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myrandomfandomramblings · 3 years

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Angela’s “Baby Shower” - a The Rookie Fanfic

At 35 weeks pregnant Angela was over it. She was sick of always having to run to the bathroom. She was done with the fogginess in her brain interfering with her work. She was over the sore back and hips and feet that came from carrying an extra 30 pounds in her abdomen and she was tired of being so tired after being unable to find a comfortable sleeping position. But mostly she just no longer wanted to feel so different. She hated being too exhausted to go out with her friends after shift and even if she was feeling up for it she always had to get water while everyone else got their cocktail of choice. She was frustrated at being unable to bend down easily when investigating crime scenes and having to rely on others to find all the evidence. She also disliked the attention she got because of her pregnancy. Everybody always seemed to be looking at her belly, asking her when she was due, how she was doing and cooing about the joys of parenthood. She was excited about the baby and couldn’t wait to meet her little bundle of joy but she also craved normalcy, to just feel like herself and be a part of the group instead of sticking out like a sore thumb. So when Wesley pitched the idea of a baby shower to celebrate her and their little one, yet to be born, she vetoed that idea fast and hard. When she shared her reasoning her Fiancé nodded.

“I understand where your coming from but you actually gave me a really good idea for a baby shower that I’m sure you’ll love. Do you trust me?” he asked.

She had nodded and agreed to let him throw her a baby shower with the caveat that she could pull the plug at anytime.

Which brought them to the day of the baby shower, a Saturday, two weeks later.

Wesley had kept the entire thing a surprise so Angela was thoroughly confused as she watched him unpack a number of crates and garbage bags from the truck and bring them into the downtown park where she sat.

“What is all this?” She asked.

“You’ll see,” he replied giving her a wink. “Once everyone gets here.”

20 minutes later everyone was there. Lucy, Jackson, Tim, Nolan, and Harper. Grey wanted to come but had to work.

“Welcome everyone,” Wes announced, “today we will be competing to see who is the most badass pregnant person.” At this point everyone including Angela was looking at Wesley like he had grown a second head but he pushed on. “There will be three challenges: an escape room, laser tag and a contraction simulator and you will be divided into two teams. Angela as our guest of honour you get to pick your two teammates.”

“Nyla and Lucy,” Angela said immediately. She still didn’t really understand what they were doing but she had the feeling girl power was the way to victory.

Lucy and Harper excitedly moved over to Angela, giving each other high fives.

“Guess that means we’re a team,” Nolan said draping his arms around Jackson and Tim’s shoulders.

“Great,” Tim replied rolling his eyes. Angela wasn’t sure if he was mad because she didn’t choose him or because he wasn’t on the same team as Lucy either way she was looking forward to kicking his butt.

“OK now the last thing to do before we start the competition is to pregnify everyone,” Wesley stated.

“I feel like I should make some sort of joke about how babies are made but I think I’ll wait to see where you’re going with this,” Nolan offered.

“First everyone put one of these on,” Wesley said as he reached into a garbage bag and brought out a handful of wrap baby carriers which he handed out. Once everybody had theirs on he opened the lids of several storage containers.

“Now everyone, come grab a balloon and put them in your carrier.”

“Wow these are heavier than I expected. What’s in them?” Jackson asked as he lifted a balloon out of the tub.

“They’re full of water and some sand,” Wesley answered, “and they each way exactly 30 lbs, the average amount of weight gained in pregnancy. I weighed them myself.”

“Is that why you asked me where the scale was the other night?” Angela asked

Wesley confirmed before moving on. “Next everyone grab a hoodie to put over your bundle of joy,” he said opening another garbage bag.

“It’s at least 80 degrees we don’t need hoodies,” Tim complained.

“It’s to replicate the heat generated by a growing baby,” Wesley replied, “plus I had a lot of fun with them.”

Tim rolled his eyes but obediently put on the last hoodie.

All the hoodies were bright neon colours (Lucy pink, Harper purple, Jackson green, Nolan yellow and Tim blue) and had pregnancy announcements written on the front in thick black letters: ‘Baby on Board’, ‘Coming summer 2021’, ‘Eating for two’, etc.

“There’s one for you too if you want it Ange, but you don’t have to wear it,” Wesley said. “Now the last thing, well things,” he added bringing out a bottle of Benadryl and stack of medicine cups, “since I can’t give you brain fog I’m just going to make you drowsy. Everybody take a medicine cup and wash it down with one of these,” he said opening a cooler lid to reveal a stack of 1L water bottles, “the whole thing.”

“I’m going to have to pee so bad,” Lucy joked as she started to drink her water.

“That’s the idea,” Wesley replied.

They spent the next 20 minutes finishing their waters, waiting for the Benadryl to kick in and admiring their new ‘bellies’.

Angela laughed as Jackson yelled “belly bump,” while running then jumping towards Lucy who met him in the air before the force knocked them both off their feet. She laughed even harder watching them try and fail to get up on their own until Wesley came to help them. She happily accepted a belly bum from Jackson once he had taken them down a notch (or several) as did everyone else but Nolan who was excessively protecting his fake fetus, shielding his stomach with his arms and body whenever anybody approached. Angela watched her friends, thoroughly entertained by their antics. She was especially enjoying the effect a visibly pregnant Lucy was having on Tim. He was constantly stealing glances at her and when she smoothed her hoodie over her stomach and asked him how she looked his cheeks flushed and Angela was pretty sure she heard him stutter. This was confirmed by Nyla who had come up beside her and after a quick poke at Tim started reminiscing about her own pregnancy with Lila, which got the two woman talking and comparing notes. She was vaguely aware of Lucy who had taken her phone out and was now taking pictures and videos of everybody but didn’t fully turn her attention back to the others until Wesley said it was time for the first challenge: the escape room.

They walked to the escape room place which was only about a block away with minimal whining and a lot of perplexed looks from passers by. Once they got there they split into their teams and went to their respective rooms. The girls’ room was sorcerer’s lair themed and overall they got through it pretty smoothly. They had a few bumps in the road: by 20 minutes in they were all crossing their legs trying to hold their pee, Lucy fell asleep once while sitting at a table trying to decode a message and Nyla debated trying to use one of the magic wands in their room to pop her balloon. “Now I remember why I only had one. This was not easy,” she said as she slid down the wall to sit on the floor. But overall they worked together really well and had a lot of fun just talking about anything and everything as they solved all the puzzles and escaped the room.

When the girls were done, after a quick trip to the bathroom, they joined Wesley in the control booth to watch the guys via video and they seemed to be having a much harder time. Jackson was trying to decode the message Lucy had but was becoming visibly more and more frustrated as he rubbed his temples and verbally demanded and pleaded with his brain to work. Nolan was trying to bend down to open a trap door (Angela had opened theirs with a broom handle) but couldn’t quite reach it without nearly falling over. After many failed attempts he eventually used the chair as a support bar to lower himself to the ground then push himself back up once the door was open. Meanwhile Tim kept swearing under his breath as he accidentally knocked various things off shelves and tables with his fake belly when he forgot how far out it reached. Luckily one of the things he knocked off opened when it hit the floor to reveal a key they needed to escape the room, which Nolan was able to retrieve with his new chair technique. Shortly after, Jackson succeeded in decoding his clue and from there they proceeded to finish the room pretty quickly and easily.

After another bathroom break they headed to the food trucks for a quick lunch where they mostly sat in content silence as everyone happily shovelled food into their mouths. This silence was only punctuated by the occasional comment that was either gloating or trash talk or by Tim barking “What are you looking at?” at people eyeing the group.

Next they headed to laser tag. Which Wesley had booked privately, so they had the whole place to themselves. The rules were simple every time you shot a member of the opposing team your team earned a point. First team to 30 won. Everybody seemed to have a good time. Angela laughed at her friends as they tried to sneak up on or out run each other, both techniques that were being significantly impacted by their fake pregnancies. Nolan at one point declared that the more aggressively you waddled the faster you could go and spent the rest of the game darting around like a mad penguin. He was ultimately successful in getting 6 points for his team using this technique which was significantly more than the 1 point he got before implementing it. Jackson on the other hand found a good hiding place in a high traffic area and would shoot the opposing team anytime they came by. Although initially this strategy was very successful and he quickly racked up 10 points, once the ladies realized their vests always lit up red when they passed that area they made a plan and were able to all find and corner him in his hiding spot. By the time he got away they had got 10 points themselves. Tim tried to use a lot of the same techniques he used at work or at paintball but unfortunately for him, although they were efficient Lucy knew all of them and was able to use that knowledge to her advantage. The girls took a different approach and worked more as a team. They used some techniques from work and also had fun designing and implementing crazy plans, including one of them acting as bait to lure the guys in and the other two blind-siding them. When all was said and done the guys won 30-29. The girls attributed this to Tim and Nolan’s height advantage. They were able to see over all the obstacles but it could also be that the girls were having a little to much fun making elaborate plans that weren’t necessarily the most practical (the gun tricks looked cool but significantly decreased their shooting accuracy). Nonetheless, Angela had the greatest total points with 16.

Following laser tag everybody was really happy but also extremely exhausted and they outright refused to walk the ten minutes back to the park despite the fact that because they were downtown it would take twice as long to drive their in traffic. While everybody went pee again Wesley walked back and brought the van.

“I call middle row,” Harper yelled as Wesley pulled into the parking lot.

“Me too,” West added.

Angela took the passenger seat which left Nolan, Lucy and Tim to squeeze into the back row. Because Lucy was the smallest she was forced to take the middle seat but it didn’t seem to matter to her as she fell asleep almost immediately and spent the 20 minute ride leaning against Tim, head on his shoulder. They woke her up once they were back at the park but only after they had taken a couple pictures.

Once they all got out of the van Wesley told them they could take off their hoodies and fake bellies. Tim and Nyla quickly took off their stuff and helped Wesley set up for the labour simulation. Meanwhile the three newly minted P2’s goofed around. Nolan pretended to be giving birth taking quick breaths and squeezing Lucy’s hand as he pushed his balloon out the bottom of the carrier where Jackson caught it. Then working together the three of them lifted the balloon above their heads and belted out ‘The Circle of Life.’ Following the end of their song they too quickly shed their layers then went to join the rest of the group gathered in front of a folding beach chair that had been set up.

“Alright everyone welcome to the final and tie-breaking event,” Wesley announced.

“Tied?” Angela questioned. “We beat the guys by at least half an hour in the escape room and they only beat us by one point at laser tag. We are winning.”

“That’s not how this works babe. But don’t worry because you will be sitting this one out because you have to go through real labor in a couple weeks, I will be taking your spot and I will make sure your team wins.”

“You better,” Angela replied teasingly.

“Alright this is the labour simulator,” Wesley explained holding up a small device, “We stick these electrodes to your stomach and this machine will deliver electricity which will result in fake contracts that range in intensity from 1-10,” he pointed to a dial on the machine. “According to the instruction book 1 is like mild period cramps, 4 is Braxton-Hicks contractions, 8 is full blown labour and 10 is just full blown torture. Whichever team can tolerate the highest combined score wins. Oh and tolerate means experience that setting for at least ten seconds without ripping the leads off your body. Any questions?” When everybody shook their heads he continued. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,“ Jackson offered making his way to the chair. Wesley stuck the electrodes to his abdomen then he was ready to go.

He jumped initially on the first setting since he had no idea what to expect but after that he was pretty calm just clenching his jaw as the pain was increased. That is until he got to 6.

“Can I hold somebody’s hand?” he asked, “That’s a thing, right?”

Both Lucy and Nolan immediately stood up.

“How about two hands,” Nolan suggested seeing this.

“Even better,” Jackson replied intertwining his left hand with Nolan’s and his right with Lucy’s.

This was enough to get him through 7 and 8 as he channeled all his pain into his friends, crushing their hands, but one second into 9 and he immediately pulled the leads off.

“Great job Jackson,” Wesley said as everyone patted him on the back, “Who’s next.”

Lucy went next and didn’t so much as flinch until 5 at which point she decided she was going to try meditation. This helped her through 6 and 7 at which point she too wanted hands to squish. Although both Jackson and Nolan offered, Lucy’ teammates decided it was their job. Between crushing her friends hands and focusing on her breathing she got through 8 rather easily. She clearly struggled more with 9. Jackson, Nolan and Wes were counting down. “Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven,” Angela felt Lucy’s grip loosen in her own. She was going to pull off the leads that is until Tim spoke up, “Come on Chen. You’ve got this. You’re strong,” he said and Lucy’s grip tightened back around Angela’s. “Three, Two, One, Done.” Everybody cheered as Lucy released her team mates hands and opened her eyes. “Sorry team but that’s enough for me I’m not trying 10,” she said as she removed the electrodes from her stomach.

“You did great,” Angela said and patted Lucy’s shoulder.

Tim went next. Rather than closing his eyes he fixed his glare on the machine in Wesley’s hand as if he could intimidate it in to giving up. He also refused to hold anyone’s hand and instead gripped the armrests of the chair. By the time he got to 8 he was gripping so hard he broke the arm of the chair but still some how managed to maintain a near neutral expression throughout the entire experience. At this point Lucy insisted on holding the hand that had broken the chair. When he pointed out that he was worried he would hurt her she stubbornly grabbed his hand in both of hers, “I’m strong, remember.” With Lucy’s help Tim too made it through 9 and like his former rookie decided to end it there.

