#things I made in five minutes to avoid posting something even less funny | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

visionofhope04 · 3 years

Note

Hii I was lowkey wondering if you would do something maybe like a one shot of neglected where reader is older (18-20) and dipped out of the house and became a singer and one of her songs basically exposed them for how they treated reader and in like an interview she full on tells them how she doesn’t even talk to them and like only Jason

This is literally perfect. I love this idea! I was planning on making a singer batsis reader anyway so here you go! I'll be making this part 4 of the series instead of a one shot. There’s a bit of angst. Btw, thanks so much for your support everyone! I'm glad you enjoy this series! Feel free to request anything you'd like besides smut as well!

This is the longest thing I have ever written so there will be a part 5. I planned on this being the last part but it's just so much. It’s not proofread and neither are all of the other parts because I post at 1 am most of the time lol. Hope you like it!

f/n = friend name

Y/G/N = your group name

N/S = news station

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 (Current) Part 5

---

You were sick of it. Sick of how even after confronting them about how you felt and almost dying because of it, they still neglected you. You couldn't wait to move out at the age of 18, even if it proved to be a struggle. You had taken mini jobs since you turned 15 and saved up since then. You just couldn't see them anymore as it would remind you of how they treated you that day at that hospital. None of them apologized either. They just pretended it never happened and continued to ignore you. The media had a field day with speculation of what had happened but eventually stopped because Bruce had claimed it was “just a bad case of the flu” which they believed.

Jason was always the only one that would talk to you. He was the only one that actually cared enough to make sure you were taking proper care of yourself and that you wouldn't have a repeat of what happened. He took you places, spent time with you and gave you advice. You even had a tradition where you'd always meet up at the manor's library every week at the same time that same day every week and just have a mini book club together. He always made time for you and never bailed on you.

So on your 18th birthday, he helped you move out. You managed to rent a small apartment in Star City with the money you had saved up. It wasn’t that close to the manor which was a good thing. The neighborhood wasn’t good but it wasn’t as bad as Gotham’s neighborhoods so you would be fine. You could handle yourself with your assassin training if needed. You also managed to get hired at a cafe which was about a five minutes walking distance from your apartment.

It had taken a while but eventually, you had packed all of your belongings into color coded containers and moved them into Jason’s car with his help. You didn’t say goodbye to anyone as you had no friends to say bye to and you knew that your so called “family” couldn’t care less about what you did with your life. ‘This is it, hopefully the last time I’ll ever be near this place.’ You thought. You didn’t plan on stepping foot in Gotham ever again after you left. It would bring back too many memories you prefer to keep buried away deep inside your mind.

The car ride to Star City was entertaining. You and Jason conversed the whole time, telling jokes and listening to his funny tales with the radio playing softly in the background. Eventually, a song you both loved came on and you both started yell-singing along to the lyrics. You wished those moments could be permanent. You were both so carefree and nothing else mattered besides having fun and enjoying yourselves.

You now stood in the doorway of your new apartment, admiring your new home. Jason and yourself had just finished unpacking all of your belongings. You really liked how it looked and thought you both did an amazing job at designing the place perfectly according to your style. Jason, unfortunately, had to leave in order to avoid raising suspicions. Once you both said your byes, he left you to your apartment.

Jason drove back home in silence. He hated to admit it but he would miss you dearly. You were always there for him and helped him with anything. You tried your best to always comfort him and make him feel better on his darkest days and it would always work. Somehow you seemed to always have the right words to say or knew exactly what to do to help him. Out of everyone he was closest to you. He assumed it was because he could relate to you the most. More so how you felt. He’d felt like the black sheep of the family before you came, and he was. When you came, you took that role from him. It pained him to see how much their insults would affect you, even if you were good at hiding it. He could just tell.

Jason made it back to the manor after a while and went straight to the library. He didn't want to deal with the others. After the whole hospital situation, he'd never really bother interacting with them. He hated how they treated you as if you didn’t exist and hated how much pain they had caused you and that they didn’t even care. He guessed that they'd probably be doing something for Damian's birthday and forgot that you were his twin. They probably couldn’t even remember that Damian had a twin.

He made it to the library and pulled out one of his favorite books. He’d read it so many times you’d often joke that he could probably recite the whole book by heart at this point. Sitting down in a chair, he started to read. However, he couldn’t bring himself to stop thinking about what it would’ve been like if they treated you how they did Damian. The both of you were Bruce’s real children. You both even looked like clones of him! At first, Jason thought you would’ve been the favorite twin due to your personality. Even though you were twins, your personalities were polar opposites. You even refused to kill! You were trained by the League so why didn’t you kill as Damian did?

Jason knew you would benefit them greatly if you joined. You had self control, didn’t kill, could act perfectly, lie perfectly, do well under pressure, and not to mention your skills. Being raised by the League may have been torture, but you managed to gain incredible skills out of it. You could take on at least ten guys who doubled you in size and beat them within five minutes. You even bested Damian in spars and he was supposedly dubbed the “better twin” by Talia, so why hadn’t they let you join their nightly crusades like they had let Damian when the both of you first arrived?

Damian passed by your room but noticed something was off. He decided to take a look. He twisted the doorknob and pushed. The room which was once occupied by you now looked extremely plain and bare, stripped of all of its accessories. The only things left were the bed itself, multiple dressers, and a vanity. It looked as if it had been vacant the whole time. It might as well have been. Damian couldn’t really remember what it had looked like since he’s never paid much mind to it but he could tell there was a drastic difference. He knew that you disliked just leaving your room plain unlike himself and wanted at least something to make it look less boring.

He couldn’t help but wonder what had happened. Had you finally been kicked out by Bruce? Did you get shipped off to a boarding school like he had been suggesting to your father for years? He decided to go ask. He exited the room and closed the door behind him, taking off for Bruce’s office. Walking down the hall, he suddenly remembered that he had seen you leave with Jason. This meant that you were not at a boarding school like he had originally thought. But then why was your room vacant?

Instead of going to see Bruce, he decided to go see Jason and bring up the matter with him instead. He changed directions and headed to the library where he knew he’d find Jason. It was no secret that Jason was a book worm so Damian had a fifty percent chance of finding him there.

He entered the library and was immediately greeted with the sight of Jason sitting comfortably on a chair, legs crossed with a book opened in his hands. Jason didn’t bother to look up from his book as he spoke.

“What do you want Demon Spawn?”

“I’ve come to obtain the whereabouts of my sister.”

“You mean my sister?”

“She’s not your sister!” Damian exclaimed.

“Well I act more like a brother than you do.”

“Where is Y/N? Her whole room is bare.”

“That’s for me to know and you to find out.”

“Just tell me, you imbecile!” Damian said, growing increasingly frustrated by Jason’s blunt answers.

“She’s not here.”

“Then where is she?”

“Not here.”

“Just tell me already Todd, I have no time for your foolish games!”

“She moved out.” Jason said, giving in.

“What?! Where.” Damian demanded.

“Why would I tell you?”

“Because I demand to know!”

“Okay and?”

“Tell me!”

“No.”

“Why not!”

“Because you don’t even care.”

“And you do?”

“Yes, I actually do Damian! I’m there for her when she needs me the most. I’m there for her while she’s watching you live the perfect life that she’s just a background character in! While you and the others ignore that she even exists! I’m there for her when she breaks down and has panic attacks! And what were you all doing to try and help her? Nothing! Absolutely nothing!” Jason snapped.

“Y/N’s fine, I know my twin!” Damian screamed.

“Do you even know what her favorite color is?” Jason questioned in a harsh tone.

“...” Was Damian’s reply.

“Exactly! You don’t! You and the others have never cared about her, so why all of a sudden do you care now? You don’t know anything about her so don’t act like you do!” Jason then stood up and walked out of the room in a fit of rage.

Damian stood there, shocked. Had Jason just refused to answer his question? He was about to follow him but decided against it. Why was Damian going to chase Jason down just for her? She was just an annoyance, a mistake, imperfect. He had been wanting to get rid of her for so long, so why doesn’t he feel relieved? Why does he feel guilty? He decided to stop dwelling on it and get on with life. He figured it would happen eventually if it hadn’t happened then.

---

It had been a year since that day. The day you left your old life behind and started a new life, a better one. One where you weren’t constantly ignored. One where you actually had more than one person care about you. Instead of seeing yourself as a failure and disappointment, you now saw yourself as an amazing person (which you always were). You had been going to a community college in Star City. You made many friends there and started up a music career with three of them.

Their names were f/n, f/n and f/n. You all started off by taking random gigs anywhere you could. You performed covers of songs and would receive standing ovations all the time. Seeing as your group was well liked, you decided to write and produce your own songs. At the age of 19, Y/G/N released their first album. It went viral within a day and everyone was talking about it. After a week, several articles were posted, praising your work. News Stations talked about all the records Y/G/N managed to break. People started to stream it like crazy, and you couldn’t be happier with all the positive feedback you were receiving.

You had been a Wayne once, meaning you had experience in dealing with the media. Since you had already been used to it, you knew you’d all eventually be invited to interviews. So, when you had received an email stating how N/S wanted a one on one interview with you, you weren’t sure how to feel. You weren’t looking forward to interviews with your whole group, let alone one where you would be alone. You knew how unfiltered interviewers could be and didn’t feel comfortable with it.

However, you decided it would be best to go. So here you were, sitting in front of the interviewer in an uncomfortable chair preparing for the interview to start. You had somehow managed to keep a smile plastered on your face the entire time while you were a nervous wreck on the inside. You hoped none of the questions would be sexist as they usually were towards women. However, you had no more time to think about that. You heard clicking, signaling that you were about to go live. Once you heard the last click, you knew you were live and the interview had begun.

“Hello everyone, welcome back to N/S. My name is Jerald Tangleberry and I’m here today with songwriter, singer, and celebrity, Y/N Wayne! How are you?”

You waved to the camera and then answered, “Hello everyone! I’m doing good, how about you?”

“I’m doing great, thanks for asking! So by now I’d assume everyone knows that you’ve released an album with your group. How does it feel to gain more fame?”

“It doesn’t feel any different. Fame wasn’t our goal when we released the album. It was to express ourselves.”

“Mhm, well Ms. Wayne, what inspired you to write songs?”

“Well we know people may be in a tough spot in their life right now and want them to know they aren’t alone.”

“That’s so true. Some fans have been speculating that every member has three songs that specifically relate to them since there are twelve songs in total and three of the songs have the same group member as the introduction part of the song. Is this true?”

“Yes, it is true.”

“So all three of your songs relate to family issues of some sort. Is that hinting that you have family issues?”

“Yes, actually. My family isn’t the best. They ignored me all the time, even when they weren't busy. The only person who didn’t was Jason.”

“You’re saying it in the past tense.”

“I moved out about a year ago. When I was around 14, I suffered from anorexia. My family would always ignore me since they were either busy doing work or hanging out with each other. The only family member that acknowledged me was Jason. I assumed it was because there was something wrong with me. I started to hate myself so much to the point of starvation. One day, I passed out right before a gala and my oldest brother Dick found me passed out on the floor. They took me to the hospital and when I woke up, Bruce, Dick, Tim, and Damian started fussing about how I’d ruin their image if the media knew what actually happened. They started to yell at me and told me how I was a useless burden. I started to have a panic attack so I kicked them out. Jason stayed behind with me and comforted me. Ever since then I made a planed to save enough money so I could move out when I turned 18, which I did.”

“Oh, wow. So Jason was the only one who interacted with you?”

“Yeah.”

“Looks like the Wayne family isn’t as perfect as they seem.”

“No family is actually perfect.”

“Did your family try contacting you at all after they found out about Y/G/N?”

“Not yet. They’re probably too busy or don’t care.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“It’s alright, I got over it. What’s the next question.”

“Oh-” He cleared his throat and continued the interview. (So basically I don’t wanna bore you all lol)

---

Jason had woken up late into the afternoon that day. Patrol that morning had exhausted him. There was a huge breakout at Arkham they had assisted with. They successfully locked up every escapee, so today, Jason just wanted to relax until it would be time for patrol again. Even though he was exhausted, he knew he couldn’t take a break. The others wouldn’t and it would be unfair to them if he did.

He headed over to his couch with his phone and a bowl of popcorn in hand, ready to watch random movies the entirety of the day. He set down his phone on the coffee tables and grabbed the TV remote. When he turned on the TV, he almost dropped the popcorn and remote. You were sitting on a chair, giving an award winning smile while you politely answered the man’s questions. He was baffled. He didn’t know why you were being interviewed, let alone on TV at all! You made it clear you didn’t want to have any relations with your family any longer and you couldn’t stand publicity, so what were you doing?

He placed the bowl down and snatched his phone off the table. Unlocking his phone, he quickly dialed your phone number. However, he realized that the interview was live and that he would be interrupting it if he called you then. Deciding to wait, he placed his phone back down, picked up the bowl, and then got comfortable.

---

Tag list: @fake-id-69 @pepelachanel @loxbbg @what-0-life @yoongi-holland @omnivorousfangirl @cawcaw-pretty-thing @sexysamsungl @iceddonuts @buginetye @portrait-ninja @azazel-nyx @alculai

1K notes · View notes

lukealvezhimboextraordinaire · 3 years

Note

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

------------------------

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

#eloise bridgerton #eloise x phillip #phillip crane #fics #mine #philoise #listen i don't write smut so that's why this sucks #i tried

58 notes · View notes

mah-gah-lee · 3 years

Text

be stuck with you - owen patrick joyner x (reader)

Word Count: 2303

Request: YES, from that sweet @idontcare011, hope you’ll like it !

Summary: you were late and a random boy comes into the elevator at the last minute. By some incredible force of fate (or pretty crappy weather) you find yourself stuck with the young man in this narrow cabin.

Warnings: panic attack and i think it’s all

disclaimer: I don't know Owen personally or what his life is like. All you will read in this "x reader" is from my imagination. My point is not to invade Owen's privacy. I don't want to offend him or offend anybody else in his life (family, potential girlfriend…I heard maybe he has one, so I don’t know but I don’t want to offend her). All of this is not the reality

Tagged: @asdfghjkl-fanfics @standingtalllove @lukeys-giggle

---

Thanks God, the quarantine was over and everyone could travel again. However, this stupid virus was not completely gone. Since the health crisis, you have adopted new habits, such as taking the stairs instead of the elevator. But today, you were in a hurry, so you entered the cabin eagerly. The conference you were due to attend was starting in no less than twenty minutes, and your itinerary had said it would take you 15 to get to your planned location. But with the weather conditions creeping in out there, you were sure you would need a lot longer than advertised. The automatic door was closing when a hand stepped in the way. A young blond man appeared and slipped into the elevator. You grumbled at the action, making you fall a few more seconds behind.

"Sorry" the boy said through his mask.

But you didn't answer.

You had almost ten floors to go down together. You looked in your bag for a while to make sure you had your recorder when you felt an uncontrolled jerk. Your body no longer held you in balance but you caught yourself on a side of the elevator as the young man accompanying you tended to stabilize you. The lights flashed for a while and then went out. Your eyes widened as your heart pounded.

"oh no no no no no no no. Anything except that, please!" you said, frantically pressing a random button.

“I think we stuck…”

"Oh yeah, what makes you think that?" The fact that we weren't moving or that the lights went out? "

The boy threw up his hands in defense, eyes wide with so much animosity.

"Hey, I'm in the same situation. You don't have to be aggressive."

You groaned before leaning against one of the elevator walls, peering into the face of your elevator failure companion. He had blond hair; his tips reached the base of his neck. But his expressive blue eyes - seeming constantly anxious - reminded you of someone, but you didn't know who. You have pushed the alarm button to warn the staff that there was someone in the lift.

“Sorry, it’s seems to be a bad day. I’m late and now I’m stuck in an elevator with a perfect stranger”

“I’m Owen…Not a stranger anymore”

“I’m y/n, but yes, you still are”

Owen laughed at your outspokenness and you gave him a polite smile before you were silent for several minutes.

After what seemed like forever - when it was only ten minutes - you looked at your phone. No networks. For no obvious reason, when everything seemed to be going well, your heart started to beat faster. The thought of being stuck here forever crossed your mind and ached in your chest. The boy in front of you seemed so calm, which made you even more anxious.

"How the hell can you stay so calm"

"Oh ... I'm dying inside, just trying to play it cool"

You can help with giving him an amused smile, he had been so frank. But this little interaction did not bring you back down from your state. You were breathing harder and harder, your chest was heaving quickly, it was nearly out of control. Owen seemed to notice that and give you a concerned look.

"Panic attack?"

You nodded briskly and Owen approached you cautiously. You saw his hands move towards you and your gaze expressed fear but you were paralyzed to do anything.

"I'm going to take that damn mask off you already."

Gently, he grabbed the fabric mask and pulled a little on it to lower it, he reproduced the gesture with his own mask.

"Look at me, just me. There's nothing around us. Take a deep breath. I'll count to 3 and then you'll breathe out. Okay?"

you nodded and when he shook his to urge you to breathe you took a deep breath, like he told you to.

"1..2..3"

You sighed, keeping your gaze on him. You started once more and when the blonde asked you if it was better, you were shaking your head negatively.

"We're starting over but… take my hands and squeeze them as much as you need. Don't worry about grinding them."

You grabbed his hands and restarted each step over, crushing his hands. But the contact with matter, your breath and Owen's comforting eyes, help you gently. A soothing silence has settled between you. Owen had helped you through this panic attack when you didn't even know each other. But you could feel deep inside that this man was good. Things seemed to calm down for you and you thanked Owen with a genuine smile.

“You know how to deal with it ... Thanks for that.”

“I also suffer from anxiety and panic attack. But the elevator is big enough here that it doesn't cause me one. Although I am a little anxious ...”

“hey, breathe Owen.” You replied with a smirk

Owen laughed and shook his head as if to say "that's a good one!" You look at the young man again, staring at him intently. It was very rude but you couldn't put a name on his face anymore. You were sure you knew him. Was he a distant cousin? A neighbor? A guy you knew in high school? Or just a guy you saw in an ad? Maybe the ad for these new cereals!

“Excuse me but ... I've seen you somewhere before, haven't I?”

“In an elevator, yeah!” he joked

You laughed he was funny

“No, I mean ... I feel like I've seen you before but I really can't remember where.”

he sighed, as if a little tired of the question. You were surprised at his reaction but Owen answers you anyway

“Yeah, I don't usually talk about that when I first meet a girl, especially when I'm stuck in an elevator with her but ... I'm an actor. I played some stuff on Nickelodeon and now I'm supposed to shoot season two of Julie and the phantoms, it's a Netflix series.”

You watched him chattering, you nodded then wide your eyes. This is where you saw it! You had been relentlessly browsing the Netflix catalog and seeing the trailer for the series he told you about, but you had avoided it, the show seemed too childish for you. You first reaction was to make fun of him

"Again, don't forget to breath Owen. But the way, I didn’t want to bother you with that question."

He laughed lightly then smiled politely at you. You didn't seem to be a hysteric or a weird person. He had a deep feeling that you were a good person, which is why Owen seemed to relax.

"It's just ... for a while, I thought you were a fan and I didn't want things to be weird all suddenly "

"Oh don't worry I haven't seen any of your shows.” you said nonchalantly

Owen burst into laughter. Once again, it was bafflingly sincere and he was really starting to enjoy being stuck in an elevator with you. You smiled, the energy in the cabin was positive that you almost forgot you were stuck with this young man for almost half an hour. You didn't know when you were going to be able to get out of here but you didn't really care anymore for the sole reason that you wanted to get to know this man. You tilted your head back, resting it against the elevator wall before sighing loudly. Seconds later, your gaze turned to Owen again.

“So tell me about this series that you’re filming. What is it about?”

"It's a pretty cool show actually. It's directed by Kenny Ortega, I don't know if you see who he is."

"Hell yeah ... he's the choreographer of Dirty Dancing"

"Himself ... So what about the storyboard ... It's about ..."

And then, you listened to him to tell you about the series. Something like a '90s band dying of food poisoning from a bad hotdog and returning twenty-five years later as ghosts to help a super talented young girl to make music after her mom passed away. It made you laugh; it was probably the dumbest death on TV after Marion Cotillard's in Batman. He couldn't even stop anymore so that he sometimes swapped over a few anecdotes from the set. You even got a little exclusive on season two before Owen stopped in the middle of a sentence.

"Sorry, I got a little carried away. But when you like your job, it's pretty easy to talk about it."

You smiled at him and Owen started asking you questions, about your work, your life, your passions and you were giving him back. The conversation was fluid, natural You learned that he was German, that his mother tongue was German until he was about four years old, that he had a sister and had lived with his parents until that year when he moved into his own apartment. Getting to know Owen was really nice and you could feel your stomach twist every time he smiled. He was a boy full of humor but also sarcasm.

You've been stuck with Owen for an hour and a half now. You ended up sitting on the floor of the elevator. Boredom was really starting to take hold of you. You rummaged through your bag for something, anything. An idea crossed your mind when you saw the small block of post-it notes.

