harry sits behind the camera as he watches the old man sit comfortably in his seat. The old man nods at Harry, signaling that he’s ready to be interviewed. Harry smiled softly and started recording.

“Please tell me your name, sir.”

“My name is Henry and I’m 82 years old.” Henry, the old man, said. Harry nodded before looking down on his notebook to write Henry’s name and age. After doing so, he read the question that he wrote there earlier.

“Who is your great love?” Harry asked.

“That’s easy; it’s my wife.” Henry answered with a sweet smile. “She’s the loveliest person you’ll ever meet and she makes the most delicious pancakes from scratch.”

“She sounds lovely.” Harry smiled. “How long have you two been married?”

“55 years this year, but this will be the first time I’ll be celebrating without her. She passed away.” Henry shared. The sadness was evident in his eyes and it made Harry sad.

“How did you two meet?”

“We met at a car repair shop. She was the mechanic and I was there getting my car fixed. She was the only girl I’ve ever been with and I have no regrets. Everyday, she loved me like there was no tomorrow. No one’s ever loved me like that and I will forever yearn for it.” Henry said, not bothering to wipe the tears streaming down his face.

“And, what’s great love for you?” Harry asked.

“For me, great love is being an all in one person for your one and only person. You’re the best friend, the sidekick, the lover; everything. When you meet your great love, you wouldn’t find anyone else.” Henry answered.

-

“Hi! I’m Harry Holland and I’m just popping in to say that the elderly know so much about great love. So, I asked the youth what they think is great love.”

For you, what is great love?

“I’m Amaranthine LaSpina and I’m 21 years old. They say that great love is what Jesus did for us, but I don’t know about that since I don’t believe in things like that. But in my opinion, great love doesn’t necessarily mean ‘romantic love’. It can take on many forms like friendship, family, etc. The constant factor is that they are people who care for you regardless of the decisions you made and will make. They offer you their full opinions without bias, and still support you even though you go on a different path. In summary, they want what they think is best for you without being control freaks.”

“Hiii, I’m Jaemren and I’m 15 years old. For me, great love means having an instinct, of some sort, to treat someone as part of your family even though you’re in a relationship with them or if they’re just a friend or if they’re an artist who doesn’t know you exist. You will have the sudden urge to protect them at all cost because you don’t want them to get hurt. Because if they get hurt, you feel their pain; you feel like you’re getting hurt too. Of course, you will correct them when they’re wrong and you’ll be comfortable around them because you feel at home when you’re with them, y’know? Like, there’s warmth. Great love is treasuring someone you don’t want to lose in your life and in terms of feeling it, I think reassurance is the best way.”

“Betty Montefalco, here! I’m 20 years old now and great love will always be there. It’ll always fight for you- in fact, it never slept without an argument. It’s great, it’s explosive, it’s annihilating, it could be exhausting, but at the end of the day- it’s what you want and it’s what you go back to. Even when you’re not in that headspace or happenstance anymore, it’s yearning for someone for the rest of your life; consciously, subconsciously, or unconsciously. If you’re lucky enough, maybe you’ll get to see the greatness endure and eventually flourish in this lifetime. If not, I believe you get to have that love elsewhere. Maybe in another lifetime or in a mirrored universe. I believe the people we yearn for were put in our lives for a reason and none of these people go to waste. I try to remind myself that everyday and that not everything’s figured out yet.”

“I’m Lucas and I’m 18 years old. For me, great love just boils down to understanding a person to the deepest level. It doesn’t even need to be exclusive to a romantic kind of love. True love, for me, is knowing the person in every situation. I don’t mean that the person knows your favorites or knows your deepest, darkest secrets. Knowing the person in every situation is knowing how to talk to you in times of your happiness, knowing how to keep you happy, and knowing how to be there for you in tough times without being intrusive or anything. They can sense when something is wrong about you or if you’re feeling off and they really know how to help you. They don’t even need to be your lovers or even best friends. It takes a certain kind of empathy to be able to understand someone’s emotion so well and knowing how to help you with those emotions is what I believe to be the greatest kind of love one can show to another.”

“HAHAHA, great love??? I haven’t experienced that yet. I only have my firsts, but I don’t consider them my great loves. My expectation is that hopefully we’re in the same wavelength-ish. To me, it doesn’t matter how they will be. Hopefully no sacrifices will be made. You can get great love from your friends and family. Like, you do stuff for them just because you love them. Oh, I’m 21 years old and my name is Hebe. It’s pronounced like ‘Phoebe’.”

“I’m Alessandra; 21 years old. Honestly, I don’t know what great love is. But I guess it’s something that makes someone’s world meaningful. Crushes come and go, but great love stays.”

“I’m 18 years old and my name is Dash. Great love is where you can experience the good and bad without ever getting tired nor ever get sick of the person. It’s trusting the person who you experience great love with.”

“I’m Jai and I’m 18 years old. Greatest love. As someone who ceases to exist, but lives by the quote ‘we accept the love we think we deserve’, I definitely have no idea what love truly is. In the first place, we shouldn’t even be rationalizing what it is. I once told a friend that I never believed in love. I was teased about it, but sometimes I just want someone to take me in their tender arms and cover me in dirt, cover me in roses. As gravity pulls me in their arms; I’ll feel warmth, I’ll feel safe, I’ll feel at home. Oh, to have someone be the mark of who I need to be, to have a blossoming reverie with, like the way they came in my life would feel so right. I think greatest love would make me want to twist and turn, cry and burn, but I’d like it.”

-

Harry sat in his room editing his ‘great love documentary’ and he’s frustrated. He couldn’t feel a thing from it. He felt as if he’s lacking some kind of passion, but he doesn’t know what it is; he can’t put his finger on it. So, he saved the video and went to the kitchen to fix himself a sandwich. While doing so, he took out his phone and called his mum.

“Harry!” Nikki happily said through the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m alright. ‘M just a bit stressed, that’s all. You?” Harry asked before putting his mum on speaker, so he can decently make a sandwich.

“I’m alright. I’m just editing pictures. How’s the documentary coming along? Is it like you pictured in your head?” Nikki asked.