Harper went next. Although she was clearly in pain she was able to do 10 by focusing on her breathing, holding her friends hands and thinking about Lila.

“How did you do that?” Jackson asked awe in his voice.

“When I was in labour with Lila I had contractions that were at least the intensity of 8 that lasted a minute each for like eight hours. One ten second one is a piece of cake.”

“You didn’t have an epidural?” Nolan asked

Harper shook her head, “I was being stubborn. I wanted to prove to myself that I could do it.”

“You’re very impressive, but I have nothing to prove to anyone. I’m getting an epidural,” Angela offered.

“You do what’s right for you,” Nyla replied patting her friend on the back, “ You’re going to do great.”

Nolan went next. He was practically jumping out of the chair by the time it got to 6 and at 7 he was writhing around so much he actually managed to tip the chair over. The fact that he ended up in a tangled mess on the ground was probably the only reason he made it through 7 without ripping the electrodes off. He did his best on 8 but despite having everyone around him either holding his hand or holding him down he only made it five seconds.

“OK the guys got 7+8+9 that’s 24. We already have 19 so all you have to do is get through 6 babe,” Angela said to Wesley.

It should have been easy. The pain wasn’t that bad, but it was in his abdomen and it was just a little too similar to the pain he experienced when he was stabbed. He was starting to get flashbacks but he wanted to do this for his fiancé, the love of his life and mother to his unborn child. He was going to do this for Angela even when she told him it was OK, that she understood, that he didn’t need to push through this trauma for her but he wanted to. So despite the fact that his whole body was pale, we was dripping with sweat, dizzy and short of breath with tears streaming down his face he pushed through his ten seconds at 6 with steely determination. At this point Angela pulled off the electrodes for him then pulled him into a hug. All her friends wrapped themselves around the couple and they stayed like that until Wesley was feeling better.

“I didn’t get any prizes so bragging rights will have to be enough,” Wesley admitted.

“The day was prize enough,” Lucy offered, “I had a blast, we should do stuff like this more often.”

“Does that mean you’re not going to rub it in?” Jackson asked.

“Not a chance,” she replied.

“How about because we won we get to meet the baby first?” Nyla suggested.

“That’s fair,” Angela agreed, “but what do I get?”

“Presents,” Nyla said handing Angela her baby shower present.

After Angela opened her presents which mostly consisted of clothes and books and toys for the new baby everybody headed home to get some rest.

“Thank-you,” Angela said giving Wes a quick kiss, “For today. I really needed it.”

And she meant it. She had been feeling alone, helpless, and inadequate. But today reminded her about all the people who love her, about the strength that comes with working together. It reminded her that it’s ok to be imperfect, stressed, struggling but also to be goofy, to let loose and have fun. After today she finally felt like her self again and that woman was going to be a great mother.

#the rookie #therookiemidseasonmadness #angela lopez #wesley evers #lucy chen #tim bradford #nyla harper #jackson west #john nolan #I have no idea what this is or why I wrote it

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obsessive-ego · 4 years

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Younger me screwed current me over

Beetlejuice finds you clothes from a phase you had back in high school (a legit phase I personally had and I blame anime)

Musical beetlejuice x reader

sorta nsft???

Back in your early college years and laye high school years, you had a style phase, black and white stripes, anime was to blame, it started out as just the stockings, but kind of escalated to other articals of clothing.

As you got older the phase died down, you would wear them still, but to a lesser extent, you still loved them, but newer style choices took over. You still kept them of course, buried deep within your dresser, most of with you forgot.

Forgetting these clothes turned out to be a blessing in disguise, shortly after you finished college you up lifed yourself and moved out to the same town as your aunt Delia, long story short, you were her ex husband's sister's daughter, but Delia enjoyed you since you studied the art, and humored her views on crystals and such, you enjoyed her excessive positivity.

Delia was more then thrilled to introduce you to her new family, Charles seemed nice, and Lydia was quite interesting, of course you were introduced to the Maitlands who were very sweet. Then there was beetlejuice, lydia planned off the bat to introduce you to him as a quick scare, which ended with you sucker punching the demon, and just like that the ghoul was into you, no one had the balls to ever do that before.

Beetlejuice had worked his way into your life, shortly after your introduction he begged you to summon him whenever you wanted, and was thrilled it didnt take much convincing for you to bring him to your little flat, the ghoul got into the habbit of hanging around your place when Lydia was at school or busy. He would even hang around your place when you were at work stating you had better movies then the Deetz, but let's be honest he wanted to snoop through your stuff.

You told beetlejuice you had to pick up some misc groceries, and would be gone for an hour or so, tonight was gonna be your guys movie night, so aside from necessities you were also getting snacks.

He waved you goodbye with a bright smile, but the second the door closed and locked behind you, the smile dropped to a lecherous grin. It's been awhile since he was alone in your place, so he wasnt gonna let this opportunity pass.

You were never the type to have any REAL secrets, so blackmail was never really an option for teasing, instead beetlejuice normally took this time to roll around in your bed, smell your more delicate laundry items, and just take care of his sexual urges. Unknown to you, the demon had quite the crush on you, how could he not, you were kind, funny, basically gave him free reign, and had quite the cute behind, he adored spending time with you, and of course he wanted to pound you so hard into the mattress that you wouldn't be able to walk the next day, but you were clueless and took his advances as jokes, he'd crack you one day, but until that, messing around in your stiff was fine.

Unfortunately for him, your dirty laundry basket was empty, so no freshly used panties, he decided to just dig around through your dresser, nothing much of interest, until he spots a bit of white, in the sea of black shirts, pulling it out, he smiles, ot was a form fitting sweater, black and white horizontal striped, with a neon green trim, it was like beetlejuice designed it himself.

"How long have you had this sugar?" He purrs to himself, he sets the shirt aside before moving to his favourite drawer, inside was where all your lacy unmentionables hid, the demon couldnt help himself, smelling the croch of a few, and licking the croch of a few more, even the faintest scent or taste was enough for him. As he dug around he spotted a few unseen treasures pushed to the back of the drawer, a lecherous smirk crosses his face as he pulls out a black and white striped bra and panty set, along with a pair of matching thigh high socks. He could have came then and there, the tough of you in such a get up drove him wild, he started to palm himself through his pants at the idea of you wearing that cute little get up for him, he was snapped out of his little day dream by the sound of the front door opening.

"I'm home" you yelled, beetlejuice always appreciated this warning you gave him, not that you knew, that was just how you always came back when you lived with your parents.

In a flash the demon was before you, you flinch at his sudden appearance, obviously not expecting that, he chuckles at your response. With a snap of his fingers you bags were delt with.

"Oh! Thanks, you didnt have to do that" you greatly appreciated BJ's help since it was a rare thing, but it always felt weird when he made things disappear on you.

"Not sweat babes, since your free, how bout we have a little chat?~" his gravely voice drops to that unsettling tone that ment he was up to no good. Stating back at him you dont respond, but the ghoul continues as if you did "so sweetheart, you would say you're quite the stylish gal right? Right, I was thinking, maybe youd like a hand or two when i comes to dressing, as a change of pace~" he flashes you that unsettling smug grin signaling he WAS up to no good.

Before you can protest or do anything, beetlejuice snaps his fingers and you were now wearing the form fitting sweater he found earlier, black short shorts with black suspenders that hung around your bum, and the black and white striped thigh highs.

Something clicked in you mind, when you felt the tightness around your chest, you were no longer wearing the sports bra you slipped on today, but rather a tighter, more padded number, in a panic you pull the shorts away from you waist seeing your underwear was different too.

A mixture of anger and embarrassment fill your chest, the clothes changing, not am issue, bit the underwear, that was a step too far. "BEETLEJUICE!"

"Looking real good there sugar, had no idea we had the same taste~ how bout you you shimmy out of those clothes and show me how the panties look too~?" He purrs while walking circles around you, taking in his master piece of fashion.

"Where are my other clothes?" You huff

The demon laughs "dont worry about it, they're in the laundry" aside from your panties, there were in the ghoul's pocket.

You sigh looking at your reflection in the window "I guess this DOES look good, bra's alittle uncomfortable, but it looks like high school me vomited on current me" you turn back to the demon, who was ecstatic that you came around.

"So? Am I your fashion consultant now?" He says grabbing your hands.

You sigh "on occasion sure, just dont swap kit my underwear while I'm wearing them please"

"Wouldn't dream of it doll"

#beetlejuice x reader #muscial beetlejuice x reader

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baby-grayson · 4 years

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B44 from the prompt list please? 🥺

Thank you baby! B44. “You look like you need a friend.”

300 Dialogue Prompts

You looked at your phone: an hour and a half. In an hour and a half, that really cute guy from work would be coming to pick you up for your first date. An hour and a half is a long time to wait, but you got ready early because you were so excited. This was your first real date in a long time, and the fact that someone noticed you made your heart flutter. So, you decided to occupy yourself on your couch, all dressed up for your date, for an hour and a half.

An hour to go, you were playing app games on your phone and wondering if he would be as dressed up as you. You thought about changing your outfit but decided it against it: thinking that you wouldn’t be ready on time.

A half hour to go, you were scrolling through twitter and asked yourself if half of those people would say what they tweeted out loud.

15 minutes to go, you got a text from your best friend, Grayson. “I can’t wait to hear about it later tonight!” You smiled and quickly texted him back, you spent the greater part of that morning chattering to Gray about how excited you were to go out tonight.

10 minutes to go, you looked in your selfie camera to check your make up. You decided to reapply your lipstick, hoping that your hair would remain under control for most of the night.

5 minutes to go, you hoped he hadn’t had car trouble on the way to your apartment.

He was ten minutes late, you debated texting him to ask if he was okay. You decided not to: thinking that it would make you seem, at best, overbearing, and at worst, controlling.

He was fifteen minutes late, you shot him a quick text saying you were ready whenever he was. You looked in your selfie camera again, you wondered if your lipstick would look too wavy if you had to reapply it a third time. He was thirty minutes late, you slumped on your couch. You opened your phone to text Grayson, “He didn’t show up”. You dragged yourself off of the couch, exhaling loudly and asking yourself why you got your hopes up in the first place. You didn’t go on dates, why did you think that would change? Grayson quickly texted you back, “Are you upset?” Your mouth folded into a line, debating how much you wanted to talk about it. You stared down at Grayson’s text for a few moments before replying, “Only upset I missed dinner.”

You trudged into your bathroom and peeled off your outfit. You found a familiar pair of sweatpants and an old, holey t-shirt to wear. You stood in front of your mirror and roughly took your make up off to reveal a disappointed, lonely face underneath. You were almost done when your doorbell rang. Your heart sank. He wasn’t an hour late, was he? Were you about to go to the door, in your pajamas to go to dinner with the cute guy from work? You thought about pretending you weren’t home, but the doorbell rang again. You scampered to the front door and were pleasantly surprised when you opened it. Grayson stood in front of you, in a neon green sweatshirt and black joggers. He held up a bag of food to you, taking you in before saying, “You look like you need a friend.”

You instantly wrap your arms around his chest, “Thank you,” you words were muffled in his sweatshirt. You pulled back from him slightly, keeping your arms around him, “Come in.”

You and Grayson plopped on your couch, ate fries, and sipped your sodas together. You spoke freely around him, he was your best friend in the entire world. You reminded him about how excited you were initially. You told him how bummed you were to be left alone, especially after you were so excited to get a date for once. “The guy’s an idiot,” Grayson declared with a mouth full of French fries. “You’ll find someone who makes you so happy,” he swallowed the fries and gave you a set a serious eyes, “You are so special, you deserve someone who sees you for exactly how wonderful you are.” His mouth turned into a kind, warm smile: the same warm smile he had been sharing with you for years.

“You’re my best friend, you’re supposed to say that,” you quipped, tossing a French fry at him from across the couch. Grayson shook his head, picking the fry from his sweatshirt, “I mean it, you need someone who is committed to making you the happiest woman in the world. You want someone who will make sure you never stop smiling.” Your melted slightly, it felt good to have a best friend as kind and considerate as Grayson. His heart panged from words he would never speak out loud. In his heart of hearts, Grayson wanted to be the person who kept you smiling for the rest of your life. He was madly in love with you but could never muster up the courage to tell you. So tonight, he sat with you on your couch, nursing some fries, and listening to you complain about a boy who was not worth your time.

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qqueenofhades · 5 years

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Aziraphale and Crowley decide to go travelling.

They have been on Earth for over six thousand years, but they’ve not actually seen that much of it. They’ve been soldiers posted at a garrison, responsible for the blessings and/or temptations despatched in the British Isles for jolly well most of that time, and they can’t just faff off whenever they please. (As well as, of course, the unspoken fact that neither of them will stray too far from the other. Aziraphale’s had to handle the Irish-related bits since the fifth century, when a killjoy bloke named Patrick chucked the snakes out. Pity, that – Crowley, being red-haired and fond of drink and trouble, would love to come back, but alas.) They have moved out of London and to that cottage in the South Downs, itself a change after living in the city for almost five hundred years, but it doesn’t take long for them to realise that without constant marching orders to await and no destruction of the world to avert, they’ve got… time. And one morning Crowley suggests, and Aziraphale somehow finds himself agreeing, that they just bugger off and see the lot of it. Or at least make a start.