"Owen"

"hmm?"

"How would you like to play a game?"

"What kind of game do you want to play here?"

"Who am I?"

"Obviously you are y/n" he tells you with a smirk.

You laughed before pulling out your notepad and a pencil to show it to the blonde. He claimed to have understood your intention, which made you smile even more. Of course, Owen knew the game you wanted to play. He nodded, and you'd write a celebrity's name on a sticky note before sticking it on your new friend's forehead. He did the same for you. Fortunately, your two post-its are well stuck. Owen spoke

"I start: am I a man?"

"Obviously" you say with a smirk, responding to the blonde's previous joke.

Owen laughed, catching the tone of your voice.

“But how funny she is! Is my character a man?” He continued.

You did several parts. You even teased him when he made you guess Julie and the phantoms, because the game didn't stop only with characters, celebrities but also series, movies, musicals. You were laughing when there was another shake, stronger than the first, the lights came back on and you couldn't help but be disappointed. You looked at Owen and he seemed to have the same gaze as yours. The doors barely opened and you found the hotel staff, patiently waiting to ask if you needed medical assistance, while also offering you a bottle of water. You left the elevator car, hurriedly stuffing the many post-its into your bag. You didn't really know how to act with the blond guy next to you. You had formed a little bubble in that enclosed space and now it seemed to have burst. For some strange reason, it made you sad. Now is the time to part ways with your new friend.

“well, good-goodbye, it was nice to meet you.”

you rushed into the hotel lobby a little more, but Owen seemed to catch up with you, his long legs only having to take a few strides.

"wait, y/n!"

You turned to him, you could see the embarrassment on his cheeks, asking with a frown what was the cause.

"I think you let that go"

"No, I don't"

You looked at the crumpled white paper. It even looked like a piece of chewing gum. And at first glance, Owen's perfectly white teeth were chewing one.

"I think you did."

He handed you the paper with a determination that convinces you. You bite your lip as you look at the series of numbers on the packaging: a phone number. His telephone number. Owen swallowed hard as he looked at you. His eyes never leaving your lips.

"It's pretty spontaneous of me but ... I won't start filming until next week. I hope you're still here the day after tomorrow ... because I would really like to ask you to come have a drink with me ... "

Your cheeks turned red, did he really just ask you for a date? You did not know what to answer. The urge to say yes was so present but you were afraid to rush. Perhaps humor was your only defense

"it depends"

"about what?"

"Does this appointment include a blocking session in an elevator? This is the only way it works"

Owen laughed before giving you a genuine smile, showing his perfectly aligned white teeth. God, what a beautiful man.

"I can try to fix this and find a faulty elevator."

"So expect a text from me"

You smiled back at him and gave him a wink before turning on your heels. Owen's heart skipped a beat and he when he arrived several hours late in the hairdressing section of the set, Charlie laughed at him saying that he had never seen him so happy to have a haircut. hair. But in reality, the blond was only waiting for one thing, and that was to receive a message from you, which arrived in a second.

(y/n) text : "After being stuck in an elevator, here I am stuck in traffic ... Are you sure you want a date with me, you might just end up stuck with me?"

Owen couldn't help but smile broadly.

Owen text : "I'm sure. I'd love to even be stuck with you (again).”

(y/n) text : “Fine, ghost boy. See you soon”

#owen patrick joyner #owen joyner #owen patrick joyner x reader #owen joyner x reader #jatp cast x reader #jatp cast imagine #julie and the phantoms #jatp

170 notes · View notes

uwua3 · 3 years

Text

your name. (pt. 4)

❄️📚 tsukioka tsumugi

part 1 — part 2 — part 3 — part 4

summary: your first day out in tokyo allows you to meet a friend

warnings: food, skipping class

author’s note: bunnie is so happy to release the 4th installment to her first series! please enjoy the first time tsumugi (well, you!) go out to the city! the next part will be posted tomorrow~ thank you! ₍₍ ( ๑॔˃̶◡ ˂̶๑॓)◞♡

word count: 3,030

You didn’t have enough time.

Or, enough money. You followed the train tracks to the station, only to realize you’ve barely used the shinkansen to know enough about it. Back in Itomori, everyone knew each other so it was safe to walk everywhere. It wasn’t like that in Tokyo, apparently.

As you stood at the machine, looking back and forth to the IC card, you truly understood what it was like to actually be broke. While yours was a smaller, less-known company, Tsumugi’s train card held the common Pasmoa. It further emphasized that you were truly in Tokyo. Unbeknownst to you, a line was forming behind you as everyone looked to see what was taking you so long.

You tried to read the train map, but it was much more complicated than normal. Typically, you’d take out your smartphone to look up the directions, but the flip phone suddenly felt heavier in your coat pocket now. After a minute or so, you were muttering about ticket prices and hoping money would magically appear in your wallet before someone said a polite “Excuse me!” out of nowhere.

You glanced up before doing a double take at the most professional business man you’ve ever seen in your life. The man was clad in a beige suit that did wonders for his already thin physique, a red tie around his neck neatly. Blonde hair fell over his forehead perfectly, and his pink eyes examined you with a customer-service smile upon his face. As you got lost in how handsome he was, he bowed lightly with his hand tightening around his leather briefcase.

“I’m Chigasaki Itaru, nice to meet you. Is there a problem?” Itaru introduced himself, and you tried not to fall in love immediately with how he practically glowed. You hurried to do the same, almost falling over as you stayed in a bow for way too long. You didn’t notice how the line tried to keep in their sighs of disappointment when you continued hogging the counter.

“Um, I’m… Tsukioka Tsumugi! I’m just… struggling with the train?” You blanked, noticing how your voice went way too high for Tsumugi’s liking. Itaru curiously tilted his head anyways. It was… rare to find a Japanese person to be finding problems with the shinkansen. Were you a foreigner? Itaru questioned, but bit his tongue to avoid being rude.

“Oh? Are you out of money?” Itaru read the screen as you felt the second hand embarrassment for Tsumugi. City folk were brutally honest, huh? Before you could jump to defend Tsumugi’s honor (and empty bank account), Itaru swiped his card and input an amount that was large for both you and Tsumugi’s minds.

“There you go, make sure to be prepared next time.” Itaru smiled again, guiding you out of line as it finally progressed forward. You were still a fish out of water, your jaw dropped and mouth open as you tried to find the words to thank this stranger. Out of sight, Itaru’s annoyance was no longer concealed as he set his eyes on you with a frown.

“I just wanted you to hurry up. Don’t keep the line waiting, or it will be a very bad morning for you, Tsukioka-san.” Itaru advised truthfully, although not meanly as you nodded dumbly, feeling incredibly ashamed for putting Tsumugi in this situation. You dropped into a bow again, clutching the IC card with both your hands together.

“T-Thank you, Chigasaki-san!” You said and Itaru uncomfortably shifted on his dress shoes, looking around as he whispered for you to stand back up. As you did, Itaru took another look at your plain state with a groan, as if he was about to regret what he was going to ask next.

“Where are you going?”

“Um… Omi's House, Chigasaki-san.”

“Really? Me too. What are the odds?” Itaru checked to confirm the route once again, and contemplated something before looking at you again.

“I have no reason to help you, but you seem… like a nice guy. Come with me, we’ll go to Omi’s new cafe together.” Itaru offered and you thanked anyone listening that you met Itaru that morning. Out of reflex, you immediately wrapped the businessman in a tight hug that was too close for meeting someone less than five minutes ago.

“Thank you so much, Chigasaki-san! You’re the best!” You felt so relieved at the rare act of hospitality in the city, that you forgot Itaru wasn’t Tsumugi’s close friend. Itaru tensed in your arms as he beared the curious looks from strangers passing by their corner in the train station. Before Itaru could say anything, you were hit with the fact you were hugging a random person. When you let go and profusely apologized, Itaru tried not to sigh; he did not sign up for this whatsoever.

“Let’s go before we’re late.” Itaru coughed, fixing his collar as he tried not to rock back and forth on his heels from the sudden intimacy. You nodded gratefully, following Itaru into one of the fastest trains you’ve ever seen in your life. The platforms were crowded with hundreds of thousands passengers and it was the busiest place by far. On the way to the station, the streets were equivalent to your hometown, but Tokyo was another league of its own. You constantly moved your neck, trying to see everything at once as Itaru half-dragged you to the correct train.

“Have you never been to Tokyo before?” Itaru asked politely, to which you shook your head quickly. Although Tsumugi was a Tokyo native it seems, you definitely weren’t. You were so amazed by the sight of one of the busiest train stations in Japan that you forgot you were still in Tsumugi’s body. Itaru let out a sound of acknowledgement, as if it all made sense now. With an amused quirk to his lips, Itaru waited for the train to arrive as you ogled at every new thing. (The bento boxes here were way overpriced but there were so many! Not only that, but there were all sorts of people here. Students, businessmen, employees!)

“All on board train #6!” The announcer’s automated voice cheerfully said over the intercom as train #6 pulled in perfectly on time. Punctuality at its finest. You waited for the hundreds of train riders to leave first before you were the first one inside, rushing in with a sense of urgency. Others may have thought you were late to something, but you were just excited to ride your first bullet train! Itaru strolled in a few moments later. It seemed as if he didn’t rush himself for anyone, what a cool guy.

Luckily, you had saved a seat beside you for Itaru and as soon as he sat down, the train doors closed and off you both were to the heart of the city. While Itaru had already done this a million times, you were energetically bouncing your leg up and down, staring outside of the window like your life depended on it. Itaru didn’t mind, as long as you didn’t bother him as he played with something on his smartphone.

(“What is that?” You asked, leaning over his shoulder to see some game graphics. Itaru quickly shielded his screen, as if it was some big secret. “Nothing.” Itaru defensively replied, before putting back on his typical pleasant smile. “Oh, okay…”)

That was that. Itaru was charming, to say the least. When the train reached its final destination, Itaru pocketed his advanced phone neatly and gestured for you to follow. However, when you stood up, you forgot about the brown bag and its strap hooked around the seat. You felt yourself get pulled back and before you hit the ground, a pair of arms quickly caught you. As everyone departed, you could feel Itaru’s hold like a true prince.

“You’re lucky I found you, or else you’d be dead.” Itaru said simply, and you nodded again. He wasn’t wrong. Itaru quickly let go of you and you two headed out into the intercity of Tokyo. It was even busier this time around, and you loved every second of it.

“Welcome to Shinanomachi Station.” You read out loud as you passed the giant sign above. Welcome to Tokyo, indeed. Itaru introduced you to his fully functional car (“Why didn’t you just drive to Omi's House?” “No parking back at the apartment.” “Oh.”) and you both took off into the morning traffic. Funny enough, the car was the same exact color as Itaru’s two-piece suit.

It was about 7:15 A.M. when you saw Omi's House. Perhaps, it was more accurate to say you smelt it first over anything. Cooking just like your grandmother’s wafted into the streets and if you closed your eyes, you could almost imagine Itomori again. It was a sense of comfort in the middle of the bustling city. As the crowds of people passed, Omi's House was illuminated in a warm glow above a natural exterior. It felt like home, Omi wasn’t wrong in naming such a place.

Itaru parked naturally like it was nothing. You almost pushed your face against the glass with anticipation as you watched servers pass back and forth in the display windows. Because it was so early, you could practically hear the sound of the coffee machine behind the register. Without warning, you almost collapsed out of the car when Itaru opened the door for you. Whether it was on purpose or not, you had no idea. Itaru must’ve been a city boy through and through, because the mere presence of the cafe didn’t faze him like it did for you.

You let out a soft “Wow…” at the place as you stumbled out of the car. It was your first time ever seeing a cafe, but it felt so familiar that you didn’t even question it at first. Itaru didn’t care to ask why you were like this and entered the cafe, holding the door open for you. The bell above your head rang a single chime, and you were about to figure out why it awakened something in you before a charismatic voice called Tsumugi’s name.

“Tsumu-Tsumu! Did you bring a friend?! I didn’t know you had any other than me!” Kazunari jokes, already sitting in a window seat. Itaru held up his hand in a professional wave, before departing to someone on the other side. Itaru rushed for only one person, and it was his boss. A green-haired man with thin glasses glared at his employee, seeing right through his lies. (“Utsuki-senpai! I was late because I wanted to help someone new to Tokyo—” “Bullshit, Itaru. You just used them as an excuse.” “Senpai…”)

You sat down across from Kazunari and took in his vibrant bigger-than-life appearance. Kazunari’s green eyes shined like the sun even if there were prominent college student shadows. His hair was stylishly blonde with hair spray keeping the perfect shape; on top was a fedora, which had his name bedazzled in cyan gems with a star. When Kazunari winked whilst grinning, you definitely could see how Kazunari was the star of everyone’s show.

“Good morning, Miyoshi-kun.” You bowed lightly and Kazunari huffed childishly, crossing his arms. “Aw, what the heck! You just called me by my first name today! I thought we were becoming soulmates, ya know?” Kazunari pouted like a little kid, sinking into his chair as his knee bumped into the table, nearly knocking over his frappuccino. You immediately stabilized it, letting out a sigh of relief when nothing spilled. The foam jiggled for a bit before staying still, the caramel grid design perfectly okay. Phew.

“Sorry.” You apologized sheepishly and Kazunari just waved his hand like it was nothing; of course he was just being dramatic. Everything was in good fun when Kazunari was here, apparently. Before Kazunari could begin talking, another man appeared at the table in a navy blue apron labelled “Omi’s House”.

“Kazunari! Welcome to Omi’s House, once again. Who’s this?” You had to look up to see that this was in fact, Fushimi Omi, owner of the cafe. His nametag reflected the sunlight from outside and his smile lines shined through. Omi didn’t look like he’d run a cafe, but his eyes were made of amber honey and his smile sparkled like the clean countertops at the front register. When you slightly bowed your head, a hand immediately ruffled your hair with extreme fondness.

“This is Tsumu-Tsumu! Best T.A. ever! He’s saved my butt so many times in class, Omimi~ What’s your best thing on the menu today?” Kazunari giggled, already on familiar terms with the owner of the cafe. Even though Omi and Kazunari seemed to be unlikely friends, they still shared an easy conversation with one another as Omi pondered the question. Adjusting the notepad in his hand, Omi didn’t even have to take a look at the menu before having a lightbulb moment, using his pencil to point at the breakfast foods section.

“Do you like eggs? How about eggs benedict?”

You didn’t know Tsumugi liked eggs so much.

It was almost instinct to wolf down the eggs like they were your last meal on Earth. When Kazunari took out his high-end smartphone to post a story to his Instagram, he turned the camera only to see “Tsumugi” finishing his steaming hot plate. Luckily, you found out Tsumugi didn’t have any social media, so it was a video that couldn’t hurt his reputation in the long run.

Still, Omi’s eggs were perhaps the best food you and Tsumugi have eaten in a long time.

“Hey, Tsumu-Tsumu! You’re so different today! I didn’t even know you could eat that much, you rarely order anything when we go out!” Even though the tone was lighthearted, you swore Kazunari’s eyes darkened for a split second before returning to his bright expression. You slowed down your chewing, unfamiliar with this intense feeling of hunger. Just when was the last time Tsumugi had eaten something?

“Aha… I apologize, Miyoshi-san.” You mumbled, realizing there was nothing left to eat. Kazunari had nothing but another sugary concoction. Apparently, the drink was so complex and elaborate that Omi named it the “Kazunari Special”, even if no one really ordered it. (When Kazunari asked if you wanted a sip, you didn’t need Tsumugi’s better judgment to decline politely).

“Hmph, don’t go back to being so shy! This is the most I’ve seen you even interact with me. I think you’re sleep-deprived like hell.” Kazunari pat your head again and again, like an overly affectionate owner would do to their dog. You took it like a champ, feeling yourself blush under the loud attention. At least you were full, that’s what mattered.

“I feel fine, thank you, though.” For some reason, Tsumugi’s tone came out sharp, something not suited for an easygoing breakfast in a cafe. It must’ve struck a nerve, one you weren’t exactly aware of. Kazunari seemed to realize this as well and his lips fell from their usual smile, settling on a firm line. Yet, it wasn’t out of annoyance, but concern. It was that look of pity that made Tsumugi’s body become smaller, as if willing to disappear.

“Tsumu… you don’t have to pretend around me. We’re friends, right?” Kazunari smiled gently when you nodded without thinking. Tsumugi might have not been the closest of friends with Kazunari, but there was clearly a soft spot for him in both of you. So boldly, you rather harshly stabbed the last piece of egg and held it in front of Kazunari expectantly, as if it was some sort of silent apology.

“Eat… uh, please. Let me take care of you, too.” You stuttered embarrassingly enough, wishing you were as effortlessly cool as Kazunari. He seemed to be wishing the same thing as Kazunari dropped his facade and became… flustered? For a moment, Kazunari’s eyes were warmer, as if slowly opening the curtains to reveal what was truly behind his “glass-like” exterior. Then, he took a big bite of your breakfast, flashing a giant grin at your rather surprised blush.

“Hehe, is my Tsumu shy again~? Nonsense, it’s just me.”

But, I don’t even know you, you and Tsumugi thought at the same time, and it became clear that the friendship between you and Kazunari was undeniable but impersonal. How come Kazunari didn’t order any food? Were his hands so jittery from the coffee he must’ve drank often? Why was the coffee so sugary, did he need it to stay up? So many questions from this meeting alone, and you weren’t satisfied with having no answers.

“Skip class and hang out with me, Miyoshi-kun.” You rushed out, hiding your anxious expression nonchalantly as Kazunari nearly spit out his coffee. Well, it was practically just whipped cream at this point, but still! Kazunari put his mug down with some sort of apprehension, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. You didn’t blame him, considering how studious Tsumugi appeared to be. The Bachelor degrees, the filled-out calendar with no room to breathe, and the multitude of dried out red pens in the trash. Someone like Tsumugi asking one of his students to forget about their studies must’ve been something that could only happen in their wildest dreams.

“Skip class?! Tsumu-Tsumu, you must be super out of it.” Yet, Kazunari didn’t seem to be against it. In fact, he looked just about ready to do anything right now as long as Tsumugi was involved. It put a smile to your face how endearing Kazunari truly was. “But, I’m in. How can I say no to my favorite T.A.?”

Kazunari didn’t ask why for this sudden request, but you tried to communicate the answer as much as you could regardless. You hoped by leaving a generous tip (one that surely would have consequences later on), asking what his favorite places to go were, and insisting your schedule was cleared for the day that it revealed everything you needed it to.

We’re supposed to be friends, right? So let’s get to know each other without the boundaries between us. Let me in, Kazunari. Who are you, really?

#tsukioka tsumugi #tsumugi tsukioka #a3! act! addict! actors!#a3!#act! addict! actors!#a3! actor training game #mankai a3!#mankai company #a3 x reader #a3! x reader #tsumugi x reader #a3! tsumugi #a3 tsumugi #your name

28 notes · View notes

fangirl-everythang · 3 years

Text

Happy Father's Day

Summary: (1/3) Y/n hasn't told Harry that she is pregnant yet, however, when the day comes around she finds out he's cheating.

Warning: Swearing, Taylor Swift Bashing (I love Taylor don't get me wrong, it's just for the story's sake.)

Word Count: 1492

It's been 5 weeks since I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to tell Harry the moment I found out. I scheduled a doctor's appointment to confirm it because you can't really trust generic pregnancy. But when the doctor confirmed it, I had no idea how to respond.

Hiding this from him has been the hardest thing I've ever done. Harry and I have been together for almost five years now. We met at his twenty-second birthday party in New York, I was twenty. He was pretty upset that he still had to tour for his birthday, but he said it was great making a new friend. Next thing you know we went public after two and moved in together for our third year. I'm so in love with him, but our careers are taking off, a baby would just interfere with all of it however Harry has always wanted children. He'd make such a great dad too, I can only imagine what our family will look like. But these thoughts often consume me, what if he doesn't want this?

I thought Father's Day would be the best day to tell him, you know like a surprise, and what a better time unless of course, he doesn't want our child. Our parents are coming over because of course, we have gifts and brunch so it's like three for one.

I've been distant from him recently, he's so concerned about me he thinks something is terribly wrong with my morning sickness and all. I figured I'd tell him with a gift which is a wooden base with yarn woven letters made of nails that spells 'dad' with the first ultrasound underneath, there's a card too! I'm so excited to finally start a family with Harry, I just hope he feels the same way. I have mugs for each of our dads that say, 'soon to be grandfather'. Honestly, I couldn't be happier. Opening the front door, I place the keys on the table next to me and walk the bags to the living room. That's funny Harry would've greeted me by now? He's probably asleep.

Setting up for later, I bring the balloons over realizing the tablecloths are upstairs. I work my way up the steps. These are gonna be a hassle with an extra 30-40 pounds on me. The closer I get to the top, I hear a light moan.

"I love y/n, she can't know about this" Harry's voice spoke.