“Yeah, it’s alright. It’s not finished, but it’s all coming together. The documentary isn’t the problem, though. It’s me. I feel like something’s lacking in me. Like, I don’t feel a thing while asking those ‘for you, what is great love?’ questions. When I asked old couples, I didn’t feel my heart swelling with joy and love. Is something wrong with me?” Harry explained.

“No, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Then, what is it? I want this documentary to work, I really do. I just want to be a great director. Not just for this project, but also in projects that I’ll do in the future. But I can’t do that if my feelings aren’t in the right mood or place. Am I making any sense, mum?” Harry sighed before taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Nikki laughed, “I definitely know what you’re talking about. Harry, darling, you’re not inspired. That’s it. You’re doing a documentary about ‘great love’, but you don’t have one yourself.”

“Do I have to find someone as soon as possible?” Harry asked. “I don’t want to put this documentary on hold.”

“You don’t have to find someone as soon as possible and you don’t have to put your documentary on hold. You’ll find someone along the way, I promise you that. Just do what you have to do.”

“How do I know if I meet the right one?”

“You’ll just know. Trust me.”

Harry sighed, “Okay. Thanks, mum.”

“You’re welcome. I love you.”

“I love you too.” Harry hung up and finished his sandwich before going back to his room to continue editing.

-

Harry took his time with the documentary. He needed the inspiration to continue, so he took a break from it. He was in the neighborhood with a small ball in his hand as he walked Tessa for a little bit of exercise. That’s when he saw you. You were painting a piece of cardboard as you sat on the grass. Your eyebrows were knit as you concentrated on what you were doing. He walked up to where you were and stood next to you. He removed the leash from Tessa’s collar and threw the ball. Tessa immediately ran off to find the ball and Harry finally gave you his attention.

You felt his presence next to you, but you didn’t mind him. After all, he was a stranger.

“Um, hi!” Harry spoke, causing you to look up from painting. You gave him a tight-lipped smile and said, “Hello.”

“What’re you doing?” Harry asked as he crouched down to see it better.

“I’m doing a miniature version of The Office. Right now, I’m painting the walls. So, when I put them together, it looks like an empty office. I already have the grey felt paper for the carpet flooring of the whole office. I haven’t sticked it yet because I have to cut out the exact shape of the floor if that makes sense.” You rambled as you continued painting.

“That sounds… tiring.” Harry said. He looked around and saw Tessa coming back to him. He pats her head before throwing the ball once more, making the dog leave again.

“It’s really tiring. I’m just glad that I have all the materials and the patience to make things like this. A few months ago, I did Rachel and Monica’s apartment. It was epic!” You grinned before looking at him. “What do you do?”

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, sitting down next to you to stretch his legs.

“Like, what do you do in your free time, or just in general? What are your hobbies? Anything.” You asked him.

“Oh! I, uh, I’m a filmmaker.” Harry answered. You looked at him for a while and nodded. “That’s interesting. I’ve never met a filmmaker before. I guess this’ll be my first time meeting one.”

“There’s a first time for everything.” Harry chuckled awkwardly. “I’m Harry, by the way.” He extended his hand to you.

“Like the prince?” You asked and he laughed, but nodded. “I’m Y/N.” You shook hands before you continued painting. Tessa came back with the ball and Harry took it from her before throwing it again.

“What kind of films do you make?” You asked as you carefully put the cardboard down on the spot next to you to let it dry. You grabbed another cardboard and started painting it.

“Just anything that comes to mind, really. Right now, I’m making a documentary about ‘great love’.” Harry said and you nodded.

“Why?”

“What do you mean why?”

“Why are you making a documentary about ‘great love’?” You asked. You paused painting to look at him with curious eyes. Harry looked at you and shrugged, “There’s no special reason, actually. I just want to experiment. It sucks, though. I don’t feel it and I hate that I don’t feel it.”

You nodded in understanding, “You need a muse, y’know, like an inspiration.”

“Funny. My mum said the same thing.” Harry chuckled which made you smile.

“Great minds think alike.” You giggled. “Your mum and I should hang out, then. We clearly have the same thoughts.”

“I’ll tell her.” Harry said. You both laughed and you looked at your watch. The sun was about to set and you decided it’s best to start packing up your materials. Harry helped you pack up and when you were done, you smiled at him.

“Thank you.” You said and he just grinned in return. “I have to go. It was nice meeting you, Harry.”

“It was nice meeting you too, Y/N.” Harry said. At that moment he realized that if he lets you go, he probably would never see you again. If he never sees you again, his mind will swarm with what could have been’s and what if’s. He didn’t like it already. He knew he had to decide now and he did.

“Can I have your number, Y/N?”

-

As cheesy as it sounds, Harry became motivated in his work again. He began to really feel things towards you and it made him soar. His mum was right. He’ll know when he meets the right person for him. Lucky for him, he found that person at 22 years old while others aren’t so lucky.

He never doubted you for one second. He knew that you were the right person for him. That’s why he confidently asked you on a date. He was delighted when you agreed to go on a date with him. Eventually, one date turned into multiple dates. You even met his family. You thought it was too soon, but he insisted on introducing his great love to his loved ones.

You and Harry didn’t have a label yet and you were still at the ‘getting to know’ stage of your ‘relationship’. Harry learned about your quirks while you learned about his likes and dislikes. It was truly an exciting experience for you because it’s different and new; it’s refreshing.

Harry was your breath of fresh air on a sunny day. He was your quiet life in the countryside. With him, you were peaceful and safe. Your life would come to a pause when you’re around him because you want to live in the moment. You were merely a passerby in this situation.

Of course, passersby come and go. People who pass through the countryside rarely stay because it would only be a matter of time until they make their way back to the hustle bustle of the city.

And it happened to you.

His name was Jack. You and Jack had a long history together, but you both went your separate ways for reasons you could barely recall. You know how people have something consistent in their lives? Jack was yours and you were his. Even if you weren’t together anymore, both of you knew that you’d have each other no matter what. You didn’t know how Jack found you, but he did. After all, that’s how fate works.

Then suddenly the life in the countryside didn’t seem as enticing as it was anymore. The air made you feel suffocated and the sun started burning your skin. Your quiet life in the countryside began to make you feel agitated. Your life desperately wanted to play, but it stayed on a pause and you feared that it would stay that way. You wanted to move on and go through the roads up ahead, but something- someone, rather, was holding you back.