They don’t travel like humans who want the big flashy commercial bits: the Eiffel Tower, the Great Wall of China, the Sydney Opera House, Disneyworld. Aziraphale thinks at first that they’ll just ride in Pullman cars, something he has always rather wanted to do, and is dismayed to learn that Pullman cars went the way of the dodo in 1968. Failing that, they should just fly, or miracle themselves. He’s taken aback when Crowley thinks it’s funny to insist on human transport, though Crowley himself was responsible for many of the recent innovations of the airline industry and has to admit, the first time they’re stuck in economy class aboard an over-booked jetliner with a screaming child behind them, he may have overdone it. They are subject to delayed trains, packed buses, leaky ferries, and the delights of something called a moto, which Aziraphale might have enjoyed more if he wasn’t screaming the whole time. Course, Crowley loves it. Nothing but respect to any mad bastard brave enough to drive that fast in Rio de Janeiro.

(‘Oh,’ Aziraphale says softly, as they stand at the very top of the hill, beneath the vast shadow of Christ the Redeemer, and think back to that promising fellow they saw nailed to the branch in Golgotha, and gaze down, down, down at the green mountains and the glittering city and the sun-blazing sea. ‘Oh, my.’)

They argue about where to go next. Crowley thinks Russia is too cold and Aziraphale thinks India is too hot, but they end up in both anyway. Aziraphale is entranced by a night at the Bolshoi Ballet in Moscow, and they wake one morning in the thick air of a humble guesthouse along the Ganges, smelling the burned offerings of the temple and listening to the splash of bathers and the chittering of the monkeys that stole their curry. They are generally pegged for gormless Englishmen wherever they go, or at least Aziraphale is; something about him just screams bum bag and floral-print shirt. Crowley manages to deter any local trouble by being himself, or if need be, flashing a strategic glimpse of his eyes. Not that that always works. A bunch of clubbers in a neon disco in Rome think it’s very chic.

(Crowley doesn’t like Rome much. He can barely walk round the city without looking like a jitterbug, and Aziraphale refuses to let him pop in on the Pope one morning in his skivvies, give the old man a good jolt. Supposedly it’s romantic, and watching a sunset over the Colosseum, hand in hand, Crowley can admit it’s got that going for it, memories of the lions that used to be big here notwithstanding. Nonetheless, he is relieved to leave.)

‘Look at me,’ Aziraphale beams, having ordered them a scrummy spread in Greece a few days later. ‘Real gentleman of the world, don’t you think, my dear? Pity we can’t see the Parthenon from here, but I suppose I can always – ’

‘If you say so, angel.’ Crowley lights a cigarette and tempts the loudmouth bastard blocking the view to go home and rethink his life. ‘Take another look now.’

They go to New York so Aziraphale can see a Broadway show, whereupon Crowley wonders how America has got into such a mess even with nothing whatsoever to do with him. Wants no part of that, thanks. They pop up to Canada after, which turns out to mostly be more Canada, though Crowley nearly hits a moose driving at ninety miles an hour down an empty highway and that would have good and discorporated both of them. They wind up at a tiny roadside motel where the only sound are the crickets and the distant sigh of passing cars, where it is deep summer and green and slow, and they lie on the bed with Aziraphale’s head on Crowley’s chest and neither of them say a word.

They drive down to San Francisco and fly from there to Tokyo, which delights Aziraphale with its proximity to sushi, clean and precise public transport, and miles of convenience stores to supply every imaginable item. Everyone looks somewhat surprised when he speaks Japanese. Crowley is just tall enough to regard doorways with suspicion, and cannot slack his vigilance when going through them. One such mishap leaves him with something of a lump when they arrive in Istanbul. Aziraphale’s wallet gets pinched in the Grand Bazaar, then after a brief and exciting episode involving a snake head, hastily returned. ‘Mesopotamia,’ Crowley remarks breezily. ‘Always an adventure in these parts, isn’t it, angel?’

They make their way down into Africa, where Crowley insists on paying homage at Freddie Mercury’s hometown in Zanzibar. Aziraphale snaps a photo of him at the sacred site and supposes that will be going into pride of place in a frame back at the cottage. They’re both burnt brown and riotously freckly, at least in Crowley’s case, and Aziraphale has acquired, under his dearest’s expert tutelage, a succession of fashionable sunglasses. They walk along a deserted beach in Cape Verde and sleep curled together in a hammock with waves lapping soft on the sand. Get on a boat headed to some island in the middle of the Atlantic, out in the arse-end of absolutely bloody nowhere, and gaze up at more stars than either of them, a pair of celestial beings, have ever seen in their lives. These do not fall, or burn, or break. The heavens do not brim with fire, nor does hell rise up. The world is at a point of perfect stillness.

‘We should get married,’ Aziraphale says one night, as casually as if it’s something that has only just occurred to him. ‘I mean… for the tax purposes.’

Crowley turns to stare at him as if it is the stupidest thing he’s ever heard. ‘Tax purposes?’

‘I just…’ Aziraphale opens and shuts his mouth. He still owns the bookshop, since he couldn’t bear to part from it, though he’s hired a couple of bright young things to run it. But of course, tax purposes do not actually have a rum thing to do with any of his reasons for asking. ‘If you didn’t… didn’t want...’

Crowley kisses him, hard and sharp and hungry. They don’t say more about it then.

They narrowly escape a hurricane in the Caribbean. They go on a trek through the Andes of South America, whereupon Aziraphale does not enjoy himself at all and has to shout at Crowley to stop leaping up hills like a lizard. They go up to Norway and putter along the fjords, and Crowley gets very drunk and pretends to be Thor. (His hair is growing out again, and he could throw lightning and thunder if he wanted to.) They hop to various cities in Europe on weekend discount-airline deals and go to the Christmas market in the Old Town Square of Prague. The really delightful thing about all this travelling, they discover, is the ability to come home together. Pop along on the train from Luton or Stansted or Gatwick or Heathrow, crunch up the walk with their bags, unlock the door and collect the post on the mat and go into the kitchen, make a nip of supper and crawl into bed together, half-packed suitcases dropped on the floor. It’s a lovely cottage. The houseplants are verdant and properly terrified, and the books cover every flat surface.

‘We should get married,’ Crowley says, on a flowering spring night in Vienna. ‘Horribly antiquated human institution and all that, but…’ He trails off, then shrugs elegantly. ‘Tax purposes.’

‘I thought, my dear,’ Aziraphale says, taking a sip of his wine, ‘that was originally my suggestion.’

Crowley’s yellow eyes sparkle at him. In this light, they are almost gold, rich and depthless, and Aziraphale would be very happy indeed to spend the rest of forever drowning in them. Placidly the demon says, even as his fingers interlock with his angel’s under the table and hold on tight, ‘I have no idea what you’re talking about.’

#good omens #good omens ff #good omens fanfiction #ineffable husbands #crowley x aziraphale #queue #this brought to you whilst i am travelling home myself #i have feelings about this k

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jojoreadwhat · 4 years

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yeah, maybe that could be our thing; What do ya think? / honey & smoke - m.h. x OFC story

Warning: Sexual Content.

Lucy's POV.

I turned down and around the wall of North wing. The cafe's seating filled with the many students cramming in studying and overdosing on coffee. Which I seen myself doing in the comforts of my room later on.

I scanned the room till I seen that boy running through my mind. His light blue denim jacket lounging on the back of the wingback. His hair bunched into a bun with his thin rimmed grandpa glasses resting on brim of his. Watching him sigh when his black and white striped shirt roused from his chest.

Sitting at the window where I would find myself glancing out of with his lips beginning to latch onto the rim of his coffee. His black holy knee crossed over the other, finally looking back into the direction where I was walking towards him. Sharing the same smile at sight and maybe the butterflies that fluttered under my sweater.

"Hey there" He smiled, straightening up his posture as I sat down. My bag making a big thud to the blue carpet we stood on.

I smiled shyly, then. "Sorry. Professor Helm caught me in the hall." Bringing out the book for our class together. His warm chuckle lighting up the tardiness before setting down a paper cup.

"Quite alright." He reassured, then. "Didn't want it to get cold." I blew a soft kiss before my lips met the warm liquid sleep. Looking down at my lap as I turned the page, as my other hand kept warm. Looking up at Matty's espresso eyes, the browns and golds dancing around the pupils in confusion.

"What?" I questioned, trying to figure what he was thinking. "What are you doing?" He asked, his loose curls falling as his eyes laid on my lap. "Going to study.." I replied skeptically as I noticed his books never came into view. Realizing that Matty was never going to pull them out either.

He chuckled taking the book from my lap, "You're quite funny, Lu." He said, then. "You're definitely not studying right now." Closing it between his calloused fingers. "And definitely not tonight."

"We're playing at Moes tonight." He explained, "I want to see you there."

I sighed, "But I have so many exams tomorrow-" He shook his head, at my protesting "Yeah, and you're going to ace them." I was defeated, I had confidence I would. Just the more I thought about not analyzing the books till they were embedded under my eyelids kind of freaked me out that I'd lose that confidence.

"If you come out tonight, I'll help you with notes." He said proposing his ultimatum. Already knowing that I would stay the night again without questioning and sincerity swirled in his eyes. I bit my lip, rolling my eyes as his face failed hardly to conceal a smile.

Just then Matty's tall frame sprouted from the wingback, bending down to kiss my temple. "I'll see you at 7." He exited with my textbook still under his arm.

"Hey, I need that!" I called out to Matty victoriously looking back. "You won't be needing it tonight."

Moes was your average bar in the middle of London. Walking into the musks of booze and over smoked cloves. Loud and packed wall to wall with people of ranging ages. Neon lights cascading and setting moods throughout. Admiring as the place was bouncing. Falling for Matty's voice at each note, but not as much as I was falling for Matty himself.

The noodle frolicking around the stage as he sang the chorus of Heart Out. Getting close to George's drums between lyrics, coming back to the center in full force. His eyes meeting mine with a wink as I sang along to the song he had burn onto a cd a week before.

Little did I know that the lines of each textbook I've consumed in the matter of weeks. Washed away from a wave of cool with each sip of rum and coke. My hips swaying from the bantering strums of Matty and Adam's guitars. My skirt rising like the twirl of a rose in the wind. I was living. My arms over my head, making friends with the space above.

The boys had closed with the contagious breakdown of 'Sex' leading the place barely steady and moving on their feet.

"Thank you! Have a good one everybody!" Matty closed, throwing a guitar pick before the boys and him had headed towards the back of the stage. Moving through the big crowd till the bar had come into view.

I caught the bartender ordering myself another drink, an older man possibly reaching my dad's age as greys played peek-a-boo through his brown hair. Nodding to the switch of the satellite trying to compare to the number the boys had made.

They were growing by the minute, the stage set becoming a bit more organized. The sound became more new and profound, I was quite a fan and not because I was the 'singer's girl'. Their sound held a soundtrack to need of adventure, fitting well with the aesthetic the boys had held too.

I was lightly mouthing the words to the classic sounds of Boston. When the familiar pair of hands wrapped around my waist and those soft pouty lips met my temple. A little giggled slipping from my lips.

"I like when you sing back to me." He whispered, then. His hands resting in my lap comfortably as the rest of the boys took stance on each side of us. Ordering a round, animatedly speaking of the turnout and how the bar owner was offering them to be house band.

Ross had other plans, discussing how there were boozes left over in the cabinet above the toaster. Soon finding ourselves walking the avenue till we turned down the little street where their flat was.

Having all intentions of sitting on the small sofa near the front window finishing the wine Matty poured for me. Matty held up his end of the deal, taking two bottles of wine off the buffet before slipping his hand in mine and leading me to his room.

I paced in front of Matty's bed. My hand clasping on the nearing ends of the wine bottle. My other holding onto the cliffnotes of Brave New World hidden in the back room, collecting dust as they were going to be put to use to pass this exam. That I was able to get passed Matilda's nose.

Sighing when the notes of a book I quite enjoyed started becoming a bit of a pest. I laughed at his frustration when he read along the lines of the textbooks, commenting how complete shit this class really was. Signaling that the past hour and a half of being cooped in here was beginning to drain.

"Break?" Matty suggested. I shrugged, pulling up the seat near his window till I sat it in front of his bed. Resting my feet on the edge of it as I watched Matty walk to his nightstand before pulling out a perfectly rolled spliff.

Taking a seat back in front of me before lighting the green wrapped in light brown. Admiring Matty's cheeks sink in as he inhaled, taking a few puffs before handing it to me. Feeling between my fingers. Inhaling as I slouched back in the chair, closing my eyes. Letting the thick smoke reel around my lungs before exhaling it.

Opening them, meeting the ember glass of Matty's who was smirking at me. "That was pretty." He remarked, placing his hand on my ankle that sent chills to my spine. Little did he know he was pretty one here.

His white barely buttoned shirt at the top as the words 'true love' and 'Annie' were visible. Hanging loosely over his small, yet toned build. His dark chocolate curls disarrayed from the repeated notion of his fingers running through it. His lips looking glossy after every graze his tongue made over them. I found myself staring, Matty not minding as he took hold of the spliff again.