Tiptoeing to peak into our bedroom I see my beloved boyfriend, father of my child shirtless kissing a pant-less Taylor Swift. Wow. Just my, fucking luck. Of course, he would! I mean what was I thinking.

"Of course not, my reputation is already bad" she breathes, cupping the side of his face.

I just watch him continue to kiss her after leaning into her touch. Debating whether to go in there, I feel frozen in my steps.

"This doesn't feel right" his deep voice sighs. No shit.

"She doesn't even care about you Harry, isn't that what you told me?" She says sweetly, such a snake.

He sighs and flips them, the scene before me, causes tears to come to my eyes. Opening the door making my presence known Harry turns to me with wide eyes while Taylor scrambles to find her pants and shirt.

"Y/n it's not-"

"I don't want to hear it" I say to him. Irritation and disgust line my voice. Grabbing the table covers I go back downstairs. I have what I need. After looking at my presentation admiring the work I've done. Harry and Taylor both come downstairs. His eyes red and puffy. I swear the tears make his eyes appear more beautiful, I hope my child has his eyes at least.

Astounded by my quiet stature he sits next to me and I stiffen. I'm just quiet because it's keeping me from crying. Taylor stares blankly at the floor.

"Why the fuck are you still here? Leave." I spit at her.

Oh, how I wish I could drink.

The doorbell rings alarming Taylor. I just walk her to the door and invite our parents in "Thank you Taylor" I say sincerely seeing her nod and pull off fast in her car. Tramp.

"What's that about?" Anne ask,

" New music" she smiles and comes in with everyone trailing her steps.

"Harry what's wrong love?" she asks wiping his tears.

"Nothing just allergies mum" she pats his back and sits at the table.

"Five years, I cannot believe it, Harry it's the longest you've had!" Rob states. "And the fans love you Y/n" Anne adds lightly patting my shoulder. "Our little girls all grown up" y/m/n wipes a fake tear from her eye. Everyone laughs. Thank god Harry is next to me so I don't have to look at him. He places his hand in my lap, but I push it off, going unnoticed by the crowd around us.

"Gift time!" I exclaim as he tries again. Placing each one down in-front of them, they all look up slightly confused.

"What's this?" Y/d/n ask.

"Open them, Haz just wait a few seconds after" they all agree. Rob opening his first then y/d/n they look at me then Harry, our moms looks match Harry's as he unwraps his gift. Stunned he looks at me with tears in his eyes. "Y-you're pregnant?"

"Yeah, surprise." Our parents run up to hug us.

"It's about time, I'm getting old over here!" Y/m/n shouts. Once they leave excitedly picking out baby names. I refuse to look at Harry. I make my way upstairs and begin packing some clothing.

"W-what are you doing?" Harry ask quietly.

"What does it look like Harry?" I say pushing past him going to the bathroom and grabbing some necessities. He just leans on the door frame watching me, still refusing to look at him. At first, I cared but I've made up my mind.

"How far along are we?"

"I'm almost 6 weeks but that doesn't matter" trying to walk past him he just grabs my arm and pulls me into him.

"I love you so much," he cries into my neck. I just stand there, motionless "I'm such a fuck up. Please don't leave me. I want to be here for you, for our baby. Y/n please." His hot tears continue to stream onto my shirt leaving a wet patch.

I soon give in rubbing his back gently. "Calm down Harry," I whisper into his ear as his sobs get louder "Breathe, okay."

Sitting on the closest surface near me, today has been long; I'm tired and pregnant give me a break. He stands between my legs looking down at me. I love him I do, and I want the best for our child, but this hurt. The one request I've had is he doesn't cheat, and he did. I stare at my feet avoiding him at all cost until his hand lifts my chin, forcing me to look at him. "I'm not asking you to forgive me, but I am asking you to stay." He states softly placing a random string of hair behind my ear. He slowly starts leaning in I don't stop him. Suddenly feeling nauseous at the thought of him kissing Taylor, I shove him away from me crying.

He tries to hold me, but I just shake my head frantically, "Harry No," I cry. "How could you!? In our house Harry!" I shout. Continuing to pack my things making myself mad at the thought of his hands all over his ex.

"Y/n I'm so sorry please just stop," clothes I need clothes, just for a few days I'll buy more later. Walking into the bedroom opening my laptop ignoring his pleads. I book a hotel for two weeks, until I situate what is happening. He just sits on the bed trying to see what I'm doing but I soon erased my browser history and factory restarted the device so he can't track anything. Let's combine our accounts so our calendars sync. A swell idea. Wiping my tears, I pack outfits for each day that wouldn't show anything to the paparazzi. He sits there with his head in his hand's sharp intakes of breath audible.

As I approach him, he assumes I'm going to touch him, but I simply go into the drawer next to him. Cringing at the thought of him and Taylor who were here not over 6 hours ago, Grasping the more recent black and white photos gently until I get a photo album for them. Contemplating for a minute looking at the small framed version of my uterus I carefully tear one off handing to him before I seal my bag and walk away, taking my keys and loading my stuff in the backseat.

Looking through the rearview mirror, saying a silent goodbye to the home I hoped to raise my child. It'll get better- I hope.

A/n: Hello Loves! This is also a piece I had on wattpad. Most of these posts today will be Wattpad uploads. I'm trying to see which platform suits my work best. Bear with me while I figure Tumblr out. Masterlist coming soon!

xoxo Janelle

#harry #harry styles #harryx reader #y/n #harry styles and y/n #harry styles one shot #harry styles imagine #writing #imagine #oneshot #smut #fanfiction #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles blurb

47 notes · View notes

wordsinwinters · 3 years

Text

Then Again, Part 26 (Peter Parker x Reader)

Masterlist (with AO3 links)

Total word count: 50,293

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18, Part 19, Part 20, Part 21, Part 22, Part 23, Part 24, Part 25,

Summary: After an intense argument and a forced-to-share-the-bed situation during their junior year decathlon trip, Peter and the Reader examine their faults and failings. As they attempt to fix their mistakes and improve their friendship, that friendship quickly begins to evolve into something else.

Slow burn fic in which all characters are included and their dynamics explored; multiple character POVs.

Betas: @girl-tips-from-satan and @fanboyswhereare-you

A/N: This isn’t my favorite chapter, but it’s been sitting in my drafts for over a year and I figured if I don’t post it now, I’ll never move on to the next. Additionally, as always, I live for feedback. 😉

Without further ado,

Then Again Part 26:

(Words: 2,825)

The bus ride will probably get boring soon, or at least as long as the girls stay asleep, but even as quiet as it is, it’s almost a perfect morning. Being early (around 6:00, I think?), there’s barely any light except street lamps and car lights, but some of the clouds on the right have caught a pretty bluish purple tinge. It reminds me of that Rainbow Fish book Aunt May used to read to me as a kid. To make it better, the morning air is chilly enough that the driver turned the heaters on low so it’s wrapped-in-a-blanket-while-it-snows warm in here. Although that also might be why, apart from general dirt and old gum, the strongest smell on the bus is salty grease— since the nearest heater is under the seat Flash spilled french fries and chicken nuggets in yesterday. It could be worse, though. I mean, it’s not necessarily a bad smell and the traffic isn’t horrible. It’s not the best, but it could definitely be louder and a lot slower. The field of flowing red tail lights ahead of us is oddly comforting, like a snail-slow pasture of mechanical color.

All in all, it’s a pretty cozy start for a dreaded five hour bus ride. It’s giving me quiet time to think. So that’s where I’m at. Or should be. I got some stuff organized in my head last night even if I keep getting distracted now. Well, it was more like a couple hours ago, since I wasn’t able to get to sleep for so long after we said goodnight. But anyway, I’m trying to focus. It’s just hard, even with both of them sleeping.

From my and Ned’s spot behind them, watching the girls’ heads gently shake and bump against each other as the bus shudders through potholes is kind of calming. They seem so peaceful from this angle, like two people who’ve never pranked me and Ned to the point we were nearly suspended, or kept us awake and annoyed by asking paradoxical hypothetical questions because they know how Ned and I will argue for days if we don’t agree on an answer, or anything else like that. It’s like finding two mischievous cats sleeping, curled up on a chair. It’s easier to appreciate them when they aren’t causing chaos. But it’s not that hard to appreciate them when they are anyway.

Though Ned and I won’t admit it when they’re fully awake, seeing their heads smack into the seat in front of them each time the bus lurched to a halt at stoplights (during the first ten minutes after they’d fallen asleep) was funnier than it should’ve been. Even knowing then that we wouldn’t mention it later didn’t stop us from exchanging silent laughs when they leaned back up, muttering unintelligible complaints before settling their heads back onto one another. For the last couple stoplights before the highway, at least, we decided to be better friends. We both stood up with one leg on the floor and one knee on our own seat so we could easily hold their foreheads back each time it happened. Again, I wouldn’t admit this out loud, even to Ned, but it’s a little bit funny that Ned was a split second slower than me, so while I kept catching MJ’s head before the stop, he half-smacked Y/N’s forehead, like a really-close-to-the-floor basketball dribble, and made a wincing face each time. A lot of times. But it did stop her from colliding with the seat, and she didn’t wake up or complain.

As nice as it is with them and almost everyone else sleeping through the dark, quiet first hour of the bus trek back to New York, I am excited for her and MJ to wake up. Whenever that is. I’ve missed them.

But anyway, I really need to focus. God. I’m not doing a great job of that this morning. Apparently. So I’m focusing now. It’s like Ned said. I need to be honest with myself.

Okay.

Alright.

No distractions.

I’m going to set myself straight now, before we get back, so I can make a game plan and be more decisive and make less mistakes. Fewer? Yeah, fewer mistakes. She’s told me that half a dozen times this since she read that grammar book last summer. But that’s not important.

If I’m being honest... I think I’ve avoided the real possibility that things could work out between us because it felt too risky. And I make some dumb, impulsive choices. So that’s saying a lot. If she said no, what’s the worst that could happen? May and Ned have been asking me that for months, and it’s been so frustrating. The answer should be obvious. The worst thing wouldn’t be the rejection, it’d be if it made her uncomfortable and she broke off our friendship. Or, even if she stuck around, if our friendship changed and I had to watch her get more and more distant, knowing it was my fault and nothing would ever go back to normal.

Those were the worst — and, I thought, most probable — possibilities. For months I’ve been certain that if anything changed, everything would, and it’d all go to shit. So I kept dodging it. And dodging her before the trip. But, then, things did change this weekend. Things are changing. We fought, and it was super shitty and awful and a total nightmare fiasco, but we made up. And she seemed almost as relieved as me when we did. Now we even have this pact about spending more time together. I know it’s officially only in the name of friendship, but something’s… different. I feel it, and I think she does too. And it doesn’t seem bad. That’s the craziest part. I mean, she even kissed me last night. On the cheek, but still. “Keep it.” Maybe May’s not ridiculous: she really might feel the same way.

I’ve been texting her this morning, actually. Aunt May. I had to admit that I’m happy she forced me to do the forehead kiss thing last night. As annoyed as I was that she and Ned ganged up on me like that, I can’t dispute the results. She kissed me! Kind of. (To be fair, she did hit my mouth a little bit even if it was an accident.) At first it made me wonder if she heard any of Ned’s shout-comments before I could turn the t.v. up to cover what he was saying. But I doubt it. Even if she felt the same way, I know her too well to think she wouldn’t freak out more and enough that it’d be noticable. Yeah, no, I’d definitely have been able to tell if she’d heard him saying things like, “Nobody’s saying you have to tell her that you googled the probability of high school sweethearts getting married that time she saved your ass on that Bronte essay, but yeah, Aunt May’s right! Just ask her to come over and either talk to her or do the hair/forehead thing!” Anyway, May’s on board with her coming over a lot this week and next week and giving us some space. So are Ned and MJ. Ned said they agreed on giving us two weeks (starting tomorrow) without them hanging out after school. And who knows, if the dance goes really well, maybe it’ll be normal for us to hang out, just us, without the whole group. Because… well, I don’t want to get too far ahead of myself.

I’ll admit, they’re the best friends I could ever have. All three of them.

And it’s nice to have them all here now, Ned to my left and the girls in front of us. It’s even nicer to be outside of class or the city or crazy study sessions and have had a short breather from all that (despite the shitshow before we smoothed things over and could enjoy it). To be somewhere chill together. Yesterday and today probably feel even better because the last few days, or even weeks… no— months, if I’m being honest— have had me in a kind of less than happy place. But that’s over now. We’re all here and things are finally good. I just wish the girls would wake up, especially since Ned’s back on his phone. Again.

Yesterday, everybody hung out for most of the afternoon, but being in the whole decathlon group isn’t the same as just being the four of us. Or two.

Speaking of two— Ned being away during this next week or two is going to make everything so… unfiltered. New. Without his interference and being able to talk to him as often as normal, it’ll mostly just be her and me. Nobody to distract attention or blame stuff on or help me out when I’m doing something dumb (which is often). Like, for example, last night when I maybe let my excitement get the better of me and I might’ve jumped on the bed and thrown a pillow that accidentally broke the lamp on the nightstand. While I don’t really think writing that “Bill Mr. Harrington” note with the school’s address was Ned’s best idea, it helped me not care too much, enough that I didn’t do something dumber like actually tell Mr. Harrington. It might come back to bite us, though. Still, he was genuinely helpful this morning when Flash showed up too.

While we were hanging out in the girls’ room waiting for them to finish packing, there was a knock on the door. I figured it was Mr. Harrington about to yell at me and Ned for the broken lamp, so I motioned to Ned to shut up and move closer to the head of the bed we were already sitting on where, courtesy of the wall between the bedroom and bathroom, he wouldn’t be able to see us as long as he stayed by the doorway. MJ gave us an odd glance before she got up to answer it. Her annoyed, “What are you doing here?” didn’t immediately disqualify Mr. Harrington, but the sound of Flash’s voice saying, “I, uh, brought you guys some muffins,” made me tense at the first syllable.

“The free muffins they give us for breakfast?”

MJ’s dripping sarcasm nearly made me laugh even though I couldn’t see her, but Y/N turning from her suitcase and walking over to join them killed it still in my throat.

“Nope,” he said. “They’re fancy muffins from a bakery a few miles away.”

I wanted to roll my eyes out of my skull.

She may not like him, but that doesn’t mean I was wrong about him being into her. What a dumb way to impress someone. “Fancy muffins.”

“Expensive?” MJ asked. Even without seeing her face, I could tell she was giving him the squint death stare. It’s scary to have to respond to that face if you don’t know what the right answer is.

“Yes, especially with the delivery fee,” he said, sounding prepared for the question, “but they’re from a small local place, not a chain, which I figured you guys would appreciate. Actually, I think you’d like the woman who owns it, she was super grouchy and hard to convince.”

“Convince?”

“They don’t normally deliver at 5 in the morning.”

“Oh, so you thought you could just—”

“What kind did you get?”

That’s one of the things I like about Y/N. She knows how to manage tempers and when to jump in; she has Flash and MJ down to a science. In that moment, though, I wanted MJ to fire her most confrontational questions at him with no mercy.

“Well, they’re all apology muffins—” I heard MJ scoff. Exactly. She gets it. “But I got blueberry, chocolate, obviously, coffee, cranberry orange, maple, I think that one has chicken in it or something, and banana nut.”

Ned and I turned towards each other with silent smirks at the last one. It’s a dumb joke, but under normal circumstances we’d never resist—

“Cool. Since you’ve brought so many, you can come in.”

Sometimes MJ drives me up the wall. This was one of those times.

I mentally took back my agreement with her scoff.

The three of them came into the room, and for a couple seconds, Flash didn’t see us. The girls were closer to the window than they were to the wall and the bed Ned and I were sitting on, and he didn’t look behind him. Until MJ pointed us out directly.

“You can give them some too,” she said, her expression bordering on smug. “Apology muffins, right?”

Flash froze for a second. I straightened my back. Neither Ned or I said anything.

“Yeah, yeah,” he nodded. “Of course.”

Surprisingly, he shook his shoulders like a bug just buzzed by his head and walked over, opening a giant rectangle of a box up to us.

“Take however many you guys want.”

I stared at him, not moving. Nobody flinched. Then I realized he was tapping the side of the box with his thumb. Not in an asshole come on, hurry up way, but in an anxious way. Just as I started to reach toward the box, Y/N asked:

“Why’d you get so many of the coffee ones?”

Flash looked away at just the right second.

Did I technically cave first by reaching into the box? Yes. But did anyone see? No.

Although, I guess he technically caved by offering us the muffins in the first place. Ha. All the same, I took a blueberry one.

“They’re my dad’s favorite. I wanted to surprise him, you know? But I can’t even get a hold of.... Um, are your guys’ parents going to pick you up when we get there, or are you actually staying for school?”

“Staying.”

“All of you?”

He looked around to ask all of us, even me and Ned. We all nodded. When he looked at me, though, his eyes twitched. It’s a face I’ve gotten a lot before. He realized he said parents.

“You said these are orange cranberry?” Ned asked, pointing.

Flash nodded.

“They’re solid, though the banana nut ones are probably the best.”

As I said, under normal circumstances, like if one of the girls had said it, I would’ve laughed right then, but I’m not used to laughing around Flash. Ned, who usually follows that same rule, shook his head and grinned, if a little bit... nervously?

“Hell no!” he said, pretending to be mildly outraged. “I’m not eating banana-bust-a-nut muffins.”

A second surprise: Flash tilted his head and paused, clearly as stunned to be told a joke by Ned as the rest of us were to witness it— and laughed. So did everyone else. It was only for a few seconds, like literally three quick seconds, but for the first time for as long as I can remember, all of us were laughing with Flash. It stopped almost as soon as it started.

Tension crept back in soon so he left pretty quickly after that with an awkward, “See you guys in a few.” Thank god.

The girls finished tidying their room and going over the homework that’s due today (which we did last week since we knew we’d never get it done on the trip), before forcing me and Ned into the hallway so Mr. Harrington wouldn’t need to check our room for us and potentially find the broken lamp.

And then, pretty soon, we ended up on the warm bus, loaded in with everyone else. It seemed like everybody but Ned and I were too quiet and sleepy and squinty to be able to talk much before dozing off or staring blankly out the window or scrolling social media on their phones, the latter two options leading to the first in most cases. At this point, I think Ned, Flash, and I are the only ones still awake.

I’m going to work at tolerating him. As long as he doesn’t cross any lines with anybody from now on, I won’t bait him either. (Admittedly, I’ve been guilty of that, especially recently.) I mean, his comment about his dad was hard to miss. And even when he said it, it wasn’t a shock. Everyone in our grade at some point has had to listen to Flash’s rambling excuses for his parents ignoring or forgetting to show up for school events. Maybe being a dick is just hereditary for him. Or a family tradition.

I don’t remember how I got so off track. Where was I before? Oh yeah. Risk. Possibilities. The almost-worst case scenario that turned out not so bad. It’s been a messy weekend with plenty of re-evaluating, but the point is simple: I think I’ve got to give a few new things a try, and I’m excited to have a chance over the next couple weeks.

Next update: God only knows.

Tag List: If you’d like to be tagged, send me a(n) ask/message or reply* to this post!

*Notice: If you reply, I may not respond back; if you need/want confirmation, send me an ask/message instead :) Also, there are a few blogs whose tags aren’t working and I haven’t been able to contact them. For the time being, I removed most of the dead tags. If you weren’t tagged and should have been, or if you’ve changed your url, send me a quick message and I’ll put you on my message list!

Tagged: (If I’m missing anyone, send me a message!) @spideymood @solarspidey @tiffanypooh @carrotsunshine @breebree1198 @idontlooklikereginageorge @stumb1ing @bit-bot0711 @justthatshortlittlenerd @avzuzu @melonmochi @happysynonym @the-redthread @i-love-superhero @ohgloryyy-blog @nicunty @pxrrished @shugr12110629 @realitykilledtheteen@thehanneloner @lionfart @tryn25 @slythergirlimagines@twentyjuanpancakes @littlekay15 @hi-mishamigos @eversweet-imagines @thisisthetragicstoryofme @augurydemon@daisy-john @siriuspadfoot14 @debiwolf-t @casual-vaporwave@swimmeranxiety @dangerousluv1 @ghosthiam @homecomjng @deep-thoughts-in-the-shower @bughead-isendgame @qu3en-of-letters @brightcolorsoffendme @cutehollands @enoumen-t @dottirose @justthatshortlittlenerd @thatgirlthatlikesmarvel@moonofmy-life @royal1958 @ashleyhearto @pinkleopardss @cutie1365 @spideyschmood @dragoste-lunes @peterparkley @gold-masks @stonesandskeletonbones @myhealingstar @a-typical-antisocial-fangirl @love-and-protect-bucky-barnes@fangirldreamsandstuff @fandom-stuff @unabashedlyswimmingtimemachine @jellzu @aussie-mantle@stevieboyharrington @septicquill @thingfromlove @dude-whatawave @me-a-hopeless-romantic @condy-wants-a-cookie @susurrantsoul @kawaii-girl-101 @lxstneverfound @ukulele-tea-and-ocean @tepidtrash @emilymarie0422 @styles-bucks@shortstack-ofpancakes @lilbeatlebear @imyourdadssideblog @the-introverted-loner-art @marvelcuties @lesdragly @atomic-chickenwings @reanne @schwankyblock @nedthegay @kateelyse96@outsider-underwater @omg-lexiloveyou @le-yona @desteweirdo@thingfromlove @madasameg @bookish-and-shy @lowkeyfriggason @arya-and-sansa @hot-pocket01 @icantthinkofanyusername0 @ajkenwo

#peter parker x reader #peter parker imagine #peter parker x you #marvel imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland imagine #tom holland x you #spiderman x reader #spiderman imagine #spiderman x you #peter parker #tom holland

75 notes · View notes

superwho-am-i-kidding · 3 years

Text

Raise the Stakes (PART 1)

Illogical husbands! There's never enough content for this ship, I swear. This is going to be a 3 part story, so keep an eye out in the coming days for the next parts! When they're posted, they will be linked here: (PART 2) (PART 3)

This part has minimal trigger warnings, though the next one will have more. This part only mentions "off-screen" death and anxiety.