You knew it was time to come clean. As much as you enjoyed and liked Harry’s company, you just couldn’t stay with him. It pained you to realize that the countryside wasn’t for you even if it seemed so perfect. But fate tied you to the city and a city person, you’ll remain. When you told Harry, he didn’t understand it. You didn’t expect him to understand immediately, but you knew that in time, he will.

And he did.

He didn’t let you go; you just left. Besides, he could never let you go. You were the best thing that’s ever happened to him. He was crestfallen for a long time, but his mum told him that things would get better. And she was right… again.

Harry moved on too, but he never forgot about you. To him, you’ll always be in his heart. He finally finished the documentary and he was happy with the outcome.

-

“Hi, it’s Harry! I’ve decided to add a little clip of me saying stuff that I’ve learned throughout this documentary.” Harry said with a small smile on his face.

“I’ve learned that great love is different for everyone. Great love is loving someone unconditionally and great love is also being an all in one person for your one and only person. Great love is or are people who care for you regardless of the decisions you make and will make. They also want what’s best for you. You have the urge to protect them at all costs and you treasure them because you don’t want to lose them in your life.”

“Great love will always be there; it stays. It’s what you want and will go back to, no matter what. It’s yearning someone for the rest of your life. Great love is understanding someone on the deepest level and you do things for them just because you love them. It’s something that makes someone’s world meaningful. Greatest love would make you want to twist and turn, cry and burn, but you’d like it. You’d like it because it comes with it.”

“During the process of this documentary, I’ve met my great love. I realized that all the answers that I’ve heard made sense when I met this person.”

“Unfortunately, this person isn’t in my life anymore. I used to curse life because of it, but now I get it. I was not their great love, but they were mine. What I felt for them was special and I will never feel that way for someone ever again. I now understand that just because I found great love for me, doesn’t mean that I’m their great love too. I will forever yearn for this person, but I will move on. I am moving on.”

Harry paused for a second and smiled at the camera, “Thank you for watching.”

* * * *

lol what do yall think??? i personally like how it turned out. feedback would be greatly appreciated. you are all my great loves 🤍

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐋𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @thatforgottenangel @turtoix @givebuckyhisplumsnow @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @yourstrulyamour @euphorichxlland @thevelvetseries @buckymylove @more-like-reyna @aayaissaa

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @holland-styles @trustfundparker @calltothewild @felicityparkers @hufflepuffprincess24 @tommysparker @justasmisunderstoodasloki @quaksonhehe @call-me-baby-gir1 @itstaskeen @theonly1outof-a-billion @lost-in-the-stars03 @justafangirlduh @piscesparker @speedymaximoff @miraclesoflove @lexirv @blairscott @getbywithasmile @pqrkerr @lavender-writer @blackbat2020 @hoodpankow @bi-lmg @emmastarz

+ @leafy-holland (oml why cant i tag u??)

#harry holland #harry holland one shots #harry holland x reader #harry holland x y/n #in-a-lot-of-fandoms-tbh

[nooneelsecomesclose17]

Who says I want to go back

This contains spoilers for Friday's ep of Emmerdale, because it enraged me so much I had to write a fix-it. So have a Robert's the one helping with Liv fic. I've borrowed relevant bits of dialogue from the ep (watching that twice was not pleasant btw)

--------

"Well I need something to forget that I'm here with you. When you're in my face Aaron, I hate you." He can tell himself that she's just mouthing off, that she doesn't mean it but it still hurts, has every time she's said it.

"Yeah I know Liv, you keep telling me. What am I supposed to do, I'm terrified. I can't stop you hurting yourself."

"Please. I'm not in danger. You're just a control freak that can't stand me having fun." He can see Robert, standing just inside the door, trying not to intervene because just lately that makes everything worse, but he knows he's there, that's what's important. He should be on his way to see Seb, he's already late and he nods, tells him to go, he can manage.

"That's not true."

"You want everyone to be as miserable as you, don't ya. Oh poor Aaron. You wouldn't want to be happy if you knew how to. You just want to drag us down cos of what you've been through." He just shakes his head. Is it true, is she right, does he do that? Robert's always teasing him for being grumpy, but is it more than that, does he drag him down too. "What, no shouty comeback?"

"If that's what you think then there's nothing I can say is there." He doesn't wait for an answer, just grabs his coat and leaves. There's no point even trying to talk to her when she's like that.

He heads to the yard, maybe an hour or so of bashing the hell out of metal will help calm him down. He should've gone with Robert like he suggested, but he hadn't wanted to leave Liv alone all that time.

It doesn't work like it always had in the past, and Robert's not answering, even after enough time has passed for him not to be driving.

"You alright kiddo?" He throws the crowbar down as Cain approaches.

"What's she done now?"

"Who? Your demon of a sister? Nowt, but your Mum said you'd had words."

"Something like that." He collapses down on the steps, throwing his gloves on the ground.

"You alright? She said Sugden was off to Liverpool."

"Yeah, to see Seb. Not like we can have him at ours right now is it?"

"You know, it's not a failure to say you can't cope."

"There's no one else is there? Sandra's worse than useless and she doesn't have anyone else. I'll sort it Cain. You'd never leave Mum to fend for herself would ya?"

"I might if she didn't want my help. I'm just saying...it's alright to fail." He nods, because he can't. He's failed her once already, he left her behind. He won't do it again, no matter how hard she pushes him.

--------

She's not about when he gets home and after making himself a cuppa he tries Robert again, just wants to hear his voice.

"Robert, this is really not a good day for you to do that ignoring calls thing. Just, call me back, please. I need you."

"God that was pathetic. No wonder he's not answering. Maybe he's finally seen the light. He's gone off to Liverpool for a couple of days, who knows what he's getting up to there."

"Why would he Liv?" Her words don't even hurt anymore, he knows Robert better than that, trusts him properly now.

"Wouldn't be the first time with her would it? All he's got here is you leaving whiny messages on his phone."

"You don't have to pick a fight just to cover what you're really after. It's right there."