With the mixture of notes jotting through my mind and the way Matty looked tonight. One question kept creeping into my mind, not giving any warning as it rolled off my tongue.

"Matty?" I called, a flat sound vibrating from his lips as he looked at me again.

I bit my lip, feeling my stomach beginning to turn. "Would you come to New York with me?" Leaving my mouth without second guessing. Watching Matty's eyes grow a bit wide and a light ripple slip from them.

I shook my head, a flood of many reasons filling to the brims of my thoughts. A light chuckle falling from my own as I felt embarrassed that I even asked. Not even thinking that he might have plans already or that was just far too much a rush of things.

"Sorry, you probably have some dinner with your family." I tried redeeming, taking a sip of the wine again.

Looking back at him as that same smile kept curl. "A lavished party with high end actors is not a family dinner, Lucy." Recalling all the late night talks about his family who were actors and lived a upper crust type of world. My small town world being one that Matty probably would never set foot into.

I was standing up now, gazing at the books along Matty's bookshelf. "What if they don't like me?" His voice pierced the silence that was lingering a bit. I chuckled at his cliche of a question, "They'll like you." I reassured, then. "My brother asked to meet you after I told him you were in a band."

"What about your dad?" He questioned again, bringing up a person I hadn't thought about when it came to this idea in the first place. Kind of wishing I never brought up the question to begin with. Subsiding when I knew how I was feeling for Matty and I didn't want to keep it hidden any longer.

"If you're worried that he won't like your tattoos. He has three." Trying to figure out why he was questioning all this in the first place, when all he had to say was no.

Matty let out another raspy laugh, "That's far from what I'm worried about." He remarked.

I turned around to face Matty again, his eyes gazing up at mine. "We all have skeletons in the closet you know." Walking towards him till I was standing between his knees.

"The difference is whether or not you invite them out to dance." I finished, my pink color nails running through his hair, pushing the curls that fell over his brow for them to move back again. His eyes closing to the touch.

Matty placed his hands around my waist, pulling me closer as they rested above my bum criss crossed. "Did you write that, blue?" He said, blush rising over my cheeks as my hands fell to his shoulders. Nodding.

"That isn't it either." He said a notch just above a whisper. Observing as he took his lip between his teeth. Following his eyes as they trailed from my blues. To my lips and my neck.

"Then what is it?" I questioned, beginning to feel frustration. I was just about to pull away when those same arms had my back meeting the bed. Matty's dark chocolate eyes peering down to mine as he hovered over me. His one hand resting on my hip as the other kept steady, watching me just as much as I was wondering what he had in mind.

His cool breathing hitting the cold tenderness of my neck, "Will he like me if I do this?" His lips slowly grazing as I began to feel my heartbeat step petal. The rush sending a chill through my body, like anytime Matty kissed there.

"Yes." I breathed, Matty's chuckle rippling against my skin as he kissed my neck again.

So caught up in the way that he lips trailed from that spot on my neck till they found my jaw, my lips and over my collarbones. I didn't notice where Matty's hand was. As it had found it's way under my skirt till I felt his calloused finger grazing my folds.

"What about this?" He suggested again as his fingered traced around until it began to part. His index finger slowly running over the center that was drenched and a gasp left my lips. Feeling my body become puddy. "What do you think, blue?" He asked again.

Closing my eyes a bit when a silvery moan slipped from my lips. My eyes meeting his again as a devious smile crept to his lips.

"That might be the problem." He said, then. His smooth antics configuring him, bringing into light the way he had with women. At any given moment thinking about putting it all to stop.

Just a little to late at the changing thought when my breath hitched as Matty's finger got acquainted with my clit. Beginning to feel myself sinking under his touch. "But what about for you?"

His question catching me off guard, "W-what?" I breathed again. Feeling dizzy as he circled and I was crawling for center.

"Do you want him to like me?" He asked again, his finger now partnering with the middle as they went inside. A moan escaping as he pumped and looked at me for answers, then. "Lucy"

I looked at him, trying to regain myself under his touch as I feeling myself climbing. "Do you?" His voice a bit more harsh now and I shook my head.

Matty peered a smile, "Good" before his lips smashed hard against mine. Fighting and now beginning to win a desire that they had both longed for. His fingers continuing their quest as they took charge in the way my body raised in heat. Hearing the zipper of the back of my skirt eventually hitting the wood of the floor.

My moans ventilating his room as he played and his lips latched onto my neck again. My legs becoming weak. Feeling Matty's hardness as it grazed against my thigh. Aching as I wanted it to replace his hands.

My hands latched themselves into his curls. Moving to his shirt with only three buttons clasped, throwing it behind him. His lips never leaving mine, tasting like the bud and red wine we had been enduring till it had come to this.

Matty's eyes trailing almost making me nervous, as I was lying there in my bra and panties.

His lips following along as they caressed down my body. His hands meeting the back of my bra, soon feeling the chills along my breasts being replaced when his hands cupped them. Nipping and fumbling them with his tongue at the tender skin. His plump lips continuing on their route as they kissed down my naval and above the band of my panties that were now saturated.

The slight chill of Matty's fingertips sliding under the band made me wince. Bucking my hips, eagerly as he removed them before standing above me.

I bit my lip at his length almost ripping through the fabric of his jeans, watching as he unbuckled them and a big thud hit the floor. His shaft fleeing free and my eyes widening. He was huge.

He grabbed at my ankle, moving my leg a bit. Crawling over me, centering himself. My breath hitching as his cock was close to my entry. His hand caressed my cheek, his thumb running along it before he planted a kiss on my lips.

He slid his tip inside, making a back and forth notion through my center before pushing himself in me. I winced as pain ripped like a papercut but only for seconds. Matty watching me as he was aware and waited for me to adjust to his hard vast cock. Taking his time, gradually wallowing out into pleasure and moans fell from my lips.

Matty's moans and groans were enough to set me to the edge before I was even close. My name sounding singsong off the tip of his tongue. His lips barely moving from mine. Swelling from the war they were losing. My nails running down his back proving the fight.

His pace slow at first till commands were made. Sensual, rough thrusts pouring into me as I was losing my mind at every second of it. "Matty" I breathed against his lips before they kissed mine again. Trembling under his touch, feeling my legs shaking before they wrapped around him.

Closing my eyes when ecstasy was nearing, my back rising as I arched it and his hands slipping behind. Bringing me closer, digging deeper till there was no more space. Generously hitting my spot, four letter words falling from my mouth as my chest heaved through moans.

He took me by surprise when he flipped us over, I was straddling him now. "Slow." He said, then as I obeyed. My hips grinding against his, never feeling such arouse like this. Never watching someone watch me so intently. His lips curling in thrill.

His hands went from my hips till they found my breasts. Arching my back again and leaning my hands back on his knees. His one hand trailing down when his thumb reached my clit, planting little circles on it.

I screamed. Piercing my own drums, I could've sworn someone heard me. So enthralled by the way he touched. So selfless and engulfed as his eyes never left. While I was feeling myself engulf into flames.

I reached for his hand, that met for seconds before he sat up. Moving them around his neck, his around my waist, guiding me as he kissed along my jaw.

"Fuck" He moaned against my neck before looking back at me, "You're so beautiful." One hand moving hair from my face when it cupped my cheek pulling my lips to his.

The light was nearing, my body shaking as it moved against his "I'm going to come." I moaned between breaths, bringing Matty's attention back to me when he watched the motion of our bodies.

"Let me help you" He said, like he wasn't doing enough already. His hands grabbing my back and flipping us over. Matty then moved one of my legs over his shoulder. Kissing me again before he thrusted into me, taking me by surprise.

Mixing in with the pressure of my peak reaching. "Oh my god" I moaned again, a bit loud as I went to cover my lips. Matty taking my hands and held them above me. "None of that, Lu." He breathed, "None of that." He repeated, then before his lips hit my neck.

Feeling his hands everywhere as he thrusted, "Come for me" His breath grazing my mouth, watching his eyes grow rich golds and browns around his dilated pupils as he nearing with me. His thrusts becoming sloppy and erratic, but perfectly hitting me generously. He was growing close, feeling his shaft quiver in the surroundings of my walls. Starting to feel myself boil as the tingles began from my toes. Intensity sky rocking as I came, screaming into the airwaves in pleasure.

My limp arms falling around Matty's neck as he spilled into me shortly after. Watching his brows furrow and his lips form o's before they formed a language with mine.

Moaning my name repeatedly against the nook of my neck before his lips branded it. I never had someone kiss me as much as Matty. Let alone let me go first and watch me as I did so. His thrusts riding us out before he removed himself and fell to the side of me and pulling me closer.

"He's never going to like me." His voice vibrating my ear as I laid on his chest. Listening to the beat of his ticker and his breath beginning to calm. Matty's fingers running along my bare back.

I leaned up to get a better view of this boy that I was falling two steps ahead for. His soft brown eyes now looking at mine as I ran my fingers through his curls fanned against his pillow.

I smirked, peaking his lips. "He's not going to like me either." I remarked, my eyes trailing to his tattoo that was now being traced by my index. "Why's that?" He asked, feeling him raise his brow.

"I think I might be late for class tomorrow." I explained, meeting Matty's gaze as a smirk curled at the ends of his lips.

"I believe you might be right." His hand reaching my cheek, before pulling me down to another kiss leftover lingering his lips.

Surely I was, amicably and utterly late for class.

#the 1975 fanfiction #matty healy imagines #slutforbritdick #wattpadarchives

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holyrobo · 4 years

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What would johnny wear in your roadtrip au?

hi!!!! thanks for the question! im gonna answer it way more than i think u were expecting bc i’ve actually written a bit about everyones appearances in the au AND their fashion sense on my twitter but not here so for the sake of everyone getting the same information..~

johnny: he wears t-shirts, a lot of band tees, graphic tees and stripes. would in theory wear sleeveless tanks to show off his guns more if he was more confident. he has a few hoodies that are way too big for him which he buries himself in. rocks knitted sweaters also. blue jeans with converse or vans. he puts comfort above everything else !!! compared to the rest of the TRS gang, he doesn’t really care so much for style. appearance wise he’s around ~5’5” and absolutely jacked. his shoulders, chest and arms are HUGE & people don’t expect it bc he buries himself in his oversized hoodies. he eats A LOT to maintain his muscle, but most of it is garbage calories since he sucks at taking care of himself. he’s soft all over and has a bit of a belly. the absolute BEST hugs (if he lets you)

gyro: he mostly wears short sleeve button-up shirts/blouses. he doesn’t really care about “men’s” clothes or “women’s” clothes so a lot of his shirts are actually women’s in large sizes. thrifts often. his signature thrifted faux fur coat is basically just the coat macklemore wears in “thrift shop”. he usually wears very skinny black jeans, maybe with a tasteful rip in the knee, cowboy boots or classic chelsea boots. he has maybe one pair of trainers but they don’t come out very often... he looks good in comfy clothes (t-shirts and sweatpants/jogging bottoms) but his style motto is “every girl crazy ‘bout a sharp dressed man” (sharp dressed man - zz top) he’s 5’10” but his heeled cowboy boots bump him to 6ft. he has REALLY long legs. he’s lean and has some defined muscle, especially his shoulders and thighs. a tiny bit soft around the middle from being a tired college student who lives off of coffee, beer and bread. great butt. big roman nose

diego: wears the basics incredibly well. crisp neutral coloured t-shirt’s, well fitted trousers or jeans. wears thick sweaters or cardigans very well. his whole wardrobe is brown, cream, black and white really. nice shoes, no trainers unless they’re branded and extremely clean and white. he isn’t the most materialistic person ever but he does like to dress smart like a london bloke before he speak his suit bespoke and you thought he was cute before look at this peacoat tell me he’s broke he’s 5’3”, wears insoles to bump him to 5’5”. he’s very skinny and petite, nothing to him other than lean muscle, skin and bone. he has the nicest forearms ever. a lot of his features are very feminine, very high rounded cheekbones etc. the scar on his face is deep and silvery. he is NOT A NATURAL BLONDE! he has a personal colourist and stylist who keep his signature mullet in perfect shape, though he used to do it himself when he was younger. he’s naturally dark haired

H.P.: wears a lot of athleisure! cycling shorts, leggings and chunky trainers or combat boots. wears a lot of bright colours (mostly neon pink and neon green) and crop tops to show off their abs. has at least 3 different black bum bags. has breasts and usually binds, but occasionally doesn’t. has a big pink puffer jacket which they wear often, kind of their statement piece. when not in athleisure they favour a mix of comfort and style - boyfriend jeans, dungarees and sweaters!!! hot pants is 5’8”. they look to be fairly thin under their usual clothes but then you see them in their gym gear and wowie.... biceps big and hard as rocks. grip strength is unreal. watermelon between the thighs? no prob. coke can crushed against the abs? done. very “physically fit”, great cardio health. kick-boxes regularly

#ask #the right sun #ty for the ask lol im sorry to bombard u

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alwayschoosechocolate · 4 years

Text

The 3 Christmas Markets (pjm)

Genre: fluff, 1st date

Paring: reader x Jimin

Word count: 4300

First dates are scary enough as it is. It doesn’t make it easier, when your first date needs to use a cover-name and disguise, but Jimin is determined to have your first date out in the snow and with all the charm the Christmas markets can bring you.