Remember, my ask box is always open!!! Send in your own prompts and requests!

Read below the cut. I don't want to take up too much of your lovely dash space!

Bill wearily dragged his luggage behind him as he heavily got into a taxi. The rain outside was near deafening, and he had to shout for the driver to hear where he was going. “Broadchurch!”

“Aye,” the man replied, starting out on the journey that was sure to take far longer than he would have liked. Bill sat back in the seat and closed his eyes, letting out a long sigh. He was finally on his way home. He opened his eyes a while later and pulled out his phone, glancing at the time. He had already been asleep for over an hour. Alec had to be on his way to work by now. Bill shook his head, knowing the detective; he was probably already there. His thumb automatically selected the speed dial, and the phone sprang to life.

“Angel,” a fond voice came through the speaker after two rings, the Scottish accent pouring thickly through the line. Bill didn’t realize how much he had missed it. “How was your flight?”

“Long,” Bill complained. “I don’t understand why I have to keep going back to Saint Louis. You know I’d rather just stay home with you.”

“You have to present your findings,” Alec said. “Get your name in all the American papers and magazines.”

Bill sighed, a small smile on his lips as he leaned his head back. “I only need my name on one thing.”

“Mm, and what is that?” Bill could hear the mischievous tone in Alec’s voice.

“Our wedding license.”

Alec chuckled warmly. “Still can’t convince you to take my name, can I?”

“I’ve got the doctorate. The name stays,” Bill said firmly.

“So I’ve heard. Stubborn bastard.”

Bill snorted, “Would you like to be the pot or the kettle?”

“Kettle,” Alec decided. Bill let out a bark of laughter. “What? What did I say?”

“Nothing, dear. Just the way you say ‘kettle’ is funny.”

“I’m glad I could amuse you,” Alec grumbled.

Bill sighed into the comfortable silence that fell between them. “I miss you,” he said quietly.

“You’ll be home soon, angel,” Alec comforted him. “I’ll wait for you here.”

“Don’t you need to be at work?”

Alec sighed. “I am. I’m working on a case from home. I’ll explain it when you get here.” He sighed again, quieter this time. “I love you, angel. Even when I’m gone, I’ll always love you.”

Bill snorted tiredly. “Don’t even think about it, mister. You’re not tapping out until I say you can. And that won’t be for a while. I don’t care what cases your boss puts you on.”

“Right,” Alec took a breath. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

Bill smiled. “I know. I’ll be at the house in less than twenty minutes, and I expect a grand welcome.”

“Anything,” Alec replied. “Anything for you. I love you,” he insisted.

Bill smiled once more. “I love you, too, my dearest. I’ll be home in a jiffy.” He closed his eyes once more, only to open them again when the driver spoke.

“How long have you been gone?”

“Three terrible weeks,” Bill replied. “I had meetings every day. I can’t wait to be back in my own bed.”

“I’d keep my guard up in bed,” the driver scoffed. “D’you know what’s been going on in Broadchurch lately?”

A pit settled into Bill’s stomach. “I haven’t heard of anything since that killer a few years back. What happened?”

The driver shrugged. “The killer you mentioned, the Butcher. He escaped from prison a week ago. So far, I’ve heard five people turned up dead, and they’re not any closer to finding him.”

“What?” Bill shook his head. “That’s impossible! The Butcher was put in the most secure prison in the area.”

“Not secure enough, I guess,” he said. “I heard he’s gonna disappear soon. Get rid of the pigs on his trail and vanish. I’d wait until he does.”

“How far away are we?”

The driver glanced at the map on his phone. “Got another five minutes, I think.”

Bill’s knee began bouncing restlessly as he stared at the gray scenery outside of his window. The taxi finally stopped outside of Bill’s home and he stumbled to get out as quickly as possible. “Thank you,” he handed the driver a handful of crumpled dollars. “Keep the change.” He bustled up the driveway and pounded on the door. “Alec? I’m home.” His heart sped up when there was no answer. “Alec! Alec!” His fist kept beating the wood of the door.

The door swung open and Bill caught sight of Alec pulling up the zipper to his pants. “Angel! I was in the bathroom. Are you alright?” His brown eyes were wide with worry.

Bill flung himself into Alec’s arms and whimpered. “I missed you.”

Alec let out his breath. “I missed you, too.”

Bill pulled back after a moment. “Did you wash your hands?”

“You were screaming your bloody lungs out at the front door! Wasn’t exactly my first priority.”

“That’s how germs are spread. Go wash,” Bill pushed lightly on Alec’s chest.

“You go put on something dry. You’re dripping water all over the floor.”

“I think I need a hot shower.”

“What about a bath, hm? I’ll join you,” he winked.

Bill laughed. “That sounds lovely, my dear. Thank you.”

Alec made his way to the bathroom and began running the tap. It warmed quickly, though the filling process was slow. Bill came into the room a moment later and dropped his heavy clothes into a soggy puddle on the floor. He stepped into the tub and sighed, leaning back onto the lean chest behind him. Alec wrapped his arms around the doctor, planting a kiss on the back of his head. “Would you like me to wash your hair?”

Bill hummed an affirmation, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “You’re too good to me.”

“I know,” Alec craned forward and kissed the extended neck of the man in front of him. “My shampoo or yours?”

“Yours, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Alec parroted fondly. He took some shampoo in his hand and began massaging it into Bill’s scalp. The doctor practically purred beneath his strong fingers. “That good, huh?”

“I’ve had to do it myself for a month,” Bill whined. “It’s impossible to massage your own head.”

“You poor thing.”

“I know,” Bill sank down a bit more into the water. “Maybe I will take your name…” he mumbled.

Alec sputtered in surprise, his hands freezing. “What?”

Bill shrugged, fidgeting for Alec to continue massaging his head. “I’ve been married twice before. Neither marriage lasted. But, I’ve been told that the third time’s the charm. And maybe the charm is you,” Bill felt his cheeks warm slightly.

“Bill…” Alec brushed his fingers across the doctor’s head, washing away some of the shampoo. “My name isn’t going to make the marriage last. We are.” He rinsed the rest of the doctor’s hair, kissing the clean strands. “But William Hardy does have a nice ring to it.”

Bill let out a small laugh. “It also has a piece of you.”

“Angel,” Alec lifted Bill’s chin, “you have all of me. I love you.”

“I love you, too.” Bill stood and helped Alec out of the bath, both of them wrapping themselves in their bathrobes. They kissed once more before shuffling into the bedroom to change into some comfortable day clothes. “Alec?”

“Yeah?”

Bill sat on the edge of the bed as he pulled up his socks. “The case you’re working on… it doesn’t have anything to do with the Butcher escaping, does it?”

The detective stopped buttoning his shirt, “How do you know about that?”

“Cabbie told me,” Bill muttered. “Said he’s planning to go after all the cops that put him away two years ago. And after the ones trying to put him back,” he lifted his head and met the weary gaze.

“Bill…”

“Why wouldn’t you tell me you were working a case like this? I would have come home sooner!”

“Exactly why I didn’t tell you!” Alec moved to stand in front of the doctor. “I didn’t want you being put in unnecessary danger. I hoped we would get him back before you came home.”

“What about you? Don’t you think I want you to avoid unnecessary danger, too?”

“I’m careful,” Alec said. “We’re closing in. He should be back in custody within a couple of days, just you watch. In the meantime, I want you to be careful. I can’t lose you, angel.”

“You won’t,” Bill promised. He yawned and turned onto the bed. “Smells like you,” he commented, eyes closed as he lay on his pillow.

“It smelled like you. I missed you,” Alec sighed, perching on the edge of the bed to pull the blankets over Bill. “Holding your pillow helped me sleep.”

Bill opened one eye and smiled. “You like how I smell?”

“Of course I do,” Alec shook his head. “You’d know if I didn’t.” Bill hummed, closing his eyes again. “Didn’t realize you were so tired. I’ll let you sleep.”

“Jetlag,” Bill mumbled. “Just need a couple hours to shake it off.” He whined when Alec’s phone rang.

“It’s Miller,” Alec said. “I have to take this. Get some rest, okay?”

Bill nodded, slipping into sleep almost immediately. When he woke up, the sun was low in the sky. He sat up and stretched, letting out a groan. “Alec?” He shambled downstairs, not finding the detective in the living room. Bill entered the kitchen, a worried frown on his face. “Alec?”

The detective spun around, his face pale and eyes bright with anxiety. “Bill!”

Bill frowned deeper when he took in the alcohol in Alec’s hand. “What’s the matter?” He gasped in surprise when Alec pulled him into a vicelike embrace. “You’re scaring me,” his voice trembled.

“M’ sorry…” Alec sniffed. “Went to the station after Miller called. The Butcher is still killing. We’re at six victims now. I have to stop him, but I don’t know if I have the strength.”

“Alec,” Bill sighed. “You’re the strongest man I’ve ever met. If anyone is going to catch this guy, it’s going to be you.”

“You think?”

Bill smiled, cradling the detective’s face with one hand. “I know it.” He leaned forward and kissed the man’s nose. “You’re smart, too. You’ll figure this out soon.”

“I love you,” Alec whimpered quietly.

Bill shushed him with a gentle kiss. “Let’s sit down, hm?” He led them to the living room and sat down on the couch. Bill sat back on the couch and pulled Alec to his chest. “Do you want to talk about who it was?”

Alec shook his head. “M’ not supposed to tell you…”

“That’s alright, dear, I understand.”

“But I have to tell you,” Alec looked up, his eyes bearing windows to the torment within. “It was Thomas Brooks.”

“The doctor?” Bill gasped. “But who will take care of his patients?”

“That’s why I had to tell you,” Alec sighed. “I know they’ll ask you to take over.”

Bill softened his expression. “And you knew I wouldn’t be able to say no.” He looked over towards his phone as it began to ring. “I have to say yes,” he picked up the device and met Alec’s eyes.

“I know,” he sighed.

“This is Dr. Masters,” Bill answered the call. “I heard he had gotten free, yes… Dear lord, that’s dreadful. I couldn’t imagine… It would be my pleasure to help you during this hour of need… Yes, I will see you soon. Goodbye.”

Alec clung tighter to Bill’s chest. “Promise me you’ll be careful. Don’t ever be alone in a room with a patient, even if they seem harmless. Please, just promise me that.”

Bill rested his cheek on top of Alec’s head. “I promise you, dear, that I will do everything in my power to keep myself safe until that madman is caught.”

“Thank you,” Alec whispered. “I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe, as well. Do you trust me?” He looked up, locking gazes with the stormy eyes in front of him.

“With my life.” They sat together on the sofa for a while before Bill glanced at his watch and sighed. “I should get to the hospital. They need me.”

“I need you,” Alec muttered.

“You have me, dearest,” Bill sighed softly. “You always will.” He gently pulled Alec from him. “It’s just overnight,” he assured. “I’ll be home tomorrow morning before you even get the chance to miss me.”

“I already do.”

Bill forced himself to stand and open the suitcase that sat at the foot of the stairs. He pulled out a button down shirt and a bowtie, quickly putting them on. “Get some sleep, love. And please remember to eat something for dinner.”

Alec nodded, following Bill to the front door. He kissed the doctor slowly. “I love you so much, Bill.”

“I love you more,” he replied. Bill closed the door behind him and unlocked his car. He quickly got in and locked the doors behind him. He took a deep breath and started the car, making short time of the distance to the hospital. He parked and entered the building hastily, looking over his shoulder. The receptionist at the front greeted him warmly and directed him to the floors he would be attending. He grabbed a black coffee from the lounge and downed it, gathering his first clipboard of the evening.

#my writing #raise the stakes #illogical husbands #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfic #good omens #angst #but who's suprised #bill masters #alec hardy #broadchurch #masters of sex

10 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 3 years

Text

Growing Together - Chapter Twenty-Eight - The Proof Is In the Brownie

Author's note:

Hello beautiful people! It's been such a long time since I have posted, and I'm truly sorry for the no-show, but things ahve been hectic at work and I really couldn't get myself in the right headspace to write, but now we're hopefully rolling! I struggled a lot deciding whether I should write this chapter or not. It doesn't feel like my usual narrative, some of you will find it unusual, and still I had to get it out of my head. If you can, leave me a comment or an ask with your opinion!

So, without further ado, let's get to it!

“Oh God.” I croaked, looking around. “I think we took this thing way too far.”

Victor lifted his head from my shoulder, disheveled hair still covered with flour.

“You think?” He frowned. “We destroyed the kitchen.”

Feeding Instructions

“Andy, will you come here for a second?” I heard Victor call from the hallway.

“Yeah.” I stopped beside the aquarium, running my fingers through my wet hair.

“This is how much you give him.” He showed me a small plastic spoon with lobster pellet food. “Twice a day. Once in the morning, once in the evening. No more than that.”

Here we go.

“Are you also instructing me on how many times I should feed our son, or is it just the lobster?”

“You forget you fed him, and then you feed him more than necessary.” He dropped the food into the aquarium. “He’s getting fatter, his exoskeleton doesn’t even get a chance to harden.” He paused, staring at the aquarium. “Maybe I should make you a sheet to keep track of his feeding.”

“For the last time, Victor, I am not overfeeding the lobster! I am perfectly able to remember if I have fed him or not, I’m not senile.” I walked back to our room, starting to feel annoyed.

“This from the person who forgot her phone inside the refrigerator.” I heard him follow me.

“That is different, I was getting a yogurt for Owen and I was holding the phone...”

“I would buy you some memory supplements, but you’ll probably forget to take them.” He mocked me.

“You know, if you are so worried about the lobster, don’t go.” I turned to him. “Stay and feed him yourself.”

“You know I can’t do that. I need to make sure everything is running smoothly before the inauguration.” He held me by the waist.

“Right.” I leaned my head against his chest with a heavy sigh. ”And I need to stay behind to look after LCG and help Goldman if he needs me.”

“It’s only for two weeks.” He pressed his chin on top of my head. “Then you’ll meet me in Paris, and we can make up for the lost time.”

I wrapped my arms tightly around him, like somehow my embrace could force him to stay. Although traveling was a big part of Victor’s job, since we got Owen he used to avoid it as much as he could, and I got used to having him with us all the time. I knew LFG France was a big project that demanded a lot of his attention, especially during the first months, and he had no choice but to go, yet I still resented the fact that I would have to endure two weeks without his warmth, sleeping alone in a cold bed.

“In the meantime, will you please try not to kill our pet?” He broke our embrace, pecking me in the forehead. “Twice a day. No more, no less.”

“Oh, for the love of-”

“Nevermind, I’ll just ask Owen.”

And with that, my husband left me alone in our bedroom, probably to avoid the insults I was about to throw at him.

A Brownie a Day Keeps the Sadness Away

“You’re leaving tomorrow?” Owen poked his eggs. “But I have to go to school today, I won’t have any time to be with you before we leave.”

“We have tonight.” Victor smiled at his son.

“It’s no use, it’s not enough time.” The boy pouted. “And I’ll be too sad to enjoy it anyway.”

I couldn’t help but chuckle at my five-year-old drama. Victor gave me a knowing look.

“Well, that being the case, I may as well return the tickets I bought to the Insectopia exhibition.” Victor spoke casually, his eyes on his phone.

Owen dropped his fork and looked at his father, his sweet brown eyes sparkling.

“We are going to see Insectopia today?”

Victor got up from the table calmly, retrieving an orange cardboard box from the fridge.

“We were, but since you are so depressed, you may not want to do it. I even bought your favorite brownies from Hungry Hippo, but I understand if you lost your appetite.”

“I can have brownies for breakfast?!?” Owen’s eyes opened so wide I thought they were going to pop out.

“Finish your eggs first.” Victor took three more plates from the cupboard, serving us all brownies. Owen took his fork again, eating his eggs in a rush.

“Done!” He announced after what felt like 10 seconds. “I want a brownie please!”

“God, Owen, did you even chew your food?!?” I looked at my son’s plate, surprised to see it empty. But I don’t think he even heard me, already busy cutting his brownie.

“Hmmm, these are sooo goood!” Owen closed his eyes as he took a bite of his brownie. “The best brownies ever, better than all other brownies! Not even Dad can make brownies this good!”

My husband’s face fell.

“My brownies are not this good?”

“No, these are so much better!” Owen replied with his mouth full of chocolate.

Victor gave me an inquisitive look. I sipped my coffee, pretending not to notice.

“Hmm.” He frowned, cutting a piece of his brownie with the fork and bringing it to his mouth. After a moment, his frown deepened. “They are. But how?”

Playing My Brownies Right

As usual, we drove Owen to school and headed to LFG Tower to work. On a regular day, Victor and I would spend our commute time talking about our daily affairs, clients we would meet, who would cook dinner or pick Owen up. But since it was his last day at home before he flew to Paris, all of that seemed irrelevant. The whole day just felt a bit sad for me.

“I wish you could take the day off for us to spend some time together. It’s been ages since we had some time for ourselves.”

“Some other time.” He sighed. “I need to get some last-minute affairs in order before I leave.”

“Can’t you take some time and have Goldman do it?” I complained. “You’ve been working non-stop.”

“I should take care of some things myself.”

“Funny, back when I was publishing my study, you were such a firm believer in delegating.” I squinted at him.

“Different situations.”

“Because I’m me and you’re you?”

There was a moment of silence, and I smiled thinking Victor was mulling over my astonishing comeback. Turns out, he wasn’t even listening.

“Do you think those brownies are better than mine?”

“That is your main concern right now!?”

“Well, are they?” He insisted.

“Ok, consider this a lesson of tough love.” I turned to him. “Yes, they are. Happy Hippo’s brownies are vastly superior to yours. And that’s ok. You don’t have to be good at everything. Someone can’t be good at everything.”

“I beg to differ.” He frowned, watching the road. “My whole life, I worked hard to achieve perfection, and I have reached it. I believe that with consistent effort and dedication, one can be good at anything.”

I stifled a laugh.

“Not brownies, though.”

“Don’t think I can’t tell you are mocking me.”

“Oh no, I’m going to lose brownie points.” I poked him.

“Will you back off?” He poked back. “I have plenty to do today, I don’t want to catch moronitis from you.”

“You know, if you were so good at everything, I’m sure you would have no trouble delegating your tasks to Goldman and spending the day with me.” I gave him a daring look. “In fact, I bet you can’t.”

“You bet?” He smiled mischievously at me. There was nothing Victor loved more than a good challenge. Unfortunately for him, I was well aware of that.

“Want to make it official?”

“It depends. What are the terms of this bet?”

“For today, until Owen arrives from school, if I dare you to do something, you’ll need to do it, and you need to do it perfectly. If I win, you’ll have to admit you are not good at everything. Also, you can’t nag me about anything for a whole month. Not about lobster food, not about the mess I make in the bathroom, nothing.”

“Fair enough. So if I win, you’ll have to always agree with what I say and act accordingly for a month. During that time, what I say goes, and you can’t go against it. And you will have to acknowledge my prowess as well.”

“I always have to agree? So I can never tell you that you’re wrong?” I frowned.

“Not for thirty days, you can’t.”

“Not even if you are talking your way into sleeping on the couch?”

“That won’t happen because you’ll always agree with me.” He smiled. “See? It’s a foolproof plan.”

“You have to win first.” I dared.

“I’m confident about my chances.” Keeping a cautious eye on the road, he pressed the screen of his phone. “And to show you I mean it, I will complete the first challenge.”

“You’re taking the day off?” I smiled, surprised to see my teasing work so well.

“I was already planning to, you idiot.” He pretended to be angry, although I could see him suppressing a smile. “I only had a short meeting to attend and then I would whisk you away from the office for some time for two. Sadly, you had to act childishly and ruin the surprise.”

Awww, soft Victor. I leaned against his bicep, my heart filled with love for this man. It almost made me feel bad for planning to make his day a living hell. Almost.