"Aw what's up, don't want to tell me what to do anymore cos hubby's off with the ex?"

"Enough! Do you know why he's gone there huh? It's cos we daren't have Seb here with you like this. Just go Liv, get out of my sight."

"You just can't face up to the truth can you? He's up there with her and you're here, alone. Face it Aaron, you're the fool."

"Oi! What the hell is going on?" Both of them turn round at the sound of Robert's voice. Aaron smiles when he sees he's got Seb in his arms, immediately reaching out for the little boy who he's sure has grown since the last time he saw him.

"Liv was just telling me what she thought you were getting up to in Liverpool." He can see when Robert realises what he means, and he takes Seb into the kitchen away from the pair of them. "Hey mate, it's alright, we're not mad at you. How about a biccy eh?"

"Oh was she. Why don't you enlighten me?" He sets Seb at the table with a colouring book they keep handy before watching the two of them.

"Well it wouldn't be the first time would it?"

"I think you're winning in the repeating mistakes game right now don't you? So what brought on this latest round of making everyone hate you? Run out of vodka?"

"Of course you're taking his side!"

"You've all but accused me of cheating so why would I take yours? How long are we doing this for Liv, because I'm tired. Aren't you?"

"Get off my back Robert!"

"Fine. Just get out."

"You can't throw me out. It's my house!"

"So you keep saying, except that's not actually true is it? It's half Aaron's and mine too." He stands his ground and Aaron stops himself from getting her to stay. He doesn't have the energy, just wants Robert and Seb, and some peace. Liv stares at him for minute before she grabs her bag and storms out.

"You know she's just going to drink all that at the pavilion don't you?"

"Yeah, probably. I'll go after her in a bit, when you tell me why I have thirty missed calls?"

"I should go. I'm her brother."

"Yeah well you married me. What's yours is mine and all that crap. I think you've taken enough off her for today don't you?" He runs a hand through Seb's hair before hugging Aaron, holding on until he relaxes properly. "Go on, what did she say?"

"Do I control people? Make them miserable?"

"What, no! Did she actually say that?" Aaron nods. "That's ridiculous."

"You're always saying I'm grumpy."

"Yeah cos you are, and I love you anyway don't I? You never make me miserable though, or anyone else. The only one doing that round here is Liv. I know she's suffering Aaron, but this can't go on."

"I don't know what to do anymore. She won't listen."

"Then we ask for help. As much as I love your Gran, her idea isn't going to work and your Mum's idea...well the less said the better. When I've found her, we're going to see Liam, or Manpreet."

"But..."

"No. We need proper advice Aaron. They'll know who to talk to, or how to talk to her. She doesn't have to know, not yet, but I'm not having you upset like this."

"Ok." He sniffs, pulling back from Robert's arms, feeling cold as soon as he does. "How come he's here?"

"When I got to Rebecca's I saw all your calls and guessed something had gone on so I asked if we could change the weekend to here. She didn't mind, her and Ross have some concert thing they want to go to anyway. Besides he missed ya. I don't do cuddles as well as Daddy Aaron apparently."

--------

"So this is where you're hiding." He sits down on the steps beside her. The bottles beside her are still mostly full so hopefully he can actually get through to her. "Make you feel good does it, hurting Aaron?"

"Does actually."

"Funny...I used to think I could manage all on my own, didn't need anyone else. Without the gallons of vodka obviously, but yeah, I pushed everyone away, said all the right things to make it happen even though inside I was begging someone to stay, to see how much I was hurting, how much I needed them."

"I don't need anyone."

"Except you do, if only to pay the bills so you can afford that." He points to the bottles. "So why don't you talk to me because if I come home again and find you've spoken to Aaron the way you have today you might just find yourself truly alone. Trust me, you don't want that to happen."

"Aaron would never do that."

"Maybe, maybe not. Everyone has their breaking point and I truly don't think he's far from his. So go ahead, if you want to lose your brother forever then I'll give you some tips from when Andy and I hated each other. Or," He picked up one of the bottles, unscrewing the cap and pouring it onto the grass. "You can come home with me now, apologise, and then tomorrow, we'll go to Manpreet or Liam and get some advice."

"And if I don't?"

"I reckon it'll take about an hour to pack the car and then Aaron and I would be gone."

"You wouldn't."

"Try me. I love you Liv, you know I think of you as my sister, but Aaron is my number one priority, him and Seb and I'm not having him putting up with your verbal abuse any longer." He gets up, brushing off the back of his jeans. "I'll leave you to think about it. We'll be at home."

The walk back to Mill calms him down, ready to tell Aaron what he'd said. Liv was likely right, he doesn't think Aaron would ever abandon her, anymore than Robert would Vic, but something had to happen, had to change.

"Do you think it'll work?" Aaron asks him as they watch Seb playing in the garden a while later. There's been no sign of Liv but Robert could only hope she'd listened.

"I don't know, but if it does, then it's a start."

#robron fic #emmerdale spoilers #early ed lb #ok so I don't know if his tactics are good or not #but i figure it's soapy enough #but aaron will always come first for robert #and he wouldn't do a ben of just being on her side against aaron or whatever that is #so anyway it didn't actually go as i thought #but i hope it fixes something

[greymantledlady]

you are my sweetest downfall

Adam squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. 'Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

My second fic for @midamweek! People seemed to really enjoy Adam calling Michael 'sweetheart' in the previous fic in this verse, so I decided to expand on it. Michael is a dork, honestly.

Read on AO3 or below the cut:

Having an archangel as your boyfriend is really good, actually. Better than good.

Adam, in all his years of (largely) calm and resigned pining in the Cage, had never actually, truly believed he had a chance of anything like this with Michael, anything so soft and domestic and - well, astonishingly, normal, really. It still hits him sometimes, that warm rush of astounded happiness when Michael can't stop looking hopefully down at his lips until Adam simply has to press in close and kiss him, when Michael flushes at Adam making the mildest and most low-hanging of innuendos, when Michael asks him what would be the best gift to give Adam for St Valentine's Day. 

The last incident had occurred in July, because Michael had thought Adam would probably forget all about the conversation by the time February rolled around, and he had been so endearingly pleased with himself over this plan that Adam had started laughing and pulled him down onto the couch by the fire and kissed and sucked all the way down his neck until it bruised.