Taglist: @spookidema @jessicarhb @ambrietalksanddraws

A/N: Sorry for the wait, guys, but I had a pretty clear idea with this drabble, and it took me a few goes to get it right. And a lot more words than I thought. I hope you pick up on the structure though 😉 I put a lot of thought into this! ☃️

If you want to be added to the tag list for this little advent calendar of drabbles, just let me know in the comments! Next drabble will be up on sunday! The schedule and themes of the stories can be found in the master post for the drabbles. My other stories and drabbles can be found in my masterlist

As you stepped out of the bus to walk the last few 100 meters to the Christmas market, you felt your hands get clammy despite the freezing cold.

“Why am I so nervous?”, you huffed out in a low laugh, as you buried your hands even deeper in your pockets and tried focusing on not slipping on the snow-covered ground as you walked towards the warm lights and laughs of the Christmas market. The fresh snow squeaked under your feet and you felt the cold wind nipping at your cheeks.

It wasn’t even like date or a set-up. You had met him almost 5 times now at different occasions. You would even refer to him as a friend if someone were to ask.

Still, this wasn’t just any man. This was Park Jimin. Yes, THE Park Jimin of BTS.

How you had ended up in the same circle of friends as him was still a mystery to you, but you weren’t complaining. Though you had found him absolutely intolerable to begin with, he really was quite charming and sweet, so when he asked if you wanted to hang out just the two of you, you could come up with exactly zero reasons to turn him down. And when he suggested going to one of the Christmas markets, you had found it incredibly endearing.

But now, when you were actually waiting for said man, you had a thousand doubts running through your mind. How would he even be able to come here and walk around unrecognized? There were tons of people around. He would get recognized immediately. What would you talk about? You had never even had a conversation alone with him.

A small gasp escaped your lips, when a sudden thought invaded your mind.

What if this actually was a date? What if he invited you here because he wanted to date you? It was intimidating enough that a world-famous idol wanted to hang out as friends, but what if he invited you here as a date and not just to hang out?

Suddenly slipping on the ice hidden under the snow and losing your balance, you were momentarily torn from your spiraling thoughts, as a surprised yelp left your throat and your hands flailed around to find something to keep you from hitting the cold ground.

When your bum and back hit the ice a second later, you were ready to stay down for a moment. Just to compose yourself. Quickly reaching towards your boots to act like you were tying them, you silently praised yourself for not choosing to wear your white jacket today, when you felt the snow starting to melt against the warmth of your butt.

Throwing a swift look around to see if anyone had seen you, a sudden yelp matching yours reached your ears and you turned your head in it’s direction just in time to see a blob of black clash into you from the side.

“Sorry, sorry, sorry. I’m so sorry! Oh no, are you okay?”, a worried voice spoke as he disentangled your limps and scrambled to his feet. Letting the feel of the snow ground you, you tried your best to regain your sense of direction as you peered around. Accepting the hand reached out for you, you let the owner pull you up off the ice and on eye-level with the man.

He was clad in all black; black boots, skinny jeans, an over-sized padded jacket, black face mask and a furry hat drawn down to almost cover his eyes.

But the eyes were unmistakable. Despite how much he had tried to cover up, his eyes gave him away immediately.

“Jimin?”, you whispered, giggling under your breath at the absurdity and thrill of having to keep him hidden.

“Yes,” he smiled, making his eyes crinkle and your smile widen. “Sorry about that entrance. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I saw you fall and actually ran to help you up, but then I slipped on the ice myself and just made everything worse. Are you hurt?”, he rambled on, worried eyes searching yours as small embarrassed laugh slipped his lips.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry,” you assured him, brushing away the snow from your clothes.

“Here, I’ll help you,” he quickly volunteered, letting his hands joined yours in wiping the snow and ice off.

“It’s fine. Really,” you chuckled at the frantic movements of his hands. Seemed he was nervous as well.

Stepping back after deeming you dry enough, he gave you a sheepish look and you could have sworn he was blushing under the mask.

“So,” you spoke, eager to interrupt the awkwardness before it even arrived. “What are we doing today? Mulled wine and some cookies maybe?”

“Yes. Well, not just,” he laughed, causing you to smile brightly as his mood rubbed off on you. “You know, how people sometimes do pub-crawls?”, he asked, an excited smile playing at the corner of his mouth when you nodded at him. “Well, I thought we could do a Christmas Market crawl instead? I’ve found the 3 best markets in the city and they are all in walking distance,” he grinned, looking mighty proud of himself and you chuckled softly at him.

“Sure, that sounds like fun. I haven’t even been to any of Christmas markets yet, so it sounds like a great idea,” you smiled at him, as the both of you started making your way to the Christmas market under the lights strung up in trees.

Sensing some uneven movement out of the corner of your eye, you burst into a laugh.

“Why are you walking like that?”

Stopping mid-step, he turned towards you with yet another embarrassed look as he tried straightening out his back from the hunched over walk, he was doing previously.

“I have to change it a bit to stay inconspicuous,” he mumbled, leaning close enough for you to get a whiff of his perfume – light and slightly flora. Completely incompatible with the snowy landscape around you, but it suited him. “ARMY recognizes us so easily. Jungkook went to a gaming convention last week, dressed up as one of the characters and he still got recognize just by his walk,” Jimin whispered with wide eyes, making you chuckle slightly.

“Ah. Well then I think, you might need to tone down your dancer’s confidence in your walk as well,” you winked at him, as you walked ahead a bit, leaving him trailing behind a few steps.

“Wait, what do you mean?”, he asked as he jogged up to your side again, genuine confusion evident in his tone, causing you to snort out a laugh.

“Jimin, you walk like you’re on a stage even if you’re just walking through a living room or here, walking through a park,” you explained, gesturing towards the trees around you. “I get that you need to own the stage, but you don’t need stage presence off stage. Especially not, if you’re trying to stay out of sight.”

Furrowing his eyebrows, he took in your words in silence, suddenly very aware of how his body moved. Looking around to observe the people walking around you, he tried to pinpoint the least obvious person to analyze his gait. Narrowing his eyes slightly to get the details right, he gradually applied them to his own walk, slumping slightly on one side, shoulders relaxed but not hunched nor too straight. Steps neither long nor short.

As audience to Jimins transformation to an everyday man, you couldn’t help but snicker at the amount of effort he put in to flying under the radar. How focused he was on walking without getting recognized.

“If you’re putting this much effort into your walk, maybe we should give you a cover name as well,” you suggested with a laugh.

“Oh, I have one of those,” he chuckled. “Differs depending on the country we’re in, but yeah. I’m Eunho.”

“Ah, I see,” you mused, giving him an encouraging nod, when he sent you a questioning look. “Well, Eunho. Should we go and visit our first market then?”

“Yes, after you,” he exclaimed in glee as he gestured towards the market now immediately in front of you.

The first market was packed tight with people and there were neon signs everywhere indicating, what could be bought where, and some remix of a Christmas song blasting from the speakings hung from the shops. Jimin walked in front of you through the sea of people, dividing the crowd so you could get through. Turning to get your attention, he pointed towards a bright green neon sign that read “Hot beverages” and started making his way towards it with you still tracing his heel.

Halting just in front of the desk, you put your hands on his shoulders and peeked over his frame at the signs to figure out, what you wanted.

“What are you getting?”, he muttered, turning his head towards you to hide it from the group of girls a little to the left of you, who had bt21 key-chains hanging from their bags.

Eyeing the girls and Jimins obvious discomfort in the proximity of them, you made a quick decision and stepped around Jimin to shield him from the view of the girls and save him the trouble of getting recognized by his voice, when he ordered.

“I’ll just get a hot chocolate to-go. We can drink it on the way to the next market,” you smiled over your shoulder, seeing the relief in his eyes. “It’s a bit too crowded here for my taste.”

“Me too,” he mumbled, as he rested his chin on your shoulder, immediately leading your thoughts back to your original pondering; did he see this as a date? “But can you order me one with rum in it?”

“Sure. I kinda wanted to get one of those as well,” you giggled, as you reached for your bag only to feel Jimins hand on your wrist.

“No no. I might need to hide and act like I’m a common dude, but I am still a perfect gentleman and I’ not gonna let you pay,” he chuckled close to your ear, as he pressed a few bills into your hand.

Stepping up to the counter with a sheepish smile to your face, you ordered your drinks. Feeling Jimin hide his face in your hair and scarf made you grin like a giddy teenager, as you handed the salesman the money and accepted the change.

Maybe a date wouldn’t be that bad?

Accepting the to-go cups a few moments later, you turned around to hand one to Jimin along with a reassuring smile. You didn’t want him to think that you were annoyed with him for having to leave the first market that early.

“Come on,” he smiled, or at least his eyes smiled at you, as he grabbed your hand to lead you through the crowd and out of the market.

“Alright, where to?”, you asked as you took your first sip of the hot chocolate, widening your eyes slightly when the liquid hit your tongue. “Wow, they really didn’t hold back on the rum,” you coughed in a laugh, feeling the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

“You alright there?”, he giggled at your surprised expression, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go of it to fish his phone out of his pocket. “The next market is a 15 min. walk away. This way,” he pointed with the cup, as he slipped the phone back in his pocket with the other.

Walking along the deserted road as you both sipped on your drinks, you made small talk about this and that, common friends, but at some point, as it just happens when young people grow into their twenties, the subject turned towards the future.

“What do you want to do?”, he asked you, throwing a swift look around before lifting his face mask to take a sip of the cocoa. “After school I mean?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged truthfully. “Everybody keeps asking me that. Honestly, I’ve been asked that since I was a kid and I used to just answer with my most recent idea or passion, but now… I really don’t know.”

Walking in silence for a while, you mused over your own words as you heard the silence wrap around you. The silence that only came after a snowfall; soft and comfortable. Looking around with a calm smile, you admired the softness left behind by the snow. The hard edges softened by the powder and harsh lights tone down by the snow on top of the lamps.

“What is your most recent passion now?”, Jimins voice spoke, tearing you from your thoughts and back to the man walking beside you. “Like if you could choose anything in the world, regardless of education and experience, what would you choose?”

“Archaeologist,” you answered without missing a beat, blushing slightly when you heard his giggles from behind the mask.

“I could see that,” he nodded, throwing away the cup in one of the trash bins beside the road. “Okay, we’re here.”

Opening up in front of you was another Christmas market, far less flashy and loud than the last one. The small wooden houses stood huddled together in the middle of the square and there wasn’t more than a handful of people around.

Cocking your eyebrow at Jimin, you sent him a confused look.

“Eh. Well, it said online that they have the best Irish coffee in all of Seoul here,” he muttered, just as confused as you it seemed.

“Alright, then let’s find it,” you chuckled, walking ahead towards the house you deemed most likely to sell the drinks. Smiling in triumph when you found a handwritten sign with the words “Irish Coffee” on it, you stepped up to order the drinks for you.

“Two Irish Coffees,” Jimin spoke, beating you to it and making you turn around in confusion. “There aren’t any fangirls here. So I can treat you as much as I like,” he winked as he pulled down his face mask, making you blush slightly.

“Here you are, Mr. Park,” the man running the booth spoke as he placed to cups on the counter, making Jimins eyes widen. “I don’t mean to startle you. My son is a huge fan of you guys and I’ve seen you on enough posters to recognize you,” he laughed, showing off a crocked line of teeth.

“Oh,” Jimin spoke, clearing his throat and looking around to determine if he should put the face mask back on.

“It’s really okay. I don’t think any of the others would’ve recognize you and we don’t exactly get a lot of customers,” he chuckled halfheartedly as he gestured to the empty square around them. “But if you’re more comfortable with it, we have a little secluded area between the houses, where we usually take our breaks. You’re welcome to have your drinks there? I’ll tell the others to give you some space,” he spoke, already off to inform the other salesmen before either of you could react.

As Jimin turned towards you with a shy smile, you simply shrugged your shoulders and giggled.

“Alright. Come on, kids,” the manager spoke, as he returned to his booth, opening up a door on the side for you and leading you through the little house and opening a door leading out on the other side. “Here you are,” he smiled warmly as he handed you your drinks, before turning around and closing the door behind him.

Along the houses stood empty boxes and cradles from the different shops, buckets and used plastic wrappings. In the middle of the clearing was a single bench, covered by a light layer of snow but otherwise empty.

“I’m really sorry about this,” Jimin sighed next to you as he took in the surroundings as well. “This wasn’t exactly what I had imagined.”

“What are you talking about? This is great,” you exclaimed as you walked to the table to put down your drink, brushing the snow away from the bench before sitting down. “When else would we get to see this hiding part of Seoul,” you teased with grin, making Jimins face light as well. “Besides, now I at least get to see your face,” you smiled, cocking your head slightly as you finally had time to observe him.

His plumb lips stretched up in smile, pushing his cheeks towards his eyes and momentarily hiding them from you, as he took the seat next to you.

“Now you’re just flattering me,” he chuckled, leaning his head down to take a sip of the drink.