Put Your Mouth Where Your Brownie Is

“A supermarket? That’s your idea of time for two?”

“It’s been a while since we’ve had a quiet day at home, just the two of us.” Victor replied, filling our cart with several items. “And cooking together seems like a nice activity.”

“Well, since you’ll be gone for so long, I thought we could use some more…” I batted my eyelids at him. “... intimate time.”

“Fear not, I will not leave my wife unsatisfied.” He smiled.

That smile was enough to leave me a babbling horny mess. Get it together, Andrea.

It wasn’t until we stopped by the dairy fridge that I paid close attention to the contents of our cart: chocolate, sugar, flour, and a stick of unsalted butter Victor had just put there.

“We’re going to bake brownies.” My good mood was gone at that exact second. We were supposed to be taking time for us, how could he even think about brownies?

“We are going to try and recreate that recipe, perhaps even improve it.”

“Well, don’t use that butter then. Use this one instead.” I retrieved a stick of regular butter from the fridge.

“I will not use cheap butter to bake.” He put the salted butter in its original place. “It alters the consistency and flavor. It belongs on warm bread, not brownies.”

I could say I was disappointed that Victor was more concerned about his pride than the short time we had to be together before his trip. I could even say that it upset me how condescending he would sound sometimes, always telling me how to do things, like I was Owen’s age. All of these were true, but that wasn’t what was bothering me the most. Victor would leave soon, and we wouldn’t see each other for two weeks, and I knew I would be a needy insecure mess during the time he would be away, barely able to sleep on that giant bed by myself, missing his loving whispers in the morning, his huge sweaty body making love to me. To add insult to injury, this distance didn’t seem to affect Victor at all. He was cool as a cucumber, like this long trip away from his family was just another Tuesday.

I felt entitled to some pettiness.

“You know what? Forget about the old bet.” I took the stick of butter and placed it again in our cart. “Let’s make a new one. Same consequences, different challenge.”

“What do you have in mind?” He came closer, looking me in the eye.

“Simple.” I stared back defiantly. “The best brownie wins.”

All is Fair in Love and Brownies

The terms were pretty straightforward: we had fifteen minutes to prepare the batter, after which we would put both trays in the oven, simultaneously, and bake them for the exact same time. If we couldn’t decide on which brownie was the best, Owen would have the final say. The winner would have absolute power over the household for a month, and could not be defied during that time, unless in dire circumstances.

We placed the ingredients on the counter, along with the bowls and pans we would need. Victor started the timer on his phone.

“Ready?” He glanced at me.

“Let’s get this party started.” I smiled.

It was showtime.

Victor and I loved cooking together, but our cooking methods couldn’t be more different. I was more of a messy cooker, leaving eggshells on the counter, and flour everywhere, and most times my clothes would also become victims of my culinary endeavors, while Victor was methodical and clean, neatly arranging his ingredients on the counter, carefully measuring each one of them. Surprisingly, we worked pretty well together: Victor quickly embraced my spontaneous side and I obviously benefited immensely from his methodic one. Side by side, as competitors, not so much. That became clear when I grabbed the flour and placed it absentmindedly on the counter, the bag still open.

“Close the bag after you use it.” Victor paused his mixing to close the flour bag. “Clumsy as you are, you’ll spill flour all over the counter.”

“So what?” I shrugged, busy mixing my batter. “It’s just flour, we’ll clean it afterward.”

“Have you noticed how filthy your side of the counter is? How can you work in such chaos?” He scolded. “Eggshells everywhere, flour and sugar on the floor…” He wiped my forehead. “How did you even get flour on your face?”

And there he was again, talking to me like I was five. Oh boy.

“I’m sorry, is my mess making you uncomfortable?”

“Just stay on your side of the counter, I don’t want to get stains on my shirt.”

That was enough. If Victor was so adamant about treating me like a child, I would act like one.

“Oops!” I tilted the sugar jar over the counter, sugar spilling all over Victor’s side. “You are right, I can be really messy.”

“What’s the matter with you?” He quickly grabbed a cloth. “Are you trying to aggravate me on purpose?”

“Maybe I am.” I shrugged. “I mean, I’m sure a perfect man like you must be prepared to deal with all challenges life throws at him, including a messy wife.”

“A little sugar isn’t going to stop me, if that's what you think.” He gave me a smug look, returning to his work. “I’ll still win.”

“Is that so?” I paused my mixing, wondering what I could do to get him pissed.

“Easy now, don’t go doing things you might regret.” Victor raised an eyebrow at me, like he somehow had read my mind.

“I think my batter is ready. Tell me what you think.” I grabbed the spoon I was using to mix and whipped it towards Victor, a bunch of brownie batter landing on his neck and face. “Yummy, right?”

Victor paused, his eyes closed, taking a deep breath as he wiped the chocolate from his face. For a moment I thought he would just scream at me and storm away. I had something quite different.

“Not quite ready yet.” He took the flour bag and dumped it all over me. “It needs more flour."

“Are you sure?” I gave him a defying look, after wiping some of the flour off me. “Have another taste.”

And I did the unthinkable. I took my mixing bowl and poured it all over his shirt and pants.

“For the record,” Victor said after recovering from the initial shock, “you were the one who started this.”

I really can’t tell who threw what next, but the next thing I know is we were in full battle mode, ingredients flying everywhere. Victor got a clear advantage when he remembered he had some eggs close by. Thankfully, I was quick to react and managed to avoid being bombarded by opening the fridge door and hiding behind it. And that’s when I saw it. The can of whipped cream I had bought to garnish the other brownies, and that Victor had refused to use because food in a can is unacceptable. Well, I would put it to good use now. I emerged from behind my improvised shelter, shaking the can vigorously.

“Now, if you’re smart,” I pointed the nozzle at him, “you’ll admit defeat and walk away.”

“If you were smart”, he walked confidently towards me, “you’d know it takes a lot more than whipped cream for me to fold.” Before I could react, he grabbed both my wrists and made me twirl, holding my arms behind my back, the can forgotten on the floor. “Now admit defeat.” He whispered in my ear, from behind me.

“Oh, bite me.” I scoffed.

He didn’t waste a second. He took my earlobe in his mouth and bit it hard.

“Satisfied?”

I gave him a daring look.

“Harder.”

Bigger Brownies to Bake

My defiance was like a trigger in Victor’s mind. He didn’t give me any time to think or react, turning me effortlessly in his arms, his mouth taking mine in a passionate kiss. And just like that, our food fight turned into a steamy make-out session.

Yes, the kitchen was a mess, and Victor would be leaving soon, but none of the things that bothered us before seemed to matter at that moment, as we focused solely on each other and the way we felt, the world a blurry notion in the back of our minds. We simply gave in to our lust, kissing, touching, teasing, hands ripping clothes apart and throwing them on the ground. Victor was far from cold, despite popular belief, he was a very intense man, and loving him was just as intense. Every time we gave in to our feelings like this, it was like being swallowed by a gigantic yet pleasurable wave, only hoping we would come out whole in the end. We made love right then and there, on our kitchen island, too entranced to think of anything else. It was only when we came down from our high, landing in each other’s arms with a wide grin on our faces, that we minded the real world again.

“Oh God.” I croaked, looking around. “I think we took this thing way too far.”

Victor lifted his head from my shoulder, his hair covered with flour.

“You think?” He frowned. “We destroyed the kitchen.”

Our eyes met for a second before we both burst into laughter. Problems like a dirty kitchen seem so silly when we’re happy.

“Will you tell me why you have been so moody with me lately?” He pulled me closer to his chest.

“I haven’t…” I started defending myself, but gave up when I noticed him glaring at me. “I have been moody, yes, you are right.” I sighed. “I know this is stupid and you’ll probably make fun of me, but the idea of having you away for so long… it’s unsettling.”

“Idiot, it’s only for a few weeks.” He chuckled. “Before you know it, you’ll be taking the jet to meet me.”

“See? And that infuriates me too!” I pushed away from his arms. “Here I am, pouring my heart out, and you laugh! Like this is a joke, like there is no reason for me to be feeling that way, especially when it’s clear you won’t-”

He pressed his lips against mine, and as usual, my thoughts evaded me completely. His kiss was sweet and soothing, taking away all my anxiety. He took my face in his hands and broke the kiss to look into my eyes, his voice with a sweeter yet vulnerable tone now.

“You are usually so good at reading me.” He smiled. “How can you think I don’t care?”

His eyes were filled with such honesty that I began to question my reasoning as well. That man did nothing but love me, deeply, every day. How could I possibly question that? I watched as he lifted my wrist, holding the red ruby charm between these fingers.

“I carry your heart with me.” He whispered.

“I carry it in my heart.” I returned.

“I may not say much, but my word is biding. You never need to worry about these things, you have the answer to them already. Here.” He pointed at my bracelet. “Here.” He took my left hand, kissing my ring finger. “And hopefully, here.” His hand rested on my chest. “Even when this gets you in trouble.” He tapped my forehead with a smile. “I give all these reminders and still you forget? You are in dire need of those memory supplements.”

“Damn it.” I shook my head. “You won.”

“No, the terms were that the best brownie would win. We didn’t get to bake them.”

“You wanted to prove to me that you are perfect.” I wrapped my arms around his neck. “And you did. You are absolutely perfect. At least for me.”

“Well, that being the case…” He came closer, brushing his lips against mine. “I think we have a tie.”

The kitchen was pristine clean when Owen came from school, and our little adventure became our secret, a private joke we shared in our moments of intimacy. Another proof that, even in chaos and uncertainty, we would always find each other.

This project has been going for a year now (it started in February 2020) and it won't be over any time soon, so I would like to ask you, as much as possible, for your support, because we still have a very long way to go. So, if you enjoy the work, don't forget to comment and reblog. It gives it traction and enables other people to learn about it, and for me to get more excited about what I do.

#victor mldd #mlqc victor #love and producer fanfic #li zeyan #Growing Pains - Series #growingtogether #victor x oc

14 notes · View notes

depressedkakashihatake-fics · 3 years

Text

I’m Not That Short

Hatake Kakashi/Maito Gai

1615 Words

A jokester.

Gai thought he was a jokester. It was going to be his new career and he was going to make everyone in the world laugh because he was so damn funny. No one would be safe from his perfect, hilarious jokes.

He’d change the world with just how funny he is.

“You look upset, Rival,” Narrowing his eyes, Kakashi glared over at his friend from his hiding place under the tree. Having removed himself from the small group of friends that had gathered there that morning he hoped to avoid any further commentary from Gai. Apparently his plan was not going to work. “Do you not like our plans to go out to Ichiraku Ramen for lunch? It’s ok if you’re worried about sitting on the stool, I’ll help you up.”

The small group burst into laughter, and Kakashi’s rage only grew.

“I’m not even that short!” He snapped “Genma, Ebisu shut up! You’re both the same height as me!”

“Are you sure about that, Rival?” Gai took a moment to look between him and the two men currently holding onto each other's shoulders to keep themselves standings. “I don’t think you’re right at all. Genma at least comes up to my chest.”

Genma doesn’t even argue with Gai over the jab even though he’s clearly only a few inches shorter than the bastard, just like Kakashi. Instead, he actually falls over laughing.

At least he was having fun with this. Kakashi certainly wasn’t.

“Come on,” It takes a considerable amount of effort not to crawl out of his skin when Gai shows up directly in front of him. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to just how fast Gai was. “If you’re nice I’ll even let you sit on my shoulders during the festival tomorrow so you don’t miss anything all the way down there.”

“I am three inches shorter than you!” He finally snapped, surging forward to tackle Gai to the ground. There was no intent to hurt behind the tackle, which is probably why Gai let him get away with it instead of slamming him onto his back right away. “Quit it with the short jokes!”

For a second he thinks Gai might actually listen. There’s a soft look of contemplation, and even remorse for a second.

Only a second though, and then it’s gone and Gai’s right back to where they started.

“My papa always said the shorter a person is the angrier they are. Such a tiny body can’t hold that much anger i guess, so you just have to let it out more than us taller people.’

Why was he friends with this asshole again?

Oh, right. No one else liked him as a kid and this was his punishment. Putting up with endless ‘short jokes’ for the rest of his life.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------- Quiet.

Peace and quiet after a long, grueling day of endless D rank missions with his team. No Naruto screaming in his ear, or Sasuke pouting in a corner somewhere, or Sakura trying to desperately prove that she is the only normal person on their team.

Just him, his book, and the sound of the wind in his ears.

“Rival!” Scratch that. Peace and quiet was simply not something he was going to get today. “I almost didn’t see you there, you're so tiny. Have you shrunk?”

How was it that Gai, his best friend in the whole world, the man that he would throw down his life for, was so damn annoying?

“Don’t you have students to go teach?” He asked through clenched teeth.

“The three of them have decided to spend some time bonding as a team over lunch,” Gai dismissed his comment with a shrug of his shoulders and a smile that’s all too innocent for the man who just said hello with a short person joke. “I was going to do laps around Konoha before going for lunch myself, but now that I’ve found you we should do a challenge.”

First a short joke and then a demand for a challenge?

Gai really was pushing his luck today, but Kakashi could do that. He rarely ever got snippy during their challenges so maybe he’d get a break from the short jokes today. It would be the first time in a week he wouldn’t have to hear one of them leaving Gai’s mouth every five minutes.

“Fine,” snapping his book shut he reached back and carefully tucked it away in his pouch. “What kind of challenge do you want today?”

Gai’s eyes lit up and Kakashi knew right away that he was in trouble, but at least he wouldn’t have to hear any more short jokes for a while. Plus he did have to admit that Gai looked kind of cute when he was excited.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“How’s the weather down there?” Looking up, Kakashi glared at the arm now awkwardly positioned on top of his head. How was that even comfortable for Gai? He had his arm wedged up at such a weird angle just to pull this joke off.

Kakashi would at least give him points for dedication.

“It’s fine,” he reached up and shoved Gai’s arm away from his head. “You’re blocking my sunlight.”

“Right, sorry,” Taking a step back, Gai beamed when Kakashi raised an eyebrow. “What are you doing?”

“I was reading,” emphasis on ‘was’. He never got to keep reading when Gai was there. His friend demanded too much attention when they were together and these days he wasn’t one to deny Gai. Not when he had such a pretty smile whenever Kakashi was acknowledging him. “Let me guess, challenge?”

Gai shakes his head ‘no’. A surprising response considering they haven’t had a challenge in a few days.

“Then what would you like?”

“I was thinking about lunch,” Pointing towards the market nearby, Gai’s smile only grows. “We haven’t had a chance to just sit down and relax for a while. Maybe we can have a challenge after.”

Well at least he knew Gai wasn’t sick. He’d never turn down the chance at a challenge unless he was feeling under the weather, and even then he’d try to push himself to ‘test his boundaries’.

It rarely worked out well for him on those days.

“I could go for some Miso Soup,” he agreed, suddenly noticing that he was feeling hungry. Maybe he should have gone out for lunch with his team when they offered, but then he’d be stuck eating Ramen. Again. “The usual place?”

“That sounds like a grand idea,” Gai agreed with that stupid beautiful smile of his. The one that made Kakashi melt in his spot and brought up the weird urge to just kiss it off of his stupid happy face. “Do you want me to give you a piggyback ride there? I know it’s tiring running around on such short legs all the time.”

Ok, maybe he didn’t want to kiss him after all.

“I hate you,” Gai’s arm came down around his shoulder and pulled him right up against his side. “I hate you with the burning passion of youth.”

“Not quite what the springtime of our youth is for, but I'll give you points for trying,” Gai chuckled. “Race you to lunch?”

Challenge after food his butt.

“Fine,” shoving himself away from Gai, he couldn’t help but smirk when an idea came to mind. “Loser has to pay for lunch.”

Not the most creative punishment he has ever come up with, but he always liked getting a free meal out of his friends, and Gai wasn’t as weak to compliments as Tenzo.

“Agreed,” Gai nodded his head, getting into position beside Kakashi. “3...2...1…”

“When I win you have to kiss me.” Kakashi threw out just before Gai said ‘Go’ and burst forward to start the race, unable to stop himself from laughing when he looked back to see Gai standing there with wide eyes and a stunned look on his face.

“W- Hey!” Gai scrambled forward, desperate to catch up to his rival.

Personally, Kakashi didn’t hold out much hope for actually winning the race. Gai was faster than him at the end of the day so it would make sense for him to catch up and even surpass Kakashi with each.

But the thought of getting to finally kiss that handsome face because he won a race to lunch?

Well, that made all of the ‘short jokes’ he’d put up with over the last few months a little more bearable.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Lunch had not happened.

Not that the two of them hadn’t actually wanted to get lunch. Even now Kakashi’s stomach was growling angrily at him demanding food, but he had so much better things to do. More enjoyable things to spend his time on.

“We really should get some food,” Gai’s voice is beautiful post sex. Intoxicating, even. If he wasn’t already completely drained of energy he would jump Gai all over again. For now though all he could do was press another gentle kiss against Gai’s collarbone. “Are you too tired to move, rival?”

“Well, you know how it is,” Laying his head down on Gai’s chest he closed his eyes and listened to the light thump of his heartbeat. “Us short people have less space to store energy, so we run out quicker.”

He’s not sure he has ever heard Gai laugh louder than this moment and it’s absolutely beautiful.

A hand settled in his hair, and the feeling of fingers gentle combing through the short silver strands sends shivers down his spine. There is no place he would rather be right now. No place that feels more at home than here in Gai’s arms.

#Hatake Kakashi #Maito Gai #Kakagai #Crack #Fluff #Gai is exactly 3 inches taller than Kakashi and he is living for it #Kakashi is tired #the short jokes are going to be the end of him #but he still loves this dork for some reason #Mention of sex happening #but nothing descriptive

34 notes · View notes

sleeplessandstubborn · 4 years

Text

Emily in Paris or why I stopped caring about the protagonist and I started rooting for the French. Episode 1.

Let’s be clear. I was planning to root for the French anyway. They are in the neighbouring country, I quite like them and I was prepared to confront and make fun about all the stereotypes in this series. Because this was exactly what I expected. Funny, lighthearted and totally braindead (wink wink) escapism in an instagrammed to the top Paris which has the same resemblance with the real one than Vincent Minelli’s... But without Gene Kelly. So what did I think of the first episode?

Meet Emily Cooper from Chicago. She’s young, she is dynamic, she struggles to be liked by everyone and at the beginning of the series. She is a marketing executive about to be promoted or so she thinks.

... Because her boss Madeline (played by Kate Walsh) is going to Paris in order to take work with Savoir, a luxury firm the company (sorry I forgot its name) has just adquired. Madeline is overjoyed because working for a year in Paris is one of her dreams and because French men like mature women, as probed by the fact that their young and hot (sic, but this blog agrees) president married his high school teacher. We’ll never know which plans Madeline had for Frenchmen, whether they are young or hot or not. The case is after two minutes in the series she vomits, which means she’s pregnant and she can’t go anywhere because it’s an truth universally aknowledged that pregnant women can’t go on with their plans.

It’s in the next scene when we meet Emily’s boyfriend, Doug, and when we learn she’s going to Paris in Madeline’s place, in spite of being unprepared and not knowing the language. At this point one wonders how it’s possible that no one else in the company can replace Madeline. All of them are monolingual? Our plucky heroine is not discouraged by the litle fact of knowing virtually nothing about the country in which she’s going to live during the next twelve months. She and Doug - the moment you see the scene you know it wont’ go well - agree on a long distance relationship.

And after a very well done transition, we have crossed the ocean. Yes, this is well done, and I say it unironically. Episodes are short, your show is called Emily in Paris, so, what’s better than having your main lady already in the French capital in less than five minutes. The series goes to the point in this aspect and it’s a good thing to spare us of unnecesary scenes.

So Emily arrives to her apartment with pretty views, confused about in which floor she’s supposed to live (running gag ahead) and already hit on by a French guy on a suit that looks like the love child of Gabriel Attal and Albert Rivera (check it, seriously). I couldn’t take him seriously not only because of that but also because he said that Emily’s appartment was a chambre de bonne. Not by any means. Look, I’ve never lived in Paris but I know that apartment is huge when compared with a real chambre de bonne.

Off to know her working place, Emily has this HUGE smile pasted on her face. I don’t know if this supposed to make her charming and likeable. For me - it’s true than I have this European perspective - she looks a mix between an anxious puppy and a psychopath. I would be scared and would avoid her at all costs. The cultural clash is about to happen.

Yeah, I would look at her too, Julien a.k.a. token black character. You have probably heard about the lack of diversity in this series, I won’t abound in that, others have worded it better. It also an established fact that French people smokes at their workplace, even if in the European Union we have these things called smoking bans that won’t allow it.

And enter Sylvie, Emily’s Parisian boss and supposed main antagonist, à la Devil wears Prada. What to say about Sylvie other than I adore her? Her clothes, her style, her sarcasm. As any rational being would do, Sylvie is pretty dismayed to learn that Emily does not have the slightest idea of French and its already wanting to impose her American perspective and her alleged knowledge of social media. The problem is I don’t know if her posts on Instagram really deserve that much attention. Clash ensues with the rest of her new coworkers. C’est la cata! they comment. I quite agree.