Given that Michael was at the time a metaphysical projection of grace shaped into a copy of Adam's own body and existing in a dimension faintly to the left of the mortal plane, it probably didn't actually need to have bruised, but Michael had warmed extremely quickly to the concept of hickeys, apparently. He likes them a lot, likes to keep them and nurse them and admire them in the mirror when he thinks Adam's not looking, and Adam thinks it's kind of the best thing ever.

Right now, though, Adam's a little worried.

Michael has been - off - for a little while now. Not worryingly so - nothing like the shaking bouts of grief that Adam had held him through when he'd first gotten back, when he'd been mourning the asshole father who'd never loved or deserved him. Nothing like that, it's just - a sort of odd wistfulness that seems to fall over him sometimes, at the strangest of moments, and Adam is determined to work out what’s causing it.

***

They're in bed, Adam happily boneless and tired out and curled around Michael, stroking his hair while Michael smooths his hand up and down Adam's back in the firm way that Adam likes, his grace-formed body firmly anchored to the physical world this time, as warm and solid as Adam's own. Adam nuzzles his cheek affectionately, smiling against his skin when Michael hums with contentment. 

'Hey,' he says quietly, squinting a little to focus on Michael's face.

'Adam,' Michael says, just as soft. He looks hopeful for a moment, as though he's waiting for something. Adam's not quite sure what it is. He traces his thumb gently over Michael's collarbone, waiting to see if he'll come out with it, but eventually Michael just sighs quietly and turns his face to press it into Adam's hair.

***

Adam, before he’d been killed and resurrected, had enjoyed baking.

Of course, that had been more than a thousand years ago, but – well, time was weird that way, when it came to being trapped in an archangel cage in Hell. It wasn't that he'd forgotten any of it, of course, and he valued those memories, the way Michael had softened, increment by increment, until somewhere along the line he'd become someone Adam couldn't live without.

It was just that, once they'd gotten out, the memories seemed condensed, so that you weren't sure at all if it had been ten years or a thousand. Adam wondered sometimes whether that was what Michael's billions of years of existence must feel like to him, too.

Anyway, he'd liked to bake. When he'd come back, after the first long pain-filled months of negotiating with the Winchesters to bring Michael back too, and after the first whirlwind of joy of finding out Michael wanted him the same way, he'd started again, searching up recipes online on his phone and writing them out in a notebook if they turned out successfully.

Today, he’s craving choc chip cookies, so he looks at the pantry and pulls out flour and sugar and chocolate chips, opening the packet immediately to sneak a few to nibble on as he starts to measure everything out. They need a medium-sized mixing bowl; he needs to put that on the list for the next time they go grocery shopping. The big one is fine for today, though.

‘What are you doing?’ Michael asks, coming up behind him. He touches Adam’s elbow with a soft hand as he passes, leaning on the counter to watch.

‘Baking!’ Adam says. He bumps his hip gently against Michael’s. ‘I’m making choc chip cookies.’

Michael shifts a little closer so they can stay connected, and leans over to inspect the ingredients, poking a finger into the well of flour Adam has measured out, leaving a little dent. He’s always been surprisingly tactile, liking to touch new things, test them on his fingers.

‘Don’t eat that,’ Adam warns. ‘It tastes awful raw. Choc chips are better, here.’ He picks out a single chip – no need to overwhelm Michael’s still-developing sense of taste – and says, with a grin, ‘Open your mouth.’

Michael raises an eyebrow, looking at him, soft-eyed and so in love that it makes Adam’s heart pulse with warmth. ‘Okay, kid,’ he says, and opens up.

Adam puts down his spoon, buzzing with affection, and presses closer, leaning up against Michael’s chest and delighting in the way Michael’s arms come up to circle his waist. ‘Hey,’ he murmurs, up close, and runs his thumb along Michael’s parted lips, just to tease him a little.

Michael sighs, soft, bending forward, only to be foiled by Adam’s hand. ‘Choc chip,’ Adam reminds him, and pops it in.

‘Mm,’ Michael says, nibbling. He looks so surprised at the small burst of sweetness that Adam grins again.

‘Good, yeah?’ he says. ‘Do you want another one?’

Michael licks his lips. ‘It was good,’ he says. ‘I don’t want another one, though.’ His eyes dip downwards, his hand stroking a hopeful little circle on Adam’s back.

‘I can’t imagine what you do want,’ Adam teases. He snuggles himself a little more firmly against Michael, runs his hands down his sides and around to fit into his back pockets, enjoying the way Michael shivers. ‘Oh, get over here.’

‘I am here,’ Michael says, but then Adam kisses him, slow and sweet, smiling against his lips before pulling back. ‘Oh,’ he says softly. ‘Adam.’

‘Michael,’ Adam says, just as softly, and leaves another tiny kiss at the corner of Michael’s mouth, the moment drawing out soft and gentle; the kind of moment that you could live in forever. Michael’s eyes are soft and hazy, leaning into him, and Adam reaches up to run his knuckles over his cheek.

Michael exhales, and strokes his hands gently across Adam’s back, watching him closely. He has that odd, hidden wistfulness in his face again, as though he’s waiting for something, and Adam wants to do something about it, wants Michael to tell him what it is so he can give it to him.

‘What is it?’ he says gently, and holds back the endearment that wants to spill out, absurdly tender. He’s pretty sure it will only make Michael more embarrassed.

Michael sighs again, very soft, and glances away. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ he says.

Adam’s pretty sure it’s not nothing, but he doesn’t press. They have all the time in the world, after all, and he has cookies to bake for them. Michael will come out with it eventually.

***

Except Michael doesn’t come out with it, and it keeps happening, and Adam is honestly starting to worry. They’ll be together, and happy, so happy – he knows Michael is happy, can feel it in the grace that’s constantly twined around his soul. They’ll be kissing, or snuggling, or making love, and it will be a perfect moment, the kind of moment that makes everything worth it, like a warm soft blanket to lose yourself in.

And then suddenly Michael will be looking all wistful, like a sad little puppy wanting a morsel, and disappointed, and Adam is beginning to really, really not like that at all.