“Flattering you?”, you laughed as you mirrored his movements. “I don’t see how that’s flattering. I just said I got to see your face. Didn’t say it was a good thing,” you teased.

“Now you’re just being mean,” he pouted, though his eyes were mischievous as well.

Sitting in silence for a while, the sounds from outside your little bubbled flowed over the walls; a woman’s laughter, a child’s squeal and the faint tones of Christmas carols. The cups on the table left rings of melted snow on the table and hung in the air above it as a faint mist, leaving their mark on the world around them.

Dragging your finger through the snow on the table, you left your own mark, grinning when you got an idea. Moving your hand around, you saw Jimin follow your movements out the corner of your eye, chuckling lightly as your finished product.

“Are you trying to make up for being mean?”, he laughed at the BTS and ARMY logo you had drawn into the snow.

“No, I’m just cashing in some points in advance, so you don’t tackle me as a greeting again,” you teased, leaning over to bump his shoulder when a bright smile broke out on his face.

“I already apologized for that.”

“I know. As I said, so you don’t do it again.”

Letting your laughter’s reverberate from the walls surrounding you, you fell quiet again as you finished your drinks.

“This was definitely better than most Irish whiskeys I’ve had,” Jimin stated, as he put down the empty class. “But this isn’t exactly the Christmas market scenario I had in mind, when I asked you out.”

“Oh, so it is a date,” you laughed, nerves a bit calmer now that it was clear.

“Of course,” he chuckled, as his eyes flickered over your face, hardly distinguishable in the faint light between the wagons. “Was that not clear? Do you not want it to be a date? Cause it doesn’t have to be if you don’t want it to be,” he blathered on, a sudden panic expression on his features.

“Calm down, Jimin,” you giggled, as you grasped his hand on the table. “I’m glad it’s a date. I just wasn’t sure.”

Giving him a reassuring smile, you gave his hand a curt squeeze before drawing your hand back around your glass again to finish the rest of your drink.

“We have one market left to try out. Let’s go there before it gets too dark,” he smiled, as he took the now empty glass from you and offered you his hand to get up off the bench.

Fixing his face mask again, he grabbed both glasses in one hand and led the way back to the front of the stores, where he placed the glasses back on the counter.

“Thank you so much for your help, sir,” Jimin spoke politely, giving him a deep bow. “If you want, we can take a picture for you to show your son?”

Quickly snapping some pictures and signing one of the menus, Jimin turned back towards you with a soft smile as he gestured towards the snow-covered path leading into the park.

Following his directions, you turned shortly to wave a goodbye to the nice shopkeeper, before he disappeared out of view.

The sound of child laughter drew your attention to the playground next to the path you walked, where the children ran around in the thick coats, hats drawn down to almost cover their eyes and so many layers of clothes on, they had to practically waddle around.

A fond smile tugged at your lips as you observed the children starting a snow fight, and mercilessly going after the younger ones in the group.

“I miss that,” you sighed, giggling lightly when they succeeded in capturing one of the smaller kids to cover him in snow. “Just running around. Not a care in the world. Coming home to hot cocoa and a warm bath.”

“Me too,” Jimin agreed, his eyes following the kids as well, crinkles appearing when he smiled. “Life was so much easier as a kid, wasn’t it?”

“The biggest challenge was convincing your parents to let you stay up a bit later on the weekends,” you said, smiling at the memories of the lazy weekends in your childhood home.

“And now…”

Sensing the questioning tone in his voice, you turned your eyes to him and let them wander his features. At least those you could see. His eyes widening slightly as he watched the kids run around. The slight furrow to his eyebrows and the barely visible tightening of his jaw under the face mask.

You wanted to help. You really did. But how? Maybe he didn’t want to talk about it. Maybe it would be too much for him to talk about.

Feeling the tension settling between the two of you, you acted without thinking. Doing what you would have done with any of your other friends and reached for his hand.

Despite the thick gloves you were both wearing, you immediately felt the heat from his hand transfer through the material to your own hand when you let your fingers intertwine. Slightly mortified at your own action you quickly ducked your head, suddenly very interested in the kicked-up snow on the ground as you tried to ignore how incredibly comforting it felt to have his hand in yours. No awkward moment of figuring out, whose hand would go where. Just two puzzle pieces falling into place.

Feeling a slight squeeze to your hand, you looked up with wide eyes, ready to be scolded for overstepping his boundaries. Except what met you was a full-on smile. So big you could practically see it under the mask and definitely big enough for his eyes to disappear as his cheekbones lifted and his cheeks fluffed.

Smiling shyly you gave a slight squeeze back before looking back at the Christmas market you had just left over your shoulder.

“So where is the last Christmas market?”, you asked, as you fell in to step with him on the path.

“Not too far. Just through here.”

As he led you through the park, dusk settled around you, dressing the trees and bushes in black and making the white snow stand out even more.

But you felt safe with his hand in yours, despite the silence around you. The twilight made it seem like you were alone. Just the two of you in a snow-covered world of wonder, trekking through an unknown land, discovering new marvels. Just the two of you.

Casually joking and laughing with each other, you clearly felt the alcohol of the two previous drinks warm your cheeks and wobble your knees, but you felt comfortable and content and wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Sensing the lights up ahead you stretched your neck, trying to catch a glimpse of the market through the trees, but all you could see was the warm light from the lamps.

“What kind of Christmas market is this?”, you asked, slightly tugging on his hand to make him move faster.

“A European Christmas market,” he chuckled, as he let you drag him out of the park and onto the square in front of the market.

Widening your eyes in wonder of the sight of you, Jimin had to bite down on his lip to keep from cooing at how adorable you looked, when the lights reflected off your orbs.

The wooden houses here were all decorated with soft orange or yellow lights, you could already smell the mulled wine and Christmas spices and in the center of the market stood a Christmas tree, at least 5 meters tall and decorated with lights as well. There were Christmas music playing softly from the speakers positioned all around the market and a small seating area next to the tree. The crowd was mainly consisting of families or couples and it wasn’t nearly as crowded as the first market.

“This is amazing,” you sighed, turning towards him to catch him completely lost in your eyes. “Come on,” you giggled as you pulled him towards the booth with mulled wine, ordering one for each of you and paying out of your own pocket this time.

Handing Jimin one of the mugs, you grabbed a hold of his free hand to drag him towards the seating area, choosing a bench partly hidden behind the tree and placing Jimin closest to the tree so you would block the view for any possible fans.

Straddling the bench so you were faced towards him, you held up you mug to clink it to his with a giddy grin, only matched by Jimins when he raised his mug to meet yours.

Taking a sip of the spiced liquid, you let out a happy sigh.

“This is great,” you smiled at him, smiled faltering a bit when you caught on to his hesitant features.

“Are you sure? I’m really sorry, the other markets were so off. I really thought they would be better. And I’m sorry about the whole hiding and sneaking around thing. I shouldn’t have risked it. You’ve spent the entire evening hiding me and covering me, and I’m sure it’s not what you wanted…”

Suddenly cut short, when you placed a quick kiss to covered cheek, his eyes widened at you in surprise.

“It was perfect, Eunho,” you winked at him with a brazen laugh. “Just what I wanted.”

A/N: So I might have been more than a little inspired by some fairy tales, when I wrote this one. Did any of you pick up on which ones??

#christmas drabble #park jimin fluff #jimin drabble #jimin imagine #jimin reaction #bts imagine #bts fluff #bangtan imagine #bangtan fluff #bts reaction #bangtan reaction #jimin x reader

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crazy-little-cool-cat · 5 years

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Gold Digger - Prologue | Gwilym Lee x OFC

“She take my money when I'm in need…” Lizzie rolled her eyes and started fumbling in her tote bag, pawing around for her phone. As much as she loved Kanye West, she was not in the right mood for this song. She just wanted to have a nice stroll in the park and listen to cheesy 90’s tunes. “Yeah, she's a triflin' friend indeed ;Oh, she's a gold digger; Way over town, that digs on me…”

Just as the music started to thump, a jogger crashed right into her and knocked her on the ground. Lizzie felt herself hover in the air before landing, her back taking most of the impact.

“Oh, my God!” the jogger immediately crouched down next to her, covering his mouth with his hands. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry!”

Lizzie turned to the source of the silky smooth, panting voice and blinked. What she saw, at first, were his runners.Grey with neon-green detail on the Nike logo. Next, she noticed hairy legs and knobby knees. As her eyes scanned him, he put one knee on the ground, kneeling next to her.

“It’s fine,” Lizzie’s eyes slowly worked their way above the knee on what seemed like an endless thigh. His running shorts were ridiculously short, and also neon-green. “I wasn’t looking where I was going and -”

“I was so preoccupied, I didn’t look where I’m going!” the man said at the same time she did. “Guess we’re both at fault, then?”

“Guess so.” Lizzie chuckled.

“Come on, I’ll help you up?” the man offered his hand. “Unless you enjoy laying on the grass like that. No judgement here.��

“Oh, thank you.” Lizzie smiled sheepishly and took his hand. Her hand looked tiny in his.

“I’m absolutely mortified.” The man’s ears were bright red with embarrassment. “Truly.”

“It’s alright, really.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“Apology accepted.” Lizzie rolled her eyes playfully as he helped her up to her feet. “Just… Let’s just both look where we’re going next time?”

“Sure thing.” He smirked. “God, I feel terrible. Can I make it up to you somehow?”

“I don’t know.” Lizzie cocked her head, her eyes fixated on the shorts again.

“A coffee, maybe?”

“Well…”

“Tea, then.”

“Well, I -”

“Oh God you’re probably in a rush and here I am, knocking you on your bum and holding you hostage.” He laughed nervously. “Sorry, again.”

“Water under the bridge.” Lizzie flashed him a warm smile and looked up and away from the shorts long enough to take in his face. Breathtaking. She didn’t even realise she was staring until a smug smile tugged at his lips. His eyes were electric blue. He had a short beard and the most luscious mop of hair. He looked like a prince out of a fairy tale. “Tea sounds lovely.”

“Does it?” his chest puffed a little.

“Yes, actually.” Lizzie countered with her own cheeky smirk. “I’m in no rush.”

“Well, then,” the man scratched at the back of his neck, “lead the way.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me what your name is?” Lizzie bit her bottom lip to hold back a giggle. “Where are your manners?”

“I’m Gwilym,” he extended his hand for her to shake, “and I’m also still so sorry.”

“I’m Lizzie,” she shook his hand, “and I forgive you.”

#Gold Digger #gwilym lee fanfiction #gwilym lee #gwilym lee fanfic #gwilym lee x ofc #gwilym lee imagine

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fa1thfull · 4 years

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I need to write.

So many thoughts swirl in my head, if I acted upon even the tiniest percent of inspiration that comes, I could alleviate the source of ninety-nine percent of my anxieties.

People say “money isn’t everything” and “money doesn’t solve your problems”, but I’d like to find out for myself.

I’m not sure why I’m so hard-headed. I have a soft heart with a rotten core. It’s crumbling apart.

Lately I’ve been drinking so much, I forget. I try not to appear drunk, and sometimes I think I coast through the afternoon well enough, but when I lay down for a nap and wake up I realize that I’ve lost a lot of details. I’m 28 and sometimes I worry that I’m permanently damaging my brain.

Once, when I lived in NYC I went to a nice hotel with a rooftop bar after work. I was lonely. It was much too late for me to still be in my work clothes. In hindsight, it must’ve been obvious that I didn’t belong: my dress was too long, my bag was too big, and my shoes were short and sensible. However, I’d met a group of tourists that were staying in the hotel. I don’t remember much from that night other than sharing the liquor I’d stashed in my purse and bumming cigarettes off of really beautiful and confused British people on the roof. I’m not sure if I stayed until the bar closed or if I got kicked out, but I don’t remember leaving. I do remember wandering Chelsea with a guy trying to take me home, but I also remember not wanting to tell him exactly where I lived. The next morning I woke up in a hospital. The nurse asked me if I knew how I had gotten there and I couldn’t remember. My belongings were there, my clothes were on, my hair and makeup looked nice, with the exception of broken or missing press-on nails on every hand, and a sore thumb, I was completely intact. My underwear was on and my pantyhose weren’t ripped. My coat was wrinkled, but not stained. I had no evidence of the night before except for an ominous feeling in the pit of my stomach. The nurse said that a cab driver brought me in because he saw me with a man that he was worried would hurt me. I attempted to self-assess, but nothing was sore! Wouldn’t I know if someone hurt me?

I grabbed a coffee on the way home. I still had my phone and it was charged. I laid down for a nap after showering the night off of me. My body seemed untouched and unsexed. Nothing appeared to be amiss. However, my head was pounding in the most unusual way when I woke up. It felt like a migraine, not a hangover and it was deep in my right temple. I tried everything I know how to do to relieve it, but nothing worked. I eventually returned to the hospital a week later to ask if I’d had a concussion. There was no record that I’d ever been there before!