Our fish-out-of-water takes an evening afterwork stroll (this Paris is like one square kilometer and public transport is something you mention but never appears) and calls her boyfriend to state the entire city looks like Ratatouille, which legitimately made me laugh. I am not sure if this reference means that Emily’s filmic culture is that limited or if it’s her boyfriend the one who only knows a movie which takes place in Paris and that’s one is Ratatouille. We know that Emily at least has seen Moulin Rouge and that makes two so probably is Doug’s fault.

Back at home, and since she has forgotten how to count, Emily attempts to open the wrong door. Immediately a wild Frenchman appears; it’s Gabriel, played by Lucas Bravo probably one of these young hot men Madeline would target. He takes the intrusion reasonably well. Especially when it’s discovered that Emily only knows his region, Normandy, from Saving Private Ryan. That makes three films, so definitely I think Doug is the problem here as far as filmic culture goes.

Next day Emily picks a yellow outfit and goes to work, purchasing a pain au chocolat in her way to work. I confess I was underwhelmed when discovered that there wouldn’t be any joke about the Great Civil War that has been going on in France since its earliest days: the partidaries of pain au chocolat vs. the ones of chocolatine. A ferocious, merciless conflict unknown by most nations. A lost opportunity not making this woman someone from the South who bravely defies Parisian conventions calling it chocolatine. I’m team pain au chocolat btw. Naturally when she discovers the wonderful world of flavours she makes another Instagram post. She’s earning more and more followers, Heavens know why.

However, she has a Big Problem with Doing Research. Example given, she doesn’t know her schedule - a problem which could have been solved with reading numbers - and arrives two hours early to her workplace.

Once there she discovers she can’t sit with the cool kids. No one wants to lunch with her, so she decides to miserably sit by herself at the park, where we met her best new friend. Her name’s Mindy, she’s from Shangai and she’s working as au pair, while teaching Mandarin to the two blond children she’s looking after. We’ll later discover more about her. She instantly detects the American in Emily and offers her help to this awkward but at the same time arrogant newcomer.

Meanwhile at Savoir, Emily has earned a sobriquet. La Plouc, which is adopted by Sylvie and most of her coworkers even if Luc seems more or less reluctant to say it. La Plouc means the hick, as she instantly discovers thanks to an online translator. It’s really not a good day for our heroine, and she cames back home - remember that thing about this Paris being one square kilometer? - walking. Co-worker and someone who for some resason reminds me to the posh-y version of Philippe Poutou - check it - Luc passes by as she sits lonely by herself and apologizes for calling her la Plouc earlier. He also claims she’s arrogant for coming to Paris without speaking or even understanding French - which is true - and tells her people is probably scared as her new, modern ideas. Which makes no sense at all and it’s probably a white lie.

Meanwhile and for some reason her totally inocuous posts in Instagram makes her earn more and more followers. During the night, her oblivious to timezones boyfriend call her and they have - or attempt to have - a totally awkward and unsexy session of cybersex. At the end Emily is so frustrated that she tries to use her electric vibrator which leads to the short-circuit of the entire building. Fortunately before she has the oportunity of getting closer to the device in question. And that’s how Episode 1 ends.

What did I think? It’s fun and pretty to look at. Even prettier to rant about. As long as your brain remains carefully shut off in the meantime and you don’t take it that seriously you are going to enjoy it I guess. At least it’s my case.

Still frustrated for not covering the Great Civil War tho.

#emily in paris

81 notes · View notes

perriewinklenerdie · 4 years

Text

Stuck with you (Ethan Ramsey x MC)

Open Heart, Ethan Ramsey x MC

A/N: Hello, hello, hello! How are we, guys? Alive and kicking? Getting enough sleep? Drinking water? (also tea, tea is awesome, 11/10). It’s been (again) a while since I’ve posted anything on here, huh. I’m working on another fic as we speak (summer theme cause summer is ending and I’m not ready for it), so we’ll see how it goes :D

AO3 link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/26013712

Tag list: @paleweasels, @kittykatchoices, @valiantlychaoticbarbarian, @radlovedreamer , @usuallyamazinglyaverage, @strawberrwess @palestazure, @cordoniaqueensworld, @universallypizzataco, @princess-geek, @faithhasnowords, @mightyfangirlofthefandoms, @drakewalkerfantasy, @timmagicktoad, @laceandlula, @greywitchyshots, @llamasgrl, @gingerjane15, @bucket-harrington , @marywrites-things , @ethanplaysfavorites , @mfackenthal , @betelgeusebee , @simsvetements, @i-only-signed-up-for-fanfiction, @buzz-bee-buzz, @owleyes374, @cora-nova, @aworldoffandoms, @l822, @cream-ray, @ughhhxjazzy, @silverlitskies, @justendlesssummerfeels, @togetherwearerapture, @desmaranj, @edgiestwinter, @friedherringclodthing, @daisy-ashton, @waytooattuned, @choicesgremlin , @lapisreviewsstuff, @the-soot-sprite, @writerapprentice, @chasingrobbie, @choicesobsessedd, @x-kyne-x, @thisperfectmemory, @drakewalker04, @rookie-ramsey, @jlynn12273, @thepinknymph @dr-brianna-casey-valentine, @a-i-n-a-a-s-h @justanotherrookie

Enjoy! <3

------------------

Claire noted with an overwhelming sense of relief that as the end of her shift approached, the intensity of the day decreased significantly. What used to be a fast-paced march in the early hours of the morning, was now a slower stroll. It was mostly due to the fact that all her patients were stable, and her pager miraculously wasn’t going off every five seconds like it tended to do almost every day of her life at Edenbrook.

Her contemplation was cut short when she felt insistent tugging on her white coat. She moved her eyes towards the source of the movement, being only half surprised when she saw a seven-year-old girl, smiling widely at her.

“Dr. Claire! The nurse came to take my blood, to see if it was good and she gave me a high-five.”

“I’m sure you were so brave.” a smile blossomed on her face as she kneeled down to be on the same eye level as her little patient.

“I was! Can I have a lollipop now? I didn’t even cry or anything, it was just like you said, barely a pinch and it was over.” The girl asked, thinking back to the conversation they had that morning. It wasn’t even something that Claire did only for this patient, not a one-time event.

It has become a sort of a legend among younger patients and nurses, that she always had a bunch of sweets in her pockets, giving them out to the kids on occasions. Mostly because of it, along with how good she was with young people, she was a liked doctor that was invited into all the tea parties and book readings organized by kids, with a bit of help from the nurses.

“As promised, here it is.” Her hand disappeared into the pocket and emerged with a pink and white lollipop in a colorful wrapper.

“Thanks, Dr. Claire! You’re the best.”

“Don’t run while eating it, we don’t want you to get hurt, okay?” she warned her before standing up. The girl was already running away, though, waving the candy in the air in excitement.

“Sure thing, doc, have a nice day!”

Claire shook her head in amusement, straightening the creases on her coat as she turned away to walk towards the ER. She was stopped short in her tracks, however, by the sight of an eyebrow raised so high up that it might as well have flown off his face altogether, accompanied by a curious gaze of Ethan Ramsey. His arms were folded across his chest, his posture meant to intimidate.

“You’re a doctor, Herondale. Giving away sweets in a hospital? That’s promoting diabetes.” He pointed out, waiting for her to explain her behavior. She imagined that a comment like that had the potential to make some interns cry; hell, even less resistant to pressure residents tended to avoid confrontation with him if they could help it. But Claire? Hell no.

“It’s a little reward for being brave. I can attest that it works, they are much more likely to go through their procedures- “

“- and not be scared. Good call, Rookie, even though I still think you’re spreading diabetes in the hospital.” Ethan smiled, breaking the act of trying to reprimand her. Instead, he took a small step towards her, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. Her eyes sparkled teasingly, holding his gaze in a tight lock with her own as she decreased the distance between them even more.

“The only diabetes you’re going to get is from me being so sweet.” Claire’s voice dropped to a gentle whisper the more she talked, then she slowly stood on the tips of her toes to kiss his cheek. The corners of his lips went up, forming a smile, partly concealed by her hair. Before anything else could be said or done, the sound of a phone ringing caused them to, albeit reluctantly, step away from each other slightly.

“As much as I would love to continue this conversation, I should get going. Us Herondales really do hate waiting, you know.” She grinned, beginning to walk away from him.

“Yeah, I think I do. I wish I could go with you.”

“I know you do, Ethan. Maybe next time? Actually, definitely next time; I don’t think my Mom will let you skip the next family lunch, no matter how much important work you have.” He laughed, shaking his head as he watched her retreating form.

“See you this evening?”

“You can count on it, Ramsey.”

------------

It was slowly getting dark when he got home, and by the time he got round to cooking dinner, the sun has already set. He didn’t think much about the lack of contact with her; he knew how those family meetings went, so if he had to guess, Will most likely kidnapped her phone.

The ringing startled him a little, but still, nothing seemed wrong, hence why he walked towards the sound calmly. Claire’s name flashed on the screen, pulling a smile onto his face.

“Right on cue, Dr. Herondale. Dinner is almost ready, will you be home soon?” he asked, leaning against the back of the couch. There was a short moment of silence before she spoke, her voice just a little on edge.

“I don’t want you to freak out, but I got shot.”

“What?”

It was good that he had something to fall onto, because the initial reaction of his body caused his knees to go weak. He should have known that something wasn’t right, but never would he have thought that while she was supposed to be with her family, she would get hurt.

“It’s nothing, really, a clean in and out wound, I’m already having it treated.” Claire’s voice was steady, nothing indicating any unbearable pain, but then again, he didn’t know what exactly happened, so she might as well have been trying to calm him down.

“Where are you?” he asked, already running to the kitchen to turn the burners off, grabbing his car keys along the way.

“Edenbrook, but as I said-“

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” He cut her off, walking out of the apartment in rush.

It’s funny how fluid the time is. The more one is anticipating something, the slower it goes by. Consequently, the more one is dreading something, the more it rushes forward. Ethan was experiencing something entirely different. The whole ride to the hospital felt like it lasted two eternities, and yet he couldn’t remember a thing from that time, like it happened in a split second.

His feet carried him forward, recklessly running through the maze of corridors, ignoring stares he was getting from his coworkers. Any logical thought has evaporated, leaving only blinding panic, unprompted by her way of speaking, but pushed forward by what she said.

Danny didn’t even question his disheveled state when he asked for the room number, knowing better than to stand in his way. His muscles screamed, more tired than after any other exercise, but the fear of the unknown was pushing him towards her. He opened the door, only to see Claire sitting on the bed, discomfort clear on her face. Not pain, not distress. Discomfort.

Because in front of her bed were two people, sitting in a pair of chairs. The room was filled with crying of a little boy, shaking in his mother’s arms. He was muttering something incoherently; Ethan wasn’t able to figure out what exactly the kid was saying. Meanwhile, Claire was trying her best to calm the boy down, her hands trembling in frustration that she was stuck in bed.

Ethan expected everything. Literally anything but this. Because how the hell could he have predicted that he would find Claire, shot and panicking because her nephew was crying. The woman sitting on the chair, Claire’s sister in law, Louise, made eye contact with him, her face twisted in a mixture of helplessness and horror, not communicating a lot to him about what had happened.

Then he turned towards Claire, his eyes running over her, searching for the wound or any additional injuries. Her calf was bandaged and resting on top of the covers, but other than that, she seemed fine. Her head moved slightly, signalizing that she was indeed okay, after which she nodded towards her nephew giving him a clue.

How the hell did an eight-year-old boy shoot his aunt?

Ethan ran a hand over his face, breathing in deeply. With no idea how to even begin the conversation, he looked at Louise. She sighed, then started explaining.

“Our genius uncle decided that Toby was old enough to try shooting an air gun. He tried to aim towards the target, but it fired early by accident.” She took a break to look at her son, squeezing his shoulder reassuringly. “It just so happened that Claire was in the bullet’s way.”

“But I’m okay.” Claire rushed to reassure them, smiling softly at Toby. He started crying again, hiding his face in his mother’s sweater. Ethan sensed what she meant, walking over to the little boy and kneeling by his side.

“How are you doing, little man?” he asked, trying to test the waters before saying anything else. Toby didn’t respond, but he did turn his head to look at Ethan, his eyes red from crying.

“I- I hurt aunt Claire.” He muttered before another batch of tears gathered in his eyes. The older doctor extended his hand towards him, patting him on the shoulder comfortingly.

“I can assure you that your aunt is going to be okay. I saw her leg, it’s going to heal before you know it, yeah?” he caught Toby’s gaze, seeing him already feeling a bit better. “Let me tell you a secret. When she feels better, give her a big hug. It always works.”

“Hugs won’t always get you out of trouble, Ramsey.” The blonde doctor warned, grinning from ear to ear in a teasing manner. He schooled his features when he looked at her, then dropped the act and smirked, mischief spelled across his face as he took a step towards her.

“Ethan, no.” she warned him, her eyes growing wide. He took another step. “No.” She moved back into her bed, scooting away from him. Before she could give him another warning, he reached her and dug his fingers into her sides, tickling her mercilessly until she laughed. Claire tried to slap his hands away, to no avail, but the torture didn’t last long. Soon enough, he wrapped his arms around her, engulfing her in his warm embrace.

“Am I forgiven?” his lips brushed against her ear as he muttered the question. She took a moment, keeping him on his toes, giggling when he leaned away to look at her in consternation.

“For now, you are. We’ll see later, Mister.”

Their little game seemed to do the trick; Toby calmed down, and by the time Louise took him home, he was smiling. The door closed behind them, leaving Ethan with Claire. Visiting hours were long over, but there was not a one person that came to kick him out, courtesy of them both being doctors. He remained seated in the chair next to her bed, holding onto her hand as they talked.

“Shouldn’t you go home and rest? You have a shift in the morning.” She muttered, tracing his knuckles with her thumb.

“No, I don’t. Naveen let me stay with you, make sure you don’t injure your leg further. No walking, no running, only being carried.” He grinned, leaning towards her a bit, dropping his voice to a low whisper. “I’m your very own, private taxi.”

She laughed, pulling him onto the bed by his hand. “Okay then, since you’re not going home, you’re sleeping with me.” his eyebrow shot up in a teasing manner, opening his mouth to protest, but she was faster than him. “Yes, you are forgiven, and no, I won’t take no for an answer, Ramsey. Get in here.”

Sighing heavily, he removed his shoes and sat next to her, mindful of her injured leg. He looked at the wound for a long moment, being stopped by Claire pulling him to lie down. “I’m never leaving you again when guns are involved.” He pressed his lips against her forehead, muttering the words quietly.

“Only when guns are involved?” she joked, embracing him a bit tighter. Rather than seeing, she felt him laugh.

“Okay, you just scored yourself a lifetime of being stuck with me. Is that what you wanted, Herondale?” their eyes met, sparkling with humor and love. Stretching herself to her best ability, she pressed a short, sweet kiss to his chin before falling back into his arms.

“Give me the ‘brave patient’ candy and it’s a deal”

They remained in that position for quite some time, conversing silently, his hand running up and down her leg in a soothing motion. A short while after he turned the lights off so they could get some rest, she gave him a more serious answer, her words muffled by the fabric of his shirt. “I’m perfectly fine with being stuck with you.”

#ethan ramsey #ethan x mc #mc x ethan #dr. ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices #choices fanfiction #open heart #open heart fanfiction #fic #fanfiction #mc x ethan ramsey

128 notes · View notes

thoughtfullyyoungduck · 3 years

Text

You messed with my heart too long

A/N: I posted this anonymously on ao3, but I’m really proud of writing this so decided to post it on here as well. Please, please let me know what you think, it would mean the world to me.

Summary: When Richie accidentally burns his food right at the same time as Eddie arrives home, he fears he's in for a verbal beat down. He's used to that thank to his ex-boyfriend, who mentally and emotionally abused him before Richie realized what he was doing to him. Once Eddie works out what is happening, he is quick to assure Richie he would never treat him in the same manner.

Warnings!: mental abuse, mentions of physical abuse and Bev’s abusive ex, Richie thinks Eddie going to react badly (he doesn’t but he still thinks about it)

read on AO3

Richie, in all fairness, has never had any confidence in any way, shape or form. He’s not sure why that is. His mom and dad were good, loving parents that indulged into his secret little hobby’s, and when Richie at age 24, a fresh college drop-out, told his parents he was going to take a gamble and try to make it as a comedian, they supported him wholeheartedly. Of course, they were a little disappointed that he never got a degree in case things in the comedy field didn’t work out, but they were convinced of Richie’s talent. They were truly the best parents anyone could ever wish for, at least in Richie’s mind.

The losers were also nothing if not supportive towards him, though they had been long gone before Richie turned 24. They made fun of him sometimes, on the occasions where a joke ran too far or failed miserably, but they also made sure that Richie knew how much they adored him in reality.

Beside from getting scolded at every now and again by Eddie or Stan, about his hygiene or lack of self-awareness, they also never tried to change him to fit their wants. For some unknown, nonsensical reason, they liked Richie with his flaws and all.

Truly, Richie has no inkling as to where his insecurities came from, but he does know that he never let them stop him from doing anything when he was still friends with the losers. Quite the opposite even, if he got nervous about performing in front of his class, he would loudly ask to go first, laughing boisterously and slouching against the teachers desks, pretending like the activity wasn’t even a blip on his radar. When Henry’s taunt would hit a particular soft spot, and Richie felt the urge to sulk or mope, he’d double down on the thing Henry found annoying, and get a bloody nose for his troubles.

He fought hard to be ready to perform in front of people that weren’t the losers or his parents, and the losers departing from Derry just made that worse. With the losers, he felt confident enough to try and be himself, without them, he saw himself as useless in every sense. His very first live performance sucked, and in retrospect he’s really glad none of the losers were present because within five minutes of walking on the stage, he had forgotten his lines and threw up in full sight of the audience.

If his mother hadn’t persuaded him into trying again a few months later, and that one actually working out, Richie ‘Trashmouth’ Tozier would have been buried before it began.

But that was before all the progress Richie made in all the years he’s been doing comedy. Despite having the occasional setback, he mostly outgrew throwing up before an act, and he could objectively look at himself in the mirror and conclude that he wasn’t the most hideous person the world had ever had the displeasure of seeing.

In fact, according to people on his twitter page, he was being described as hot and possessing a form of appeal that drew people in. He didn’t find himself good looking by any means, but there was a huge difference between hating everything about himself, and accepting that he was not as hideous as the beast from the Disney fairy tales he was a big fan of as a kid.

And then, in the prime of his mental health, he had met David, and every ounce of self-worth faltered like snow under the burning scorch of the sun. It only took five weeks for David to absolutely destroy the very thing Richie had toiled at for over twenty years.

David was his first boyfriend, who he met just shortly before his thirtieth birthday, and he took more than advantage of that. The first night they first laid eyes on each other, after one of Richie’s shows, David had walked up to him at a bar and promptly declared his show was absolute shit.

Normally Richie would feel hurt by these comments and would pretend to brush them off as if they were never uttered, but something about the way he said it caused Richie to laugh so hard he snorted part of his beer through his nose. It wasn’t until he saw Eddie with Bill and Mike at Jade the Orient ten years later, that his quarter fell. In the beginning, David had reminded him of Eddie. It wasn’t until much later that it became clear David’s intentions were not as innocents as Eddie’s.

Richie assumed the guy was pulling his pants, because who would dedicate their time to flat out insult someone they had never met, and so he had greeted him and bought him another beer. David wasn’t particularly funny, and he never laughed at Richie’s jokes throughout the night either, but he was very eloquent and could keep up with Richie’s conversation topics, though he always seemed to be able to turn and twist the subject so that it gave away another one of his qualities.

By the end of the night Richie never expected to hear from him again, and he was okay with that. His conversation partner had been interesting, but not to the point where Richie wanted to know everything about him or see him again.

David felt otherwise, as thanks to a mutual friend of theirs, he’d found Richie’s number, and when he texted him to ask him on a date, Richie had been too thrilled that someone was interested in him to containplat if he even wanted to go.

That same day the date took place, David had granted himself the title of boyfriend, and Richie went right along with him. They never officially verbally agreed to date, but they held hands and David slept over most nights then not, and his mother got so happy that she saw him with someone that things progressed naturally.

At first, Richie didn’t notice that David was influencing him in a negative way. He only had one close friend, Steve, who was simultaneously also his manager, and he constantly praised David for making Richie a changed man. Because Steve saw it as something positive, so did Richie.

His voice got progressively stiller, as David would ream at him multiple times a day that he was annoying everyone around them with his booming voice, and that he was an attention-seeker who would do anything to get the limelight on him. Richie practiced his voices less and less when David started to critic every aspect of them every time he would overhear him. It got worse once they started living together full time.

‘Hey Rich, no voices? Come on I want to know if you’ve improved over the years, let us hear it.’