He’s tried everything – more kisses, cuddling, even that one thing that Michael really likes during sex but gets incredibly flustered and blushy over, so Adam saves for special occasions. And Michael loves it all, he really does, Adam can feel it, but none of it manages to soothe that particular, wistful little ache in his grace.

When he was small, and he’d had a problem, or felt bad, or unhappy, or guilty, Mum had always managed to coax it out of him eventually. She would sit him on the couch and give him a glass of milk, and tell him that it was always better to talk things out, not hold them inside of you till they hurt. Bad feelings were like appendicitis, she’d say, they’d make you very sick if you left them inside.

Adam thinks Michael has the equivalent of emotional appendicitis at the moment, honestly, and he’s pretty sure he needs to do something to fix that.

***

When Adam comes to find him, Michael is sitting at their kitchen table, inspecting a small pile of rocks. Months ago, he’d read a magazine article about gemstone tumbling, and then read it again, and again, and again, until the pages were dog-eared and Adam couldn’t help but notice. So he’d gone online and bought him a little tumbling kit on Ebay, as a surprise, and Michael had been hugely and gratifyingly pleased about it. Now every time they go for a walk, he comes home with his pockets full of bits of quartz and such, and their house is filled with shiny little piles of gems, like some kind of dragon’s hoard.

(‘It reminds me of creating planets,’ he tells Adam once, softly. ‘I used to polish them until they were so beautiful and round.’)

Now, he looks up as Adam comes up behind him, leaning his head back against Adam’s stomach as Adam slides his arms over his shoulders. Adam kisses his ear. ‘Hey, you,’ he says. ‘You got a moment?’

‘Of course,’ Michael says immediately, at attention. ‘What do you need, Adam?’

‘Just you,’ Adam says, and gives his shoulders a little squeeze before pulling out the chair next to Michael’s and sitting down, swivelling towards him. Michael puts down the rock he’d been inspecting and turns to face him, the full force of his attention directed onto Adam’s face.

‘Okay,’ Adam says, and reaches out to take Michael’s hands in his own, squeezing. ‘I need to talk to you about something, Michael – oh, no, don’t look at me like that,’ he breaks off, running a comforting thumb over Michael’s knuckles. ‘It’s nothing bad.’

Michael nods, still looking rather worried.

Adam decides to get it over with. ‘Look, I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you,’ he says gently. ‘Something that you want, that you’re not telling me. I can feel it in your grace – like last night, when we were falling asleep, and when I made cookies, and other times, too.’ He squeezes Michael’s hands again, reassuring. ‘Remember – back down there – how we agreed to talk to each other if anything bothered us? This is like that, okay?’

Michael looks stricken. ‘Oh,’ he says in a small voice. ‘Oh. I didn’t – it really isn’t anything worth your time – ’

‘Oh, sweetheart,’ Adam says softly, because he can’t help it, ‘of course it is, it always is – ’

And suddenly, bizarrely, Michael’s grace is going wild, elated, looping and twining, wrapping around his soul with little, soft, shuddering ripples of happiness. He looks as though he’s about one step from breaking down, swaying a little towards Adam with his eyes shiny and his lips a little unsteady.

Okay, what?

‘Okay, what?’ Adam says, and reaches out to touch his face. ‘Michael, what was that? What happened? That was it, wasn’t it?’

Michael swallows, his grace still buzzing with happiness, turning his face into Adam’s touch. ‘You said it again,’ he says, closing his eyes for a moment like he’s basking in Adam’s warmth.

‘Said what?’ Adam says – and, ‘wait, ‘sweetheart’?’ His heart feels like it’s melting. ‘That was all you wanted? For me to call you pet names?’

Michael is going pink now, avoiding his eyes. ‘You must think I’m foolish,’ he mumbles.

‘Of course I don’t,’ Adam says, overwhelmed with sheer fondness. ‘Well, maybe just a little bit, for not just telling me, honestly.’ He knuckles gently at the corner of Michael’s eye, and it actually comes away a little damp. ‘Oh, sweetheart,’ he says, knowing he sounds ridiculously tender, and that pulse of sheer bright happiness ripples through Michael again, through his grace.

‘It was the first thing you said,’ Michael says softly. ‘When you brought me back. My name, Michael, and – and you called me that. And I asked about it, and you kissed me and I was happy, but you never said it again. I,’ he swallows. ‘I don’t know why I. I wanted you to say it.’

‘Okay, you need to come here right now,’ Adam says, and climbs directly into his lap. He brings his hands up to hold Michael’s face, looking down at him. ‘Fuck, I love you,’ he says helplessly, and Michael’s whole face twitches, his hands coming up instinctively to fit at the small of Adam’s back.

‘I love you too,’ he says immediately, honestly. ‘Adam.’

‘Yeah?’

‘I – would like it if you said it again, please.’

‘Yeah, sweetheart, okay,’ Adam murmurs against his lips. ‘I’m never going to stop.’

#midam week #midam #michael/adam #michael spn #adam milligan #my fic #supernatural #my post

[pedros-mustache-main]

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan​ i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest. 

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles. 

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.” 

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack. 

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself. 

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window. 

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air. 

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze. 

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay. 

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take. 

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely. 

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?” 

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain—makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line. 

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. “you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot. 

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests. 

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening. 

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!” 

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity. 

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.” 

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest. 

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest. 

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.” 

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo. 

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips. 

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.” 

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you. 

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together. 

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau. 

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead. 

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt. 

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back. 

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him. 

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime. 

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes. 

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

[thessalian]

Thess vs Functional Adulthood

A big part of my childhood was as follows: any time I made a mistake, forgot to do something, misunderstood an instruction, was late for something ... and I mean every fucking time ... my mother has always browbeaten me with the following statement:

“In the real world, you won’t be able to get away with this kind of thing! Functioning adults don’t do this!”

A big part of my adult life was as follows:

Finding out that her statement in that regard was COMPLETE AND TOTAL BULLSHIT. Because every time I turn around, some ‘functioning adult’ in ‘the real world’ forgets something, misunderstands an instruction, and/or makes a mistake that entirely screws me over. And apparently they’re functioning just fucking fine.