I felt like I was in the twilight zone. If I believed in alien abductions, that might’ve been the night. To this day, I try not to think about it. It’s one of many worries swirling around that I’m too afraid to touch. I haven’t had health insurance in a couple years, so I’m not receiving any medical treatment even though I need it. Last December I went to the hospital explaining that I used to be on antidepressants and I thought I needed them again. I was told by the emergency room doctor that they couldn’t prescribe them without keeping me there for observation to make sure I had no adverse side effects, so I agreed. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize that I’d Baker Acted myself. I felt betrayed. Also, the medication they cave me made me exhausted on top of clenching my jaw and grinding my teeth. I had a nightmare that the pills were killing me. I saw a black screen with a neon green skull and crossbones flash across my vision and I understood that as my body’s way of telling me something was wrong with those pills. Before discharge, a nurse asked if I had any side effects and I told her about feeling the medicine in my bones, and how it made me feel stiff and brittle and grind my teeth, and she assured me she’d report it. When the doctor stopped by my room to confer with me, he asked if I normally grind my teeth, and I said no. He told me that wasn’t a side-effect of that particular medication. Mental hospitals are the worst. My doctor literally told me that my side affects weren’t side affects. In hindsight, I wonder what the 36-hour observation was for if they didn’t care what happened to me anyway.

I stopped by the hospital pharmacy to collect my medicine on the way out. When I got home, I slept. I didn’t know it yet, but I’d already lost my job.

The funny thing is, I still have to pay for that.

Most of my medical bills are related to being Baker Acted. Living is exhausting, but death is expensive. Most of my medical bills are in collections. My credit score is under 500. Most of my worries are a series of cause and effect.

I worry that I may have dementia. I worry that I have some other sort of mental illness that everyone is aware of except for me. Imagine living your whole life being “special”, but no one telling you because they want to treat you equally.

I don’t want to be treated equally, I want to be taken care of.

I want to be married! I want a beautiful man with a beautiful heart to love me and make love to me every morning before he goes to work doing something he loves that covers the expenses of a modest living consisting of a home, a car, healthcare, food, and safety. I want to know what its like not to worry about those things. Honestly, I just want to be held like a baby and cry into the chest of someone who loves me. I want to feel safe. I want to be reassured that everything will be okay by someone who means it and actually cares that it’s true.

Recently I discovered that I have daddy issues. They’re so deep, I couldn’t see them. This phase I’m in now, whatever it is, is an identity crisis. I pray to die almost every day. I know better than to try to kill myself, but I’ve lost focus of what it’s all for and I’m struggling to see how to make anything of my life. I used to be an extremely hopeful and optimistic person, but lately I just want to drink and sleep. I don’t even cry like I used to. I feel like I’m fading away.

I know that God has a purpose for everyone, and I know that Jesus loves me and died for me. All I want is to be what I’m supposed to be, but I feel like such a failure and a fraud. People who don’t know me well think that I’m happy and friendly, and once someone even called me a “Jesus freak” and I was so flattered! I want to be the kind of person that shows Jesus to people! I want to be kind and peaceful and joyful and loving, and make people feel good when they’re around. I want to inspire people to learn about God for themselves, and have conversations about The Bible and what it means to be in relationship with Jesus... Honestly, if I could get out of my own way, that’s what I’d do with my life. I really just want to be useful and helpful.

So much time is wasted.

I just need to write. I don’t even know where to begin, but I’m going to journal until I get back into the habit.

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dothewrite · 6 years

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pieces, number nine

Stay with me, on winter’s eve.

On a rare clear night such as this, the billboards and neon lights glittered even brighter around Piccadilly circus. The massive snow cloud haunting the city the past few weeks had worn itself out, and the near blizzard had abated into an unusual but not unwelcome emptiness, with only a few brisk gusts to usher people on with their evenings. Tonight, of all nights, was Christmas Eve, and most people were being very much ushered into their shamefully last-minute Christmas shopping. Everyone seemed to be scurrying somewhere with exasperation plastered all over, and no fewer than eight people had swung their hulking great bags into your shins in the time it took for you to cross a few streets to the pub.

There weren’t any customers loitering outside the wooden doors this evening, even if there had been a steady stream of people heading in all sort of directions along the pavements nearby. It was left free for you to shove your shoulder against the handle instead of having to pull your hands out of your warmed pockets.

You looked up when the small welcome bell hooked above the doorway didn’t ring, missing all the daggers shot your way for letting in the frigid air.

“Close the bloody door,” someone hollered from the back, and there was a laugh, and the barkeep’s familiar voice cut in before anyone could start cussing.

He pointed at the brass bell above your head. “It froze over sometime last night.” Wisely, you let the door fall shut behind you to avoid being mobbed. “Haven’t had the time to sort it out yet, but we’ve all got eyes, don’t we? Don’t need a blooming chime to see a grown man walk though those creaky doors.”

“Oh yes,” agreed someone else, slow and drawling and doing a terrible impression of being serious. “I think we can all attest to your eyes being abnormally functional.”

The barkeep rolled his eyes and continued wiping down the beer nozzle. “You’re welcome to hop over the counter and keep this business afloat with new folk coming in here trying to scurry out before paying their tabs.”

“You’d think it’d be better in Central London,” added another, over the rim of a wooden mug so huge it was almost a tankard. You slipped past a few seats to catch sight of Daichi with what looked like a miniature barrel of mulled wine tucked in-between his hands (it was always mulled wine in winter; he hated beer and tried his best to avoid downing apple cider in front of such disreputable company), nodding along to the barkeep’s next complaint and flashing you a warm grin. Sat next to him was Ushijima, body loose and draped over the bar table almost casually and five different sized glasses, all empty, were strewn about him. It was Kuroo’s doing, of course, who was sprawled like a resplendent ghost of Christmas to come, watching Ushijima’s development rather smugly.

Daichi gestured at the empty stool between him and Kuroo. There was a cup of something frothed perched on top of it to keep it warm for your bum and a thick plaid blanket sat happily next to it, messily folded and all ready to be shaken out by a shivering customer. When you stood there motionless for a little too long, Kuroo tapped the stool with the toe of his boot and gave you a long look.

“Come on, it’s cold by the door. Daichi even got you a drink.”

Someone’s bag caught you by the ankles again as you headed towards your seat obediently. Calmly, Daichi set the drink on the table in front of you whilst you unfurled the blanket and huddled underneath it. Sneaking your hands out of your mittens and around the steaming mug, you took a massive gulp, ignoring the burn of heat down your throat. Ushijima made a small sound of surprise from a seat over and before you could burn your mouth to death, he leaned over the table and gently pried the cup out of your grasp, and to your right, you heard a quiet sigh.

The three of them were quiet for a moment, sipping their drinks and attempting to watch you without you catching on as the hum of muffled chatter in the background filled in the empty spaces. Even the barkeep was unexpectedly polishing his wares in silence, but not before he slid a platter of freshly baked scones over to your small party on one of his ghastly vintage plates.

“Thanks,” you managed from underneath your scarf, and he nodded.

It was almost ceremonial, how the three of them would be here on Christmas Eve. As the collective backbone, founders and continual authority of Thursday bar nights, it was fitting that they would be here in your group’s favourite pub with your favourite owner, underneath holly wreaths, flashing tinsel and drunken carols to herald in a new Christian year. Not that anybody gave a second shite about baby Jesus or the three wise men, but it was undeniably the best holiday of the year and such communal goodwill and cheer was not to be left unexploited by a few blokes who really liked drinking in crowded places.

There were occasionally more people in attendance, but that varied with each Christmas. However, these three were here unfailingly year after year and every year like so, you would sit in the chair sandwiched between them as they pressed in closer with their pointy elbows and loud laughter.

Slowly, you would put out of your mind the question of what comes next, after the glow of giving slowly evaporated from the masses and London once again returned to its dreary politeness and the ungenerous atmosphere of rush-hour traffic.

“Harrod’s is green this year,” Kuroo said. “It’s a bloody good change from red all damned season, I say.”

“It’s green because it’s Christmas,” Ushijima pointed out. “It’s quite literally the only other option.”

“Is that so? What about the North Star, or the national colours of Jerusalem? Couldn’t have someone done something with those colours? You’d think Father Christmas would be sick to death from seeing green and red for fucking millennia.”

“If anyone would know,” Daichi said with a wry smile, “I think it’d be you. How is Father Christmas this year, by the way? Feeling the full weight of those presents and adult responsibility on his broad, aching shoulders yet?”

That pulled a snort of laughter out from you, imagining Bokuto in his annual role as Father Christmas at home for his army of nephews, nieces, and an infinitely extending family. Akaashi would be there, of course, bearing all his antics as gracefully as possible, but anyone who knew him well would easily spy the tell-tale flush on his cheeks and the way his lips would be twitching upwards, his eyes soft and curved. And, through all of that, Bokuto would probably be attempting to scale their long defunct chimney, closed due to modern fire hazard reasons, trying not to snap his neck into an early grave.

Kuroo sniggered. “His third cousin’s given birth to twins, and they’re not gonna let him off the hook any earlier than two in the morning.”

“God forbid he takes off the costume,” you murmured, “I don’t think any of the kids in his family are old enough for the crushing reality of ‘guess who really pays for those presents, and it’s not a happy fat man’.”

“Hah, that’d be a sight for sore eyes. Can you imagine? Reindeer? In London? Do you know how many residents are going to file complaints for deer shit on their rooftops after Boxing Day?”

Ushijima sighed emphatically. “You’d think that grown men and women would be able to climb up their very low houses and pick up a few lumps with a plastic bag. No reasonable person should ever see shit on their roofs and think, ‘I know who I’d nominate for the job: The Chief of Police.’”

You took another draught of your drink. It was a latte—which pubs definitely didn’t sell—meaning the barkeep must’ve gone upstairs to his flat for his coffee machine especially. Belatedly, you noticed that it had already half disappeared. Along with quite a bit of your sense of taste, thanks to its temperature.

“Ushijima, you’ve just described the entire country’s current pet climate.”

“It’s quite a bother sometimes when they poop right after you’ve run out of bags or paper.” Daichi sighed heavily, the echoes of personal trauma ringing after it. His dog, although very large and very lovely, was also infuriatingly picky about his excretion. Many people—all strangers—have yelled. “But at the very least I can say that I’ve never called the police for it.”

“Pet owners don’t call the police,” said Kuroo bitterly, also a regular attendee of Traumatic Pets Anonymous, “they have the police called on them by heartless, petty neighbours.”

You frowned. “Your cat tore up someone’s sofa.”

“You’d want me arrested because of some claw marks?” Kuroo asked, affronted.

“They’d probably be there to prevent her from murdering you in the kitchen,” Ushijima muttered, and Daichi burst out laughing. “It’s Italian leather,” you protested, and they chimed in halfway with what they had heard a thousand times before.

Oh, someone was bound to say something about your sofa next, and if only you had someone to bet against, you’d double your entire fortune on that person being Kuroo and his charitable comments.

“I’ve never understood why there’s this queen of bloody furniture sitting in the middle of your living room when your mattress is still second-hand IKEA,” said Kuroo. “I mean, we’re all adults here so fuck it—are you or are you not afraid of cum stains? Don’t—” he quickly cut you off when you opened your mouth for a poor explanation, “—don’t deny it. They are there. They are always there. You think university students don’t fuck any chance they get, their own fists not excluded? You have a job, woman, stop collecting hand-knitted throws and start saving towards a new Sealy’s.”

You were cut off again by a very amused looking Daichi on his second tankard of wine. You had to agree that they really did look very authentic, and if you didn’t know better about the high rent prices, you’d think there was a storage room in the back just full of little historic mugs being aged properly in the dark, dank cold.

“I reckon it might have to do with how much one of those things cost, Kuroo. You could afford a new car with just three of those, four if you’ve a big family. Besides, we’re still young enough to endure a few more years of poor spinal support, don’t you think? And stains aren’t something that a new bedsheet can’t solve.”

Kuro leant in closer to you, and you caught a whiff of the rich liqueur of hot eggnog on his breath.

“I am offended on your behalf.”

His eyes were narrow and focused, the heat of questions you knew he wouldn’t dare ask in the middle of a pub thinned his lips and you were barely aware that time had suddenly slowed, and your breath building up in your lungs.

It could have been after the rest of the evening or an entire month, you weren’t sure, when Kuroo finally leant away from you again, resting on his elbow and an inscrutable expression dancing along his brows. You turned back with a faint breath to your drink, now slightly cooled from neglect, and found Ushijima watching you as intently as was politely possible. Daichi was clearly not looking, instead interviewing the barkeep about something related to cider and buckets.

A thick lump swelled in your throat, clogging your voice and suffocating it underneath its sour sting, and something else had been birthed in your gut, writhing, furious and slowly wrapping itself around your insides, throttling the feeling out of your lungs and creeping up your trembling hands. But all you could see was your splotchy reflection in your mug, pale, still and your cracked lips frozen into a thin, straight line that did no favours for your dull eyes.

You tried to smile, to break into a laugh to brush the atmosphere away, but you were met with only a grimace in your cup.

There was suddenly a squeeze around your arm and all too easily with a heartbeat so slow you might as well be catatonic, you turned to look. Kuroo watched you, his hand wrapped around your bicep firmly but softly, and his arm twitched, like he couldn’t decide between shoving or pulling.

And because you couldn’t, you shouldn’t, and you most certainly didn’t deserve to, you looked into his worried eyes and permitted yourself to feel absolutely nothing. Someone could have slapped you across the face and you’d have stared back at them with your parched, stern stare.