He cut off all fatty foods when David glanced at his plate and grimaced, asking if he was really going to eat everything on the plate. He didn’t say it in so many words, but Richie could connect the dots that led him to believe David found him too fat. Lying became a sort of second nature to Richie, as he dared to eat a small pack of chips when David was away, and deluded him the next day by stating he hadn’t eaten any. Sometimes, at times where David thought Richie was away, he would observe him going through their trash to catch Richie in the lie. He’d fight tooth and nail to deny the accusation, and never admitted to it.

David complained just about everything Richie did, including the way he held his towel whilst drying the dishes, ‘For god sake Richie don’t rumple up, hold it in your palm and open it up so you can get to the surface more.’ When Richie tried to joke that David’s way didn’t necessarily mean the best way, he’d yelled that Richie was an ungrateful bastard and that if he had to do it his way because the way he was doing it was useless.

Useless, that was a word Richie learned to associate with himself as whatever he did would get dragged down by David, until there was barely any Richie left. Once again Richie began getting stage fright, worse than when he was a child, and on one evening David witnessed his total bomb of a show, and told Richie he had pretended he didn’t know him to the people watching. That hit so hard, the fact that someone was disgusted to be linked to him, that he stopped writing his own comedy and hired someone to do it for him.

There was so much negativity surrounding him and David, but when Richie tried to address his problems, David would make him seem like he was the one that was crazy. Like he was seeing things that were not there. David rolled his eyes and waved off any of Richie’s attempts to defend himself, but then denied doing it after the fact.

‘You’re a loser Richie, I can’t believe you’d be so stupid to take my ribs seriously. Aren’t you supposed to be a ‘comedian’? You’d think you’d know what’s a joke and what isn’t.’

A can of coke being set down too hard on their dinner table was enough to get David off of the couch, where he’d been watching football and ordering him around, and into the kitchen, striking a tirade that Richie was ruining their furniture with his fumbling. Richie was constantly on edge that he was doing something wrong - and he was according to David -. He avoided David as much as he could, but the latter would find something to fault him on regardless. Life had transformed into a prison cell.

Later Richie would scold himself for not leaving, but how could he? David manipulated him to the point Richie truly believed he was doing all of those things wrong, to the point where he was the one crying and begging for David’s forgiveness. He was gaslighted, manipulated and blackmailed at the same time, with gifts that weren’t a one-off after Dacid crossed a line too far, and they often contained a very expensive item that Richie had eagerly awaited for a long time. Richie felt like he owed it to David to stay, if only for all the money he had spent on him.

There were days Richie would get so furious he was prepared to scream back at David, to let his anger be set free and unleashed upon the one person who deserved it, but then David would show up with a gift out of the blue, or would grant him a loving caress, and Richie was gone for him again.

Not to mention that Richie’s self-esteem had sunk so low, he wasn’t ready to face a world without having David there to guide him along with things.

Barely five months before Mike’s earth shattering phone call, Richie ran out of all mental capacity to deal with the torment a moment longer, and packed his things, disappearing on a cold blistering night. David called him, of course, but Richie was a coward, and never answered the phone.

He only sent David one text to tell him it was over, and then promptly blocked his number without waiting for a response. He heard from gossip that David spread lies about him, and told other people about how much of a terrible boyfriend he had been, but Richie never objected to the claims. He agreed with him anyway.

Mike’s call had been, for a large proportion anyway, a saving grace. Reconnecting with his best friends and destroying the thing that loomed over him for so long was liberating, and Richie viciously wished that Pennywise had come back sooner, so that his tortures road would have been that much shorter.

There was no lingering bitterness inside of Richie because of this though, not when his life was finally in the best possible place it could be. Eddie and him got their heads out of their asses, or more like Eddie got out of his and decided to yet again be the brave one out of the two of them, and they started dating almost immediately after defeating Pennywise. In only a week's time, Eddie made the move from New York to Los Angeles, and with him he had brought the happiness Richie had long forgotten he could ever possess.

His marriage with Myra had been just as much a scam as the relationship between Richie and David, and his divorce was swift - no surprise there with the way Eddie always prepared for every possible scenario-, but Eddie almost always avoided talking about it. In a way, Richie was disheartened by that.

It was no secret Eddie married a woman that was basically a mirror image of his mom, and at times Richie caught himself wondering if Eddie had realized how smothering she was or if he had been so hunkering for the normality of life as a straight, married man that he never paid her enough attention too. He wonders if he was the only one stupid enough to not realize the gravity of what was happening to him.

Richie has debated on flat out asking Eddie about it, but, and there’s always a but, that would mean he would have to tell Eddie about David, and he is overcome with a rare form of anxiety, something deeply ashamed nestling in the place where his trust is supposed to be at the mere idea.

Swearing on the holy turtle god that managed to save them from Pennywise’s claws, Richie was originally planning on confessing the whole thing to Eddie on day one of their relationship. He truly was, and he had even conjured up humorous escape alternatives to duck his way under a fire load of questions Eddie was surely about to ask him after.

He even prepared himself to tell Eddie in Derry, right after overhearing Eddie’s phone call to his wife, feeling empowered that Eddie would come to understand. Bev interrupted before he could, perhaps a blessing in disguise. Before Eddie fully put down his phone, Bev had sweeped in the room, requesting a meeting downstairs to talk. Richie had been helpless to follow and listen intently, and if he was being honest with himself – he wasn’t – he felt a tiny bit of relief that he wouldn’t be subjected to any negative attention. Until Bev started to confess how her life had been before Mike called them.

All at once, a sickening hatred from himself overwhelmed Richie. He was so angry that he had dared to feel sorry about himself, and here Bev was, with a situation that was incomparably worse. The more details Bev entrusted them with – Richie may have promised to never kill anyone again, but he an exception could be made - the more Richie’s food from a few hours before threatened to choke him, and not even Eddie’s cream smoothed hand holding his distracted him.

Near the end, after they’d progressed from such an melancholically topic and began drinking away the booze in their hotel, Richie had drawn Bev’s attention with a call of her name, to either make her smile or to assure her that she wasn’t alone, Stan send him a withering look, as if to warn him not to open his mouth. Stan’s assumption was fair, it was in Richie’s nature to find humor in places there shouldn’t be, and he had no idea about Richie’s past to think otherwise. Still, every time Richie considered telling Eddie, the look flashed in his mind and sewed his mouth shut.

Not telling Eddie hasn’t impacted things the way Richie had predicted it would. Really, Richie was doing fine. Eddie chastised Richie on certain things, but Richie didn’t freak out or experience any sort of flashback. He would be given a peck on his forehead, or a hand running through his hair, and he’d know that Eddie was never mad at him. It was the littlest details that had Richie out of his mind with love, that highlighted just how different Eddie and David were.

By now, Richie had decided he was fine with not telling Eddie anything about David, and the extra weight of keeping something a secret was his boyfriend was just another fee to carry around with him. But life always throws a curveball Richie Tozier’s way when he has finally made plans.

This curve ball comes in the form of soup. A horrendous chicken soup that Eddie cooked up two days in advance, an experiment of different herbs that clashed into a symphony of flavors all competing to be the primary flavor. There are two things to know about Eddie as a cook. Number one is that he is not an impressive cook – and it’s not for the lack of trying - but Richie doesn’t mind. Eating food that doesn’t please his taste buds but getting Eddie in return for it is a fair deal in Richie’s books.

The second thing to note is that Eddie is a lazy cook. He turns the kitchen into a battlefield of different sauces, with jars a million different pots and pans skewed across the stove and no more room to place anything else left. It’s gotten to the point that whenever Eddie is in charge of cooking, they will not even put their dinner on a plate anymore, but instead leave it in whatever it’s made in, because it eliminates dishes to wash. That’s what starts the mess that day in first place.

Richie isn’t an idiot. Yes, he can be dense at times, and when it comes to loving Eddie he’s more than a bit moronic, but he’s not stupid. He’s had to survive on his own – and with someone who didn’t lift a finger - for a long time, thus there was no other way. He’s aware of the danger of putting a metal bowl in the microwave, and how it can cause the metal to heat up and start a fire, and therefor has never been stupid enough to try it. But today, Richie is stressed.

Steve has been calling him all day to try and persuade him into doing an interview for a magazine, and no matter how many times, how loud or agitated Richie says no, Steve still insists. Richie paces annoyed towards his fridge phone locked between his shoulder and ear, so he can take out the metal bowl of soup with his hands, and place it in their microwave without a second thought.

‘Steve I don’t care how much publicity you think it will get me, I don’t want to do it,’ Richie mutters, turning around with his back towards the warming soup. The consistent arguing with Steve has his teeth grinding, his shoulders tense and his anxiety sparked.

Eddie is still out for work, but it’s closing at five pm, the time he ensures he’s at home, and Richie thinks he can hear his car driving up into the gravel parking lot. The absence of his boyfriend is about to be filled, and Steve is yapping away in his ear, not content to admit defeat just yet, it’s maddening.

‘Steve… Steve listen to me, don’t get your panties up in a twist, I have to go. Don’t book the interview. I won’t take any part in it.’ His denial doesn’t put a stop to Steve’s yapping, but at that point Richie is over his nagging. He pinches the bridge of his nose and utters; ’Okay nice chat’, and hangs up without waiting for a response back.

He lets the phone clatter on top of their kitchen surface and says that Steve got the message, if only for the rest of the day. His phone doesn’t vibrate again, leading Richie to assume he has won this round. He can’t help but lean forward so far his head rests against the cold tiles of the kitchen counter, just sighing for one long, extended breath. A night in on the couch with Eddie spooning him has never allured him so much. His back cracks with a satisfying pop as he readjusts his body, and he groans in gratifications.

Their alarm dings loudly in the open concept kitchen, a warning that someone has just entered their driveway. Richie doesn’t need to go look to know that it’s Eddie and his large, black suv, but he wants to anyway. He’s about to walk towards the front door to greet Eddie like he’s a pet that has been waiting anxiously for its owners return – and some would describe him in the same manner - when the air fills with smoke and a rancid smell. It’s barely detectable at first, nothing more but an insentient odor that is unpleasant but not resolute and easy to ignore. But then actual smoke begins to wash it’s way around Richie, and he has a split second of blissful unknowingness left, until the problem dawns on him.

Richie follows the smoke trail, and is shocked to find their microwave steaming and actually crackling, like it’s on the verge of exploding. It probably is. Still, it’s nothing compared to the cluster bomb of fumes that spread throughout the room when Richie actually opens the microwave door and gets slapped in the face with the enormity. It’s a surprise that their smoke detector has yet to erupt.

Instantly, his airways fill up smoke, prickling his cough reflection so tremendously he doubles over in extortion. The coughs rattle his body in a painful manner, his chest and back start to hurt from the brutal movements and the fact that he can’t grasp fresh air no matter how wide he opens his mouth. Objectively, Richie should understand it can get a lot worse - their smoke detector hasn’t gone off, and there are no flames to accompany the smoke and therefore turn their house into a major safety hazard - but a panic he hasn’t felt since David has shut down his logical thinking skills.

A key is slotted into their keyhole, and it turns a first time to leave. Eddie is about to open the door, in give or take in about a minute – it always drags out because despite living here for give or take two years, Eddie still can’t remember this lock unlatches via the left side and not the right – and walk in on an absolute shit show that Richie’s engendered.

So far there was indication, no sign that hinted to Richie he still had leftover, undealt trauma left from his time hanging around David, but now, his only thought revolving around how mad Eddie is going to be, how much trouble he’ll be in once Eddie sees everything, he starting to realize he might not be as over things as he originally believed.

He ignores the way his lung burn, and reaches forward to grab the pot – with fogged over glasses rendering him blind - protection less, not even grabbing the oven mitts to provide some shelter for the warmth. He can’t comprehend how dangerous that is, can only focus on the red lights blaring in his mind, telling him he needs to get rid of the evidence before Eddie gets here and unleashes hell upon him.

Unfortunately, he’s too late. A door unlocks and Eddie enters the house. His feet pad on their wooden floor, brazen and fast, like he’s been waiting for a shot at grilling Richie and he can sense his opportunity to do so has arrived – the motion is so un-Eddie Richie dismissed it as absurd then and there, but a seed of doubt remains -.

With time, Richie comes to learn how to listen to the different footsteps, and he can now recognize who’s walking towards him and in what kind of mood they find themselves in, without taking one look at the person's face.

Eddie’s footsteps, after every work day, drag across their floor, as if a thousand pound weight has been added to his back. The bottom of his shoes wear out a lot faster than Richie’s do, and it drives Eddie nuts because out of the two of them, he’s the one that treats his material objects neater than Richie.

Richie’s always delighted to notice how light his footsteps get after just a few minutes spent with him or the losers.

Now, he is too scared to pick up on such little details. His palms tingle unpleasantly, the boiling liquid burning them more with each second he hangs on. He stands in the middle of their kitchen like a fool, turning his body every which way and letting his eyes dart out an escape plan. The smoke is nowhere near gone, and there’s too much of it for Richie to open a window and it to be blown away. Eddie’s going to notice, there’s no way he can’t.

‘Richie, you won’t believe what this imbecile Josh did at work today. I swear, I don’t understand how some people can get fucking hired sometimes.’

Eddie trudges into the kitchen, his suit wrinkled from a long day of frantically working on a report that should have been finished by some other incompetent coworker. The groves in his face are more prominent today, acquired by the years of unhappiness he experienced with Myra, the ages of his life cut off by the shock of Pennywise's return and the occasional busy work day his job supplies him with.

A nausea craters in Richie's stomach, filled with guilt for turning Eddie’s night off into a stressful event that requires a ton of clean up. Eddie stops dead in his tracks when he notices the mess, his mouth slips shut, the word dying on his tongue.

He’s waiting for Eddie’s frown to deepen, for his lips to cresting into a fury. He’s waiting for the waterfall of insults that will be hurled at his head, each one meaner than the last, honing in on his deepest insecurities and having them exploited because Eddie’s so angry he’ll do anything to strike a verbal blow. And it’ll be worse now, because it’s Eddie. It’s the love of his life doing it now, the one’s approval he seeks most.

Eddie’s the person that knows him inside and out and knows exactly what boundaries to push and prod out to crack Richie open from head to toe. He waits for all that, with his hand still clamped around the bowl of burning hot soup, scorching his palms – by this point, Richie is sure there will be blisters by the time he finally unclasps his grip.

Eddie’s frown does deepen, but it’s not out of anger. ‘Rich, be careful you’ll hurt yourself.’ Richie doesn’t let go, but holds onto the sides of the bowl tighter. Part of him wants him to experience the pain, to let what he did sink in like David’s words always did.

‘Richie’, Eddie says startlingly firm. He’s not trying to approach Richie or the bowl, but he’s capturing Richie’s attention just by his firm voice. ‘Put it down.’

Richie drops the bowl of soup, watching helplessly as it splatters all over their freshly painted walls and the ground. Out of the corner of his eye a flat glob of liquid drips down the wall, dirtying a whole line down to the floor. Richie cringes, his heart beating so fast he could swear it’s about to jump out of his chest, and his mind a mantra of ‘look what you did, look what you did, look what you did.’

‘Fuck Richie, did you burn it?’

And Richie knows he’s caught. He was, up to two seconds ago, holding the evidence right in his hands, but he’s so petrified logic is not operating in his brain at the moment. The only thing he can focus on with great clarity, is that he’s willing to try anything to get him out of a verbal tear down.

‘No..’, he tapers off at the end, leaving his statement much more alike a question than he would have preferred. Eddie raises one eyebrow suspiciously, pointily averting his gaze towards the smoke floating around them.

‘No?’ He asks back equally confused, head tilted to the side. Richie can feel his throat closing up in panic, bracing himself for an onslaught. He doesn’t foresee Eddie’s nurturing and concerned approach. ‘Let me take a look at your hands’, Eddie murmurs tenderly.

It’s technically nothing new, the way Eddie treats him. After Neibolt and Richie’s big coming out, Eddie commenced all his vacation days and flew Richie all the way to Hawaii, for the pure intention of getting him away from any and all consequences. He’d allowed Richie to eat what he desired - within reason of course, there was no way Eddie was allowing Richie to eat pizza at 8 am-, waisted their days sitting by the pool and indulged in Richie unchancy pranks - one of which ended up with Eddie scrubbing out blue glitter out of his hair. Eddie had been kind then, so it shouldn’t be surprising he is in this situation.

It doesn’t take away the fear Richie is left with. David had good days too, days that he was the perfect boyfriend, but that would never last long, and Richie is left to speculate if it’ll be the same thing with Eddie.

Maybe it’ll be hidden in a secret message, maybe Eddie is busy hatching a plan that will utterly deploy Richie from the inside out. Eddie’s hands are gently skimming over Richie’s palms, inspecting the damage without irritating the skin even more. ‘It doesn’t seem like it’s bad. It hurts right?’

‘Yeah’, Richie croaks when he figures out the question isn’t rhetorical. He isn’t sure at the moment why that’s supposed to be good.

Eddie tips forward, stretching up higher so he can kiss Richie’s forehead tenderly. Against his skin he explains. ‘That means the burn isn’t too deep, but hold it under the water still.’

‘No but you know what does go deep?’

‘Nothing if you don’t treat your burns,’ Eddie teases with a smirk. He gently ushers Richie closer to their faucet, and holds his own palm under the stream of water, twiddling with the different temperature taps until he finds one that he deems just lukewarm enough to allow Richie’s hand under it.

The smoke in the air remains unspoken about. It’s almost as if Richie is more important than a potential house fire to Eddie, but that’s absurd. Not only because this is the house that both of them felt was the right one, and subsequently paid a lot of money for, but also because Richie isn’t that special. He’s not even trying to be condensing towards himself, because he truly believes that.

‘How did you manage to do this huh? Idiot.’ Eddie jokes while guiding his hand under the water at the correct angle, his salutation gets smoothed over by a hand ruffling his hair. Coincidentally, or perhaps the exact opposite, a part of the stress Richie accumulated falls away when Eddie calls him an idiot. It helps to underline why exactly Eddie will never be like David, why the two aren’t in the same league of each other even.

When Eddie says idiot, it’s a nickname, it’s a middle school jab when Richie runs too fast and trips over his own feet, it’s the symbolic soothing pat on the back he receives after he can get all of the losers to laugh at his humor. It’s their love langue no one understands, It’s Eddie’s way of hiding how deep his adoration goes with a job that’s unusual to others.

David’s condescending tone alone tipped Richie into the deep end, into a cave that echoed his deepest flaws and slammed it into the cavity in his chest every time something didn’t go according to plan. Idiot for David did not mean the same things. For David, idiot was shoving aside Richie’s concerns, it was disinterested in all his quirks and his passive attitude. He meant what he said without sarcasm.

A first tear tracks down Richie’s cheek. ‘Rich?’ Eddie inquires startled. His hand previously stroking Richie’s curls slides towards his elbow in a smooth motion.

Richie tries to tell him it’s okay, that he needs a minute to regroup but that he’s fine, but instead of that he sobs, more tears spilling over with no regards to him uneasy Richie is to cry in front of someone.

‘Richie shit I’m sorry. Does it hurt that bad? Do we need to go to a hospital? We’ll go right now.’

‘No, no hospital,’ Richie waves him off with his injured hands. Eddie leads his hand back without response, tracking his face to see if he gives away anything. Richie had forgotten his hand hurted in the first place, so he definitely didn’t require any treatment beyond what he was doing already. His tears are the result of being overwhelmed by his emotions, and his default response to that is to cry.

‘If you don’t want me to do that, that’s okay you know?’

Because his hand is incapacitated, he wipes his nose on the corner of his shirt, watching as Eddie’s wrinkles his nose at that. Still, even with the disgusting move on Richie’s part, Eddie leans in closer, molding Richie so he fits in the fold between Eddie’s neck and shoulder. There, he resumes his path of caressing Richie’s hair, and kissing his temple. Richie fists one of his hands in the back of Eddie’s shirt, pressing them as intimate as he can.

‘Hey sweetheart, it’s okay. What’s wrong?’

Richie sobs harder, not particularly keen on telling Eddie why he’s this upset. It’s a difficult topic to talk to anyone about, Eddie and the losers included. There were days that Richie twisted his mind to convince himself that it was all in his head. That David was the best boyfriend anyone could ever wish for, and that the tirades he had to endure was just the cost of that. He was afraid he added things in his mind that hadn’t actually taken place and he created his own narrative.

Apprehension held Richie back, dreading what Eddie’s response might be. He could exclaim Richie to be a complainer that should have praised himself lucky to get the abuse he got, or he could say that Richie was a sourpuss, turning a fly into an elephant.

‘Shouldn’t we get rid of the smoke first?’, Richie questions to stall.

‘Later’, Eddie soothes with another kiss to his temple. ‘Talk to me. Please Rich.’

‘There was this guy I used to date, David.’

Eddie’s head shoots up in bewilderment, his brow furrowed. ‘You never told me about him.’