So some of you may remember Friday when I had myself a vent about my workplace somehow fucking up my statutory sick pay (that’s if they fucked it up and it wasn’t just some bit of Problematic that no one bothered to tell me about) and that causing me to scramble to try to fix the problem? And I was pretty sure I had it resolved? Turns out that while I was told it was resolved, it was not fucking resolved. It’s resolved now, as much as it’s going to be without some further tweaking and poking, but that only after a lot of stress and some hard fucking work that I should not have had to do.

Side note: I know that with the pandemic and everything, most essential services (banks, utilities, yadda) suggest that you use the online chat function rather than calling, because of the high call volume they’re receiving. Here’s a hint: don’t. I don’t care how simple a query it is - do not do it. A lot of these companies have a habit of outsourcing their online customer support to other countries, and they rely on the equivalent of Google Translate and copypasta auto-generated responses to communicate instead of trying to ensure that both parties involved in the communication attempt speak the same language. Maybe not always a problem, but if you’re dealing with your bank account or your utilities, misunderstandings are a godsdamned problem, okay? They can be devastating. And that’s what happened; I used a chat function, I got canned responses but was assured that the situation was resolved, the situation was not resolved, I got on the phone right away and talked to a confirmed human being with no language barrier involved, and my problem was immediately resolved.

But again - apparently people can get away with a lot of fuckery that my mother said that “functioning adults can’t get away with”. Thanks for the needless crippling anxiety and perfectionism paralysis, Mum.

Also my phone appointment with the GP happened late but that was okay because I needed to call to sort out the mess the online help desk guy left me with anyway. And my fit note is in with my employers and I asked who I talk to if I have questions about statutory sick pay (because I HAVE QUESTIONS LET ME TELL YOU) and hopefully my office manager will find time to get back to me soon, and I have to go get another blood test later in the week. Apparently my bone profile is already done but I need to get my creatinine levels tested just in case. I think if that comes back clear, we’ll be pretty much certain that this is fibromyalgia (or at least we’ll have run out of things to test me for and that’s basically the fibromyalgia diagnosis criteria - all-over pain lasting 12 weeks or longer and it’s not anything else). I don’t like the idea of having it but I just want a name to put to this without someone giving me shit over, “The doctor hasn’t confirmed it yet”. FIBRO DOESN’T WORK THAT WAY, DIPSHIT.

Anyway. Things are being sorted out as much as I can do it but it’s stressful as fuck and stress gives me pain flares so I hurt significantly and I’m so fed up with this nonsense. I’m tired of feeling like the only ‘functioning adult’ in a world full of the kinds of fuck-ups my mother all but told me I’d tank if I became. But at least I’m coping, mostly. Thank you for ‘listening’ to me vent.

#Thess has health issues #Thess gets aerated #Thess is a motherfucking adult #Thess has fibromyalgia

[secret-rendezvous1d]

how about an alex first christmas home with his wife or gf? if your uncomfortable writing this prompt i completely understand

Hello, hi!

Welcome to Blogmas 2020. A couple of days later than I promised, and I apologise for that, but here we are. 

Hopefully, the idea of how Blogmas 2020 is planned out will become a little clearer than how my very poor explanations explained it, haha.

Many more blurbs, many more chats and a lot more festivities to come; my inbox will be open all through December this year for blurb prompts for Blogmas so don’t feel afraid to pop in a prompt to get written for tis year; all I can say is that if you’re asking for a lengthy prompt, I’m not the right person right now, haha. 

I’m welcoming absolutely anything for this year; any AU, any characters, any ideas.

Reblog, like, comment and share your thoughts with me. Please let me know what you think because feedback is always appreciated on here; much more appreciated now given that I’ve not written a lot in a long while. Please let me know what you think.

Enjoy! 

A song to listen to throughout the second scene; Bing Crosby, I’ll Be Home For Christmas

“Look at the size of those toms,” Alex gushed in awe, rushing from his place at the kitchen cabinet, where the kettle was whistling on the stove, to grab the woven basket full of fresh garden vegetables from his wife’s arms, saving a couple of apples and pears from becoming bruised by the floor. “They’re massive.”

“There’s something in the soil, I think,” YN teased, wiping her soil-covered fingertips on the pink and white polka-dot apron tied around her waist. Traces of wet mud and dry soil clinging to the material, tiny specks falling to the floor but nothing bad enough that couldn’t be sweeped with the brush and pan. “You should see some of the runners growing in the corner. Nice and long, they are. Perfect for dinner tomorrow eve.”

“How are the potatoes coming along?”

“They’re good, I was going to dig them and the carrots up tonight before the nighttimes cold comes in,” she said softly, standing beside her husband as he unpacked the fruit and placed them in the empty fruit bowl. The kettle coming to a gentle boil, soon being warm enough for them to make a warm cup of tea to drink by the fire to warm themselves up.

The vegetables left in the basket - varying from cabbage and cauliflower to Brussels sprouts and onions - needed a good brush down and a wash under water but looked good enough to enjoy as part of their meal the next day. A meal that would be enjoyed by her parents, Alex’s parents and a couple of good friends who hadn’t had time to make it back home for Christmas, missing the last train out of London for a few days and unable to find a kind-hearted soul to take them two hours up north. It was also a meal that YN had been panicking over for almost the entire month of December… her first time cooking a Christmas dinner and she wanted it to be as perfect as possible to end a year that needed some cheer.

With the war coming to an end, for a second time, she felt safe and happy. Much safer and much happier than the last time a war was declared to have finished.

Maybe it was the fact that the four-year long terror of air raid sirens and bombings and unexpected blackouts had come to its end; maybe it was the fact that Britain had won the war and there was no more fear to live by; maybe it was the fact that her husband had been one of the lucky ones to come home safe and sound, able to celebrate Christmas as normal without worry that he was going to be called back to fight in the trenches and on the frontline; maybe it was the fact that everything was slowly going back to how it had been and life was on track to getting better.

“Dad’s always saying they taste and cook the best after a night in the cold,” Alex shrugged, taking a bite of an apple and feeling the juice trickle down his chin, something that YN’s thumb caught and wiped away, “I’ll go and dig them up tomorrow morning.”

“I wanted to start peeling and cutting them now,” she frowned, looking at him with furrowed brows, “go dig them up for now, please, darling?”

He mirrored her expression and folded his arms, half-bitten apple still in his hand, a smile toying his lips.

“Do I have to? It’s getting cold out there, I’ve got no jumper on and I’ve just put the kettle on,” he playfully whined, pouting his lips.

Her own eyebrows furrowed deeper on her browline, a silent plea for him to do what she said because she was stressing enough and didn’t want to be panicking so early tomorrow morning. All along he was going to do what she asked him to do, no word of a lie, but he found pure enjoyment in giving her the idea he had no intentions of helping. He placed his half-eaten apple on the kitchen counter and took a step towards her.

“Alright, as long as you do me the best cup of tea possible.”

“Of course, aren’t all my cups of tea the best?” To which he nodded and she grinned, squeezing his cheek and leaving a blush pink behind on his cheekbone, “I love you.”

“I love you the most,” he hummed, pressing a kiss to her cold forehead, reaching around her to grab the basket and tuck it under his arm, “I’ll have a look at these nice, long runners you’ve been speaking so highly about, too.”

*

“Mum called earlier. She’s grown some strawberries and rhubarb and said she was making a pie for our dessert tomorrow. I told her that with how hard you’ve been working with the garden, on all the veggies, we won’t need a pudding to eat because we’ll be so full of Christmas dinner,” Alex chuckled, peering over the newspaper in his hands to catch a glimpse of a smile on her lips, eyes still trained to the book she was reading in the gentle, almost, silence.

The radio crackled quietly in the background of the living room, playing a Christmas song that had a frequent place on the station they had programmed to work properly. Adding a sense of merriment to the room they were sat in; tinsel hanging on a scarce Christmas tree, with ornaments made from paper and cardboard, and Christmas cards on the windowsill from family and friends. There wasn’t much they could do but it was enough for them.

“Your mum makes a good pie though,” YN admitted, placing her finger between the pages she’d gotten to, “she didn’t have to do that though. She’s already done a lot for me this year and the last four so tomorrow is, kind of, all about giving back to her and your dad and my parents, too.”

Alex’s family had been a huge constant in her life during the wartime.

His mother had been non-stop on the phone with her about new gardening tips that her friends had told her about and seeds to share amongst themselves to grow a healthy batch of fruits to bake with - because they baked, a lot, and his mother had sent her back home with a brain full of new treats to bake and recipes to try out - and they took care of a flower patch in the front garden of Alex’s home, which seemed to pass the time. His father had been just as helpful to her, whenever he wasn’t in factories or working in machinery, coming by to put shelves up for her or to fix a hole in the roof that had begun to leak. Always popping by with a loaf of bread from the bakery and a tin of meat, that YN would put together as a sandwich and they’d eat until he knew his wife would be questioning his whereabouts. They allowed her to stay when she was feeling lonely, always looked out for her during the raids and insisted she stayed with them to wait it out, always insisting that she stayed with them until Alex was home so she wasn’t suffering with loneliness or panicking when blackouts occurred.

It had always been his mother cooking a Christmas dinner, promising she didn’t have to do anything but sit at the dining table and enjoy a healthy meal with family, with no worrying or getting upset that her own husband wasn’t there to enjoy the family festivities.

So it felt surreal when YN saw Alex dressed in his uniform, on the train station platform with a bag swung over his shoulder, in and amongst crowds of reunited families, knowing that they were about to have their life back on track. A Christmas together.

“My dad’s made a good sherry for us to have. Mum said he’s been working on it for almost a year now. Growing currants in the front garden and chasing kids away when he saw them picking at his bushes as they passed,” Yn giggled softly, because the image of her father chasing active youths down a street was rather amusing to her, reaching for her bookmark to keep her place in the book resting on her lap, “she says she’s barely seen him because he spends his time at the allotments, with his friends.”

Alex snuffled a laugh and folded his paper up, setting it on the floor beside the crackling fireplace.

“We should get an allotment. Could build a shed there to hide in when it rains, have you come and sit and watch me dig the veggies up, let you grow some flowers there. We’d be the best there,” he grinned, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, “what do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea, baby.”

“Christmases only get better from here,” he stood to his feet and wiggled his fingers in her direction, “let’s have a dance.”

She smiled shyly and stood to her feet, toes all toasty and warm from the fire, reaching for his hands as he twirled her under his arm and let her dress, all dark green and red (which she insisted was her most Christmas-y dress in her wardrobe) billow out at the knees. With the occasional step on his bare toes, and a trip over his own feet, they managed to move themselves around the room with such an elegant sway to their hips as the gentle voice of Bing Crosby filled the room, with the ever so delightful song that YN imagined must have felt so personal to so many around Britain. And she couldn’t help but think of how many others were dancing, singing and crying as the tune filled merry homes, both happy and sad.

And she didn’t want to let her mind wander to the agonising pain of not having a loved one, let alone a husband, arrive home safe for Christmas… but it was planted there and she never ever wanted an experience so heartbreaking.

“You’ve gone quiet,” he hummed and it was in that moment that he felt a dribble of tears against his neck, his feet coming to a stop as the music carried on behind them, “hey now. No crying, we said. This is a happy end to the year, eh? A happy one.”

“I know but,” she choked on a tear and pulled away to look at him, “I’m so lucky you came home to me. To us. But, some women, they never got to say goodbye to their husbands, their brothers, their fathers and grandfathers. They never got to see them for Christmas this year, last year and the years before that. They never knew what was coming,” she whispered with a hushed voice that felt like if she spoke too loud, she’d have the entire country hearing her, as if the music was bad enough to bring out the emotions.

“I promised you, didn’t I, baby?”

She nodded softly and his thumbs wiped away her tears, collecting moisture on the tips of his pads, their eyes locking for a brief second.

“I promised you I’d make it back to you and I did, safe and sound,” he held her face in his hands and brushed the tip of his nose to hers, his warm breath flushing over her face as she sniffled and sobbed, “I’m never leaving you again. Never ever. I promise, no selfish bastard is going to keep us apart, not even for Christmas.”

#alex!au #harry styles imagines #harry styles blurbs #harry styles prompts