“I’m fine,” you said, even though nobody had asked.

The hand tightened a fraction, but Kuroo finally looked away and dropped his hand. “I’m fine,” you repeated, this time with more feeling, and he nodded once, unable to meet your eyes. You could see the line tense in his jaw as he clenched it, and barely, just barely, did you tamper the urge to say something completely inane because you’d more or less come to ruin someone’s evening. It made it no easier to know better than most that Kuroo deserved a festive night without the pressure of your charming presence.

You wondered what had happened to the mindless chatter a few minutes ago. Your stupid leather sofa had seemed so important then, and the mentions of friends in warmer places—it was almost as if nothing really mattered as long as everyone was appearing to have a good time, even if they were in the middle of London with a bunch of drunkards instead of setting up their Christmas trees with their parents.

The dull throbbing in your head in part wished Daichi would stop talking to the barkeep, and that Ushijima would stop staring at you as if he could flip through all the pages in your book if he wanted to.

But that would be ungrateful, and you needed to be anything but that if you were to make it through the rest of the night.

“Are you all going home tomorrow?” You asked, swallowing the last vestiges of your coffee, and faster than you could blink, the barkeep set down something else in front of you. You did your best to offer him a reassuring smile when he only seemed to frown even deeper. The drink looked as brown as the rest of the pub in the dim lighting, and it took you a sip to identify it as a glass of hot buttered rum before adding, “I assume everyone’s here because they’ve done all their obligatory shopping.”

Ushijima gave you an odd look, but when he opened his mouth Daichi cleared his throat and shook his head ever so slightly. Looking no less troubled, Ushijima fell back into his seat in silence.

“You know I’ve done all of mine last month,” said Daichi. “Stores start selling Christmas things in late October, and they almost always hike up the prices mid-December.”

“To punish the slothful, I know, I know.” You huffed. “Always the saint.”

Daichi laughed and winked at you. “It’s the secret to affording decent mattresses, my dear. You’ve got to get ahead of the curve.”

“Wait a minute.” Kuroo frowned and stared accusingly at Daichi. “What about your rounds? Do you do those in November too?”

A silly tradition they shared was their open-door policy nearing the hols. It was the only time of year where everyone’s houses effectively transformed into revolving doors. Combinations were shared and spare keys passed around, and any time of day someone could be wandering into their friend’s house, sneaking a wrapped parcel underneath their mandatory Christmas tree and then prancing off into the night unseen. Oikawa was always the man to go to each year—he unofficially ran the black market for everyone’s keys and passed out individual schedules in exchange for favours, and in no small part due to his dizzying success after Boxing Day, he was always bullied into being the host for the New Year’s Eve bash at his vast, vast apartment. Or at the very least, that was the way it had been the last time you showed up, four years ago.

Daichi’s face fell blank and if he looked any more innocent, a choir of angels would feel compelled to descend in song in praise of his name. “Don’t be daft,” he said. “Where would I put your gifts in November without your trees ready?”

“He has his ways,” Ushijima offered sagely, a veteran of the magic that is Sawamura Daichi’s responsible adulting. “It’s possible he’s actually gotten all the Christmas shopping completed for the next ten years and he’s just stored them in a hidden compartment in your storage cupboards. You’d never know.”

“Stop unveiling all my secrets,” Daichi muttered, giving Ushijima’s thigh a lazy slap. “I take the Magical Statute of Secrecy very seriously, I’ll have you know.”

“No, you wouldn’t.” Musing, you rolled the image over a few times in your head. “You’d be one of those people at their boring desk jobs at the Ministry, and we’d only realize on your death bed that you’ve been secretly researching spells of mass destruction.”

Daichi reached out for a scone and bit into it with relish. “Hardly. Mass destruction is not my style.”

“Right. Serial mind-control, perhaps?” Kuroo suggested. “A drinkable Imperius?”

“I see you’ve been confusing me with Koushi.”

“Please. You know he’d offer to be a Dark Lord just for fun.”

Daichi shrugged. “He’ll suggest a Harry Potter themed Christmas one of these days, just you wait. You can tell he’s bursting at the seams for a holiday where everyone’s together and we march down the street demanding equal rights for muggle-borns and non-magical folk.”

“Do you?” Ushijima wondered aloud. “Do you think we’ll manage a Christmas where we’re all together?”

“We’d probably have to rent out Westminster cathedral to fit us all,” Kuroo grinned, clearly picturing the scene it would make—a mix of professionals, professors and national athletes all dressed up and pointing sticks at each other in robes along the antique pews. The collateral would be horrendous. They’d end up having to pay for the damage with indentured servitude.

Ushijima and Daichi smiled into their drinks, a little longing flavouring their sips. It was the warm, soft sort of longing that one reserved for wishes for happily ever afters and cosy family occasions, where they usually thought ‘this would be lovely’ and proceed to feel satisfied enough to simply imagine it. It was always better for images to replace reality; they were kind, fluttering things that diffused just enough warmth to forget the cold seeping in.

And although dreams ruined more lives than drugs have, you allowed yourself to bathe in the fleeting comfort of being surrounded by laughing, hugging people who looked at each other—and you—as if they were all the most important things in the world to each other.

“We’ll do it,” came Daichi’s voice on your left. The distant warmth faded as you raised your head to meet his eyes. His gaze pinned you down with that enveloping, unconditional kindness of his that you often wondered if it cost him a little of his soul each time he shared it with another. “Within the next five years,” he insisted, “we’ll do it. Suga will plan it all with fervent enthusiasm and we’ll get everyone together, like we’ve always wanted.”

Who, exactly? You wanted to ask, because the ‘we’ve’ seemed laden with suggestion, seemed a little to firm for it to be believable, and your chest ached at Daichi’s earnest gaze that seemed to eat through all your thoughts.

You took another sip, and although the rum was cooled by now, the burn of the alcohol still churned your insides with a shovel.

“If everyone wants to,” you said, your voice sounding far off even to yourself. Daichi’s expression darkened, and you studiously ignored it for the brick wall behind the bar.

A hand fell on your lap, squeezing at it tightly so that you couldn’t possibly pretend you weren’t the one being addressed. You wondered if Ushijima would be watching as intrigued as he had been earlier, and if Kuroo was the one pretending not to hear a word this time. No, he would be listening with that tick in his jaw and a simmering frustration that you were always the cause of.

“We’re not all going home tomorrow,” Daichi said quietly, pitched so low that only you could hear. “We’re not just here tonight because we don’t have anything better to do.”

Your voice wouldn’t come, and your cheeks burned as your heart hammered against your ribs as a lunatic does against his walls.

“I’m happy to see you tonight,” said Daichi. “I really am. We all are.”

“I come every year.”

“And?” The hand squeezed tighter, and for a moment you felt a flash of worry jolt through you—perhaps you’d managed to anger even the one person who only had indiscriminate acceptance to offer. That just perhaps this Christmas was the last where people still bothered with you. “We’re here every year too. I know you got up, changed, threw on that scarf of yours and came to have a drink with us for a reason. Why do you—still?” He took a deep, halting breath. “Don’t. Just let it be.”

There were so many things you felt like you could cry into the night, that you could quite credibly protest with, but they all snuffed themselves out halfway into a thought. In the face of such devoted conviction, no matter how misplaced, anything else you wanted to say would only break Daichi’s bleeding heart, and you weren’t sure you could handle watching his face crumble with disappointment. You had enough experience in that department already that it was meaningless to hasten what would always, always come.

Was there a way to be kind even as one said ‘no, thank you,’ to someone offering their love? You considered trying it one of these days; Christmas was as good a time as any for revelations when everyone was always uncomfortably free with their kindness and tended to only retract it after the new year passed.

You nodded, and Daichi seemed to relax his grip on you after a second of study and sat back in his seat.

Everything had been signalling that this was a poor idea, but the passing years brought no wisdom to your door as you made the same mistake time and time again of indulging your impulses.

At home, nobody expected anything of you and nobody had to waste their evening throwing a pity party for a guest who seemed determined to disappear into the cracks. But as the carols outside grew bolder and the children started to shriek with joy in their little voices below your window, the longing grew stronger; the pull at your heartstrings wrapping their spindly fingers along the edge and tugging you closer and closer to the soft rug of fresh snow. The flitting visions of Kuroo cackling, Daichi’s knowing smile and Ushijima’s heart on his sleeve seemed so forgiving from far away, and with the vignette of the mind’s eye, you could almost picture yourself in the middle, as if you belonged, as if you could smile easier with people who would accompany you grin for grin.

Once, a very long time ago, you thought if you begged for something hard enough, life would take pity.

And then you grew older, and learned that your yearning was second to nobody else’s, and that life didn’t celebrate Christmas. Everyone had their sorrow; everyone suffered. You weren’t special. You would never be and had never been.

For a long time, you learned to acclimate to those rules that had revealed themselves too late. Things could be borne, aches could be weathered. You too, had bought gifts and distributed them to everyone in secret, and doing it in part gave you a little hope for some festive spirit, knowing that despite it all you’ve managed to do something for someone else, feeling alive in the spur of the moment.

But those shadowy little doubts that held bonfire dances around your demons waged war when the bells began to toll around the city. On your walks alone, you noticed tiny gift stockings beginning to dot various kids’ parks. Affection would perfume the air, and couples had their arms wound tighter around each other. Parents would come out of hibernation and send a myriad of cards to their children’s friends, and you could see the shine in the eyes of passers-by as they brainstormed all the ways they could bring joy to the ones they loved.

It was easier to convince yourself that you were faring just as well as the next person when they weren’t glowing with it.

“I know I invite you each year,” Ushijima broke the silence slowly. “But you’re still welcome at my house tomorrow. My mother’s always glad to see you.”

“Thank you,” you said, even managing to sound enthused. “But I’ve already made plans to stay at home.”

“Are you quite sure?” He leant on his elbows and held onto you with his hazel eyes. “We have our spare room fixed up for guests each Christmas.”

“I’m quite sure.” It warmed you, just ever so slightly, and your mouth curled up into a faint smile. It was comforting, even if it couldn’t possibly work out, to know that Ushijima always spoke what he meant. “It’s waking up to family that’s the best thing, after all. I’d just be too tired, besides.”

Ushijima stared for a few moments, and you were relieved when he let it go. He shrugged.

“Goshiki’s coming in the afternoon. Satori’s not too pleased about it, but it’ll work out somehow.”

“Really? Your mum’s a brave woman. Did she do the invites?”

“She always does. It’s festive, to have lots of people together, even if Satori would like as few people together as possible.” Ushijima barked out a short laugh. “He’s quite contrary for family occasions. But still, mother’s house, mother’s rules. Goshiki will be complaining how he’s not in the big city with the rest of us again.”

“Like his mother would ever let him go,” Kuroo snorted. You startled at the sudden noise, and realized he’d been silent so long that you’d almost forgotten he was sitting there. When you dared a peek at him, you felt an unfamiliar wash of relief when he looked every bit as normal as before, glorious and dangling his glass precariously between his fingers.

He caught you watching before you could look away. After a moment’s hesitation, he smiled, and dipped his head in a small apology.

There was clearly nothing he could be sorry for that you could figure, and the bafflement must have shown on your face as his face stretched into a grin and he shuffled his stool an inch closer towards you. Don’t worry about it, he mouthed, and turned to listen to Ushijima again.

“I can understand her,” Ushijima was saying, “but I can’t really empathize. Mine couldn’t wait for me to get out of the house, even if she demands me back every other weekend.”

“Kicking the eagle out of the proverbial nest,” said Daichi. “You must’ve been an overly capable youngling. Do you bring gifts and stuff with you each time you visit?”

“Of course. I’m a filial son.”

The two other men laughed, and you cracked a small grin. “That’d be why.”

“What, why she wants me gone, or why she wants me back?”

“Both,” you said, reaching out for a scone. “Mothers are fickle beings; very difficult to get a grasp on, especially during festive seasons.”

“They’re most easily observable during early evenings,” Kuroo boomed in his best David Attenborough impression, “as they flock to their kitchens with pots and pans, and their habitat is quickly overwhelmed with sounds of vigorous dicing.”

Ushijima rolled his eyes. “My mother’s terrible at cooking. She does all that stuff, but it’s my father who sneaks in and fixes everything before she can burn the house down.”

Daichi wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. “What a beautiful love story. And nobody dies, which is even better.”

“Not yet,” Ushijima said sombrely. A chunk of the weight on your chest lifted when they chuckled around you, the stickiness of liquor still dragging their voices down in a low chorus. “It’s only time, mark my words. We’ve all got the hospital on speed dial the moment someone inevitably keels over after a stray bite of pie.”

The smile remained ghosting along your lips as Kuroo said something vehement about the theory of pies and how they were literally flour bits stuffed with mystery meat that could be human for all they knew, and Daichi seemed to be nodding along happily to every single point made and throwing little inflammatory comments at the rights moments. Ushijima looked as if he was arguing for his own liberty, his eyes flashing in the dim light.

It was better when they were all smiling, laughing. It was the evening they deserved.

The barkeep wandered up towards you in the middle of their conversation. He had been keeping an eye on the four of you, even when you’d completely forgotten to keep notice as he poured drinks at the other end of the room.

He gestured at