‘Yeah well we never talk about your wife either and I thought that would mean we wouldn’t disclose our previous hang ups.’

‘Ex-wife. Remember Rich? She’s my ex-wife. There’s nobody in the world I would rather be with then with you.’

‘Stop it you bastard,’ Richie sniffles pathetically. ‘You know I can’t deny you anything when you sweet talk me.’

‘That’s the plan.’

Eddie thumbs underneath Richie’s eye socket, brushing in a hypnotic rhythm that ankers him to reality. If Richie nuzzles into Eddie’s palm, then no one else but then needs to know.

Talking about something that brings forth a lot of anxiety goes smoother with closed eyes, Richie’s come to find, so he does that before revealing what he should have revealed a long time ago.

‘He was.. not so kind’, he chuckles humorless. ‘He really thrived when he pointed out everything I did wrong, liked yelling too.’

‘Rich?’

‘Wait let me finish. If I don’t say it now I’ll never get the courage to again.’ He opens his eyes only to see Eddie nod in agreement, and his face starting to tang a bit red.

‘Sometimes I couldn’t even walk right without him being all up in my ass about it. At parties he would gladly tell everyone embarrassing things I did, or he would pretend like he did all the work at home while really he was the one that did nothing. And the way he spoke to me.. like I was a child and he was a teacher or something. And he had this way of saying things so I’d know I was a breath away from being yelled at, but so that he could still claim he never once raised his voice at me. I guess I was scared you were going to do the same thing after seeing what a major fuck up I am. . He kept insisting I didn’t do things good enough, but I was really trying my best. I fucking swear Eds. I can’t help that my best isn’t good enough.’

The repetitive motion that Eddie kept up during his long monologue abruptly ends, and Eddie instead balls his hands up into two fist, pulling away from Richie to lean on the counter. He bounces on his heels, unable to stand still any longer as he is now the one to squeeze his eyes shut.

‘Eddie?’ Richie implores, the panic from before quickly flooding through his bloodstream and entering every part of his body.

Eddie opens his eyes, and something on Richie’s face must give away what he’s experiencing, because he’s quick to assure Richie did nothing wrong. ‘No, shit Richie it’s not you sweetheart. I love you, you did nothing, nothing wrong.’

He pecks Richie on the lips twice, very softly and barely noticeable, almost a goad to get Richie to cram their lips together tighter. For a long moment, they don’t move. Their lips stay hovering just out of reach, and one of Eddie’s palms slide down Richie’s chest down to his belly and up again. It’s an effort for Eddie to try and generate as much love towards Richie as he possibly can, before his resolve breaks and he has to let his resentment for David out in some way.

‘I’m going to kill him.’ Eddie turns away from Richie, but his hand remains on Richie’s stomach, a connection so they don’t separate. His chest puffs up, almost like he’s gearing up to go fight David right now. He would if he got the chance.

‘Spagheddie you don’t have to do that for me. I don’t even own his number anymore.’

‘I don’t care Rich,’ Eddie’s voice trembles but is laced with a deadly amount of venom. ‘He should have never done those things to you. If I ever see him I’ll fucking strangle him with my bare hands.’

‘It’s fine Eds, it wasn’t that bad.’ The denial burns in his chest. He wondered for a long time if he could qualify what he went through as abuse, not because he was actively hoping to label himself as an abuse victim, but because he questioned if what happened to him was worth being this upset over. In conclusion, Richie decreed it wasn’t. Eddie's eyes snap up, burning behind a sheen layer of glass.

‘He never hit me like Bev’s husband did to her.’

‘That doesn’t fucking matter. What happened to Bev is terrible, but that doesn’t make what happened to you any less dire. Both of you were victims of abuse, save for a different kind.’

Are they comparable? If they were talking about another person Richie would say yes, that both leave lasting scars, but because he’s the subject of the question, he can’t say for sure. He’s not lenient enough with himself to allow such a statement to be made. Bev can suffer from the consequences of her abuse, but from Richie’s perspective, he should be over it by now.

‘Oh fuck,’ Eddie curses explicitly, ‘and I called you an idiot. Richie I’m so sorry.’

Eddie’s little crease that only appears when he’s discontent about something appears again, and he avoids eye contact with Richie. There’s no need for any of that. Richie hadn’t even taken that big of a notice about the word. He was reassured Eddie would never use it as a true insult, and even if he wasn’t convinced of that, the tender way Eddie reacts towards him otherwise would be enough to convince him.

‘No Eddie. I don’t mind, really. I don’t want things to change between us because I told you this. I like our banter.’

He finally takes his hand from under the lukewarm water stream, and dries it on his pants -the water, come Eddie’s prediction, has eased the aflame skin -. With both hands now free, Richie cuddles up closer to Eddie, using his arms to tug him closer. Eddie is still dressed in his suit from work - and it might deem handsome, but it is not very comfortable - but has not mentioned getting changed once, too enraptured with taking care of Richie.

‘They won’t if you don’t want to, but we’re making a deal. If I do something that hurts you, you need to tell me, so I can apologize and tell you I didn’t mean any of it. Are we clear?’

‘Aye aye captain. Shall we pinky promise on it?’

‘No, I’d rather kiss on it.’

They do, and this time the kiss progresses further than just a simple peck. Eddie cups Richie’s face in between his palms, a soft, sentimental smile ruining it a little. It doesn’t matter, Richie still greedily savors the moment as it comes.

‘All those times that you went on stage and rocked that whole performance I was already infinitely proud, but shit Richie, now that you’ve told me I’m even prouder. He tore you down but you spit in his face and said fuck no, I’m still going to be my own person. I’ll never let him treat you badly again. More importantly, you’ll never let him do it again. You’re so strong sweetheart.’

Richie sniffs, ‘why the hell are you still being so sappy? I told you everything already, there’s no need to spawn me further.’ He giggles, and Eddie can’t help but chuckle at the sight too, then he turns serious again.

‘Okay, now let me take care of you. I’m going to clean up, hush I am and you’re not going to lift a single finger, and then we’ll order in, watch tv from the bed and cuddle. That sounds good? We can talk about the heavy things in the morning.’ Richie has been through enough for one day.

‘That sounds perfect Eds.’

They let go of each other, but not before Eddie sneaks in a kiss on his forehead, cheek and jaw.

While dating David, Richie never used the word love. He knew, with manipulated affection and all, that he did not love David. Love isn’t supposed to change us, it’s supposed to accept us, makes us laugh and cry at appropriate times, and cocoon us in her warmth. Love doesn’t change us, but it adds something more to the previous person we were yesterday. Eddie adds something more to Richie every single day, be it by teaching him or standing by his side when he messes up. Richie loves Eddie, and he gets loved back equally as fierce.

#My writing #I'm literally begging for people to comment their opinions on my writing #reddie #reddie fic #richie and eddie #adult Richie #adult Eddie Kaspbrak #richie x eddie #reddie imagines #hurt comfort #fluffy ending #but heavy middle and beginning #eddie loves Richie #they're in love #Richie tozier #eddie kaspbrack

37 notes · View notes

jjkpls · 4 years

Text

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenario #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon scenario #namjoon drabble #my writing

106 notes · View notes

they-write-once-in-a-blue-moon · 4 years

Text

Broken Glass

Sirius x Reader - Angst to Fluff

Words: 3052

A/n: Dialogue heavey. This is the first time in a while I've written post-azkaban Sirius

You never liked this goddamn house, well, never is the wrong word.

You USED to love this house It was full of life Love Colourful Bright Happy

It was a home

But not anymore like the flip of a switch, the home you once loved turned into a building. Some walls and a roof. That night when Lily and James died your world changed, your husband, Sirius got sent to Azkaban he killed some of your closest friends.

Although part of you knew he didn’t do it, he would never betray them but when the whole wizarding world is talking about him “Sirius Orion Black murder” “Working for he who shall not be named”

It wore you down, you went from defending him, telling people there’s no way it was him to pushing it aside, not only was everything you knew and loved was ripped from you just the cherry on top Dumbledore wouldn’t let you care for Harry “It’s too dangerous” “He can’t grow up in this world, he’s not ready” you disagreed.

Not only for Harry to keep him safe and loved. But partly for yourself, he was the last bit of hope you had but with that final no you smashed like glass.

Remus had vanished, he left without a word. You spent 13 years doing the same thing, eating, sleeping, staring at the roof of the house or at the cafe you worked at. It was a muggle one, It was a break from the world you knew just for a moment you could feel in control, no one knew your past. Yes, you still lived in the wizarding world but that cafe It was a place that was yours.

But like all good things to It got smashed, like the cup of coffee you just dropped

Remus John Lupin

Was in your cafe

“Hey... y/n, how are you?” He asked awkwardly and gave you a sympathetic smile, clearly concerned. He looked so tired. Although you couldn’t care less, at least that's what you told yourself, there were a million things you wanted to say Instead.

“I’m sorry sir, I’ll clean that up and get you a new cup” you give a faint smile walking behind the counter and grabbing a broom and a rag, cleaning up the broken glass without speaking to him, grabbing his new coffee, one of your co-workers made while you cleaned the floor and brought it over to him, giving a half-real smile

“Terribly sorry sir” “Y/n…” “Is there something you need?” You turn, pulling out your notepad as if about to take an order “I need to talk to you” “I don’t have much time to talk, as I’m working, have a good day”

Remus sat in the cafe for the rest of your shift ordering a new coffee every so often as he read It was a newspaper. The front page had an image of Sirius yelling the headline

“Sirius Black escapes from Azkaban!”

You felt like crying, you suddenly were very aware of the cold taps on your chest when you walked. From your wedding ring, you’d taken it off, not being able to bear not having it on, you couldn't not have it with you. It felt wrong. So you put it through a small chain and held it near your heart.

Why did he have to come in and bring back so much you had worked 13 years to forget, you pushed all your thoughts away and focused on coffee and cold shitty pastries.

After what felt like an eternity your shift ended taking off your apron and grabbing your jacket. Saying quick goodbyes and “see you laters” sneaking out the back door, trying to avoid Remus.

You start walking home, the late sunset wind calming you, but you couldn’t shake the feeling someone was following you and you knew who that someone would be. Remus. Stopping in your tracks with a sigh “Remus, stop stalking me, it’s creepy”

“I'm not stalking you, I’m following behind you without you knowing” You stiffen at his words it was a phrase you used to say at Hogwarts “Y/n, I need to talk to you”

“I don’t care, Remus, you show up at my work, after 13 years of leaving me without a letter, not even a goodbye and now, you want to talk to me” You raise your eyebrows placing your hands on your hips

“Y/n, you don’t understand- ” “Yeah I don’t, and honestly I don’t want to understand” you emphasize, you just wanted to sleep

“Sirius escaped from Azkaban”

“I know, I saw on the paper you were reading. Are we done I wanna go to my house”

“He’s at Grimmauld Place” Remus continued

“Good for him” You give an uncaring face, in reality, you did care. You cared a lot

“You know he didn’t do it...Right?”

“Remus! I don’t care, I don’t care about any of this anymore!” You yell at him “Good night” You turn on your heel walking back to your house tears pricking at your eyes. You knew the moment you're in the house they would fall. As you guessed right when you stepped inside the tears broke. You slam the door shut crumbling against it.

You felt like a china cabinet fell on you, something brooms and rags wouldn’t be able to clean, you couldn’t just get another cup. Your eyes felt heavy, not bothered to move. Or rather. Not motivated enough to even think about moving, you end up passing out on the floor. Thank merlin you don’t have work tomorrow.

You wake up with a sore neck and back ‘why couldn’t I have at least gone to the couch’ you go about your normal boring routine. Shower, dress, looked for breakfast but remember you have barely any food as you have been having uber eats for the past month and a bit

Cause fuck going to the shopping centre

You sat down on your couch intending on sitting there all day and watching Netflix you put on

‘Dorian Gray’ (😉) you got about 10 minutes in when there’s a knock on the door. Sighing you pause the movie to get the door expecting it to be the little girl next door who gives you a painted rock every Saturday morning, opening the door with a kind smile even though it’s very fake since she’s like 5 she doesn’t know the concept of fake smiling

“Hi sweetheart- “ It’s not the sweet girl next door quite the opposite. It's a tall adult man. Remus was at your door “Nope” was all you said slamming the door shut “Y/n...Please open the door” “Go away” You call sitting back on the couch and playing the movie hoping he would leave but you forgot. This is Remus we’re talking about he’s not going to give up that easy

“Y/n...I need to talk to you” You ignore him “I know you can hear me” Nothing

“Alohomora” Remus says and the door opens. He walks into the lounge seeing you standing up wand pointed at him

“Breaking in is illegal you know, ha what am I saying, you know all about illegal behaviour”

“Y/n I need your help”

“You have the order at your fingertips, you don’t need me I’m not stupid” you glare at him, so done with this mess “I know you're not, you're one of the smartest people I know. But this isn’t for me. This is for Harry”

You lower your wand “What happened to Harry?” “So much, but before I tell you. I’m assuming you’d want to see him?”

“Yes please,” You said quickly

“Come” He offered his arm so you could apparate together. In a blink, you were in a hallway. one you knew, you were in the Black family's house

“Harry!” Remus called heading footsteps down the stairs until Harry was in front of you and Remus

“Harry this is y/n...Your godmother” “Wait...Really?” You smile and nodded, after a silence that killed you

“Why didn’t you take me in?” Harry mumbled “I tried to, Dumbledore had other plans but I’m here now” You had tears chipping in the corner of your eyes yet were willing them not to fall

“You probably hear this every five seconds, but you look so much like them Harry, but your eyes”

“I have my mother's eyes, I know”

You chuckle “You do, but that’s not what I was going to say” He tilted his head slightly “I can see James in your eyes”

His eyes widen slightly, tears pricking at the corners like yours.

“You have this spark, one he carried every day, it was always there, it got a bit brighter when he was about to do something stupid, funny and clever, but stupid. One of his master pranks” Your tears fell thinking about it as did Harry’s “He never lost that spark, now it’s your turn to keep it going”

“How well did you know my parents?” He questioned “Lily was my best friend” You let out a breathe like laugh “And she always will be”

“Can you tell me about them?” He said in a small voice “Happily” You smile

“The lounge is just there, I’ve got some boring things to do” Remus smiles motioning to the room across from the hall Harry nods walking there. You turn to Remus first

“Thank you” You smile at him, the first real smile in a long time. You go catch up to Harry and sit next to Harry on one of the couches. Unluckily, it was with the portrait of Walburga right as you sit down she pipes up

“How dare you enter my home, you’re a disgrace to the wizarding world. I thought I told you never to step foot in my home the last time you were here!”

“Pleasure to see you as always Walburga” She starts yelling again

“Can it, you old hag” You pull out your wand and do a quick spell to muffle her screaming

“I’ll take it off later” You wink at Harry “Now, James”

“Can you tell me about his pranks?”

“Oh, merlin, which one” You laugh “Hm. What about the time where he got the entire Gryffindor tower in detention?”

“How did he manage that!” His eyes widen like his smile, you start telling the story, Harry listening closely he felt like he was just a teenager laughing with you, blocking out the bullshit.

***

Remus had walked into the kitchen dining room to see Sirius standing and the front of the table. His eyes wide “Is that?” Remus nods

Sirius move towards the door but Remus catches his arm “She’s with Harry, let them be for a bit”

Sirius hears laughter. The sound was both the best thing he’s heard in a long, long time, the sound of his wife and godson laughing together and it was real laughter. “I have to see her, I have to talk to her” He had an erratic, anxious voice “Later Pads, when the others get here you can but for now, let her talk with Harry” “Where has she been?”

“Still living in your old home” Sirius’s eyes widen “She works at a cafe close by, I don’t remember the name. That’s all I know” “How is she?” “I- I don’t know” Remus admits looking down while Sirius frowns

“How don’t you know? You’ve been with her while I was- ” “I wasn’t with her…” “What?” Sirius’s voice when down a notch

“After you got taken away, I cut everyone off, including her” “You what!?” Sirius voice raised slightly “Don’t you remember what happened when- ”

“Yes I remember Sirius, but I panicked, but what’s important is she’s here now. Come on, we have work to do until the others get here” Sirius reluctantly agreed, giving one last look at the door

You had just told a story of when in an attempt to turn Mrs Norirs pink, the boys turned Mcgonagall pink. When Remus popped his head in the door

“Everyone's back if you wanna say hi”

“Sure!” Harry says you nod going out to the hallway. You take off the charm on the painting before closing the door, getting jump scared by Molly saying hello. “Shivers, Hi Molly” She grabs your face “It’s been too long!” She smiles

You say hello to everyone making small talk. Sirius was standing in the doorway to the kitchen he went from wanting to talk to you to having a lump in his throat. Seeing you smile made him have a small grin as he watched you with everyone he cared for.

You caught Sirius in the corner of your eye giving him a quick glance before going back to talking to Molly’s twins “Wait, where’s Sirius?” Harry looks around the hallway spotting him at the door “Sirius! Come!” Harry waves Sirius over. He gulps walking over

“Hey y/n” He smiles “Hey” You smile at him. It's the kind of smile he knew, It was one that you were always able to fool everyone with no one but Sirius could tell it was a fake smile. The fake smile you gave people that you didn’t want to talk to.

“Anyway, as much as I want to stay, I have to head back to my house” You give a small smile “Wait, you’re not staying?” Harry’s face fell, It hurt you to see that It felt like your heart cracked “I’m sorry Harry, I swear on my life I’ll come by every second I can” “Please don’t leave me…” He whispered looking at the floor. You wanted to protest yet you physically couldn’t

“I swear you and James could get me to do anything” His eyes lit up again and he did something you thought you’d never feel again. He hugged you. You stiffen for only a moment, he went to move away and apologies. But you hug him back

“Ok, everyone in the kitchen for dinner!” Molly calls, everyone filling in you go to follow when Sirius calls to you “Y/n, can we talk?”

“There’s nothing to say, Sirius” You say over your shoulder walking into the room with everyone Sirius looks down, before putting on a brave face and walking in after you.

It felt amazing to see everyone again after dinner and a while of catching up, Molly ushing the teens to go up to their rooms to sleep, The adults who didn’t live there slowly leaving as well

“It was amazing to see you all again” You smile brightly as you put on your jacket “Are you going to come back again?” Harry says a worried look on his face

“Every chance I get, I’ll be here for you, and you can always send me a letter if you need me” You hug Harry kissing the crown of his head. Saying final goodbyes you go to the door as Harry runs up the stairs.

It’s just you and Sirius left in the hallway, you give him a smile It was small but real. He smiled at you back “I missed you” he said sadness evident in his voice.

You nod, raising your hand in a small wave. He notices your ring not there and his eyes sink, he starts fiddling with his ring something he did when he was upset or stressed and you noticed

“I’ve still got it you know?” You step closer to him. grabbing his hand with his ring on it

“But you’re not wearing it” His voice was small “I know this whole mess broke us, broke you, I guess I just hoped you still loved me like I love you”

You move his hand to your lips placing a small kiss on the ring. Something you did when he was stressed, his eyes started watering. You pull the necklace from under your shirt

“Just because it’s not on my finger doesn’t mean I’m not wearing it I have it on me all day, every day It just felt wrong to have it on my finger since I thought you’d stop loving me”

He smiled, taking the necklace off you slipping the ring off, putting it back on your finger where it felt right. This moment made you feel whole again like Sirius was getting a broom and rags cleaning the broken glass, to get you a new cup of coffee, to make a new start.

“I know things aren’t going to be like they used to but I’ll be damned if I don’t try to make you feel like you once did and I won’t leave you again. Even if it means sitting in this fucking house. I’ll do it for you” Tears started falling from his eyes matching the ones that fell from yours

“Sirius, our old home, isn’t a home anymore. After you left, the life left it but this place isn’t a ‘house’ for me. This may be a horrendous place, the source of so much pain. But it’s home cause you’re here” He pulls you into a hug crying into your shoulder

“I missed you so much y/n” “I missed you too Siri, I love you, and I never stopped and I never will” “I love you” He kept repeating into your hair

Harry was standing at the top of the stairs watching this, crying seeing the two people who were best friends with his parents. Who have both sworn to him never to leave him reuniting. He had overheard Remus and Sirius talking about you before but it didn’t click it was you. How could it? he’d never met you and they never said your name, it makes sense now, how Sirius talked about you.

Looking up the stairs you saw Harry duck out of view, but you had seen him

“Harry, if you were going to watch and eavesdrop on us you probably should have put your invisibility cloak on” You chuckled hearing Harry swear under his breath and Sirius looked up the stairs at him, motioning him to come down. He’s never moved so quickly and he joined the hug

“When this is all over we’ll be a proper family, you’ll see” Sirius smiles

The glass had been fixed and never been clearer.

#fan #fic #fanfic #hp #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #hp fanfic #sirius #sirius black #padfoot #marauder x reader #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #post-azkaban #post azkaban #post-azkaban sirius #post azkaban sirius

114 notes · View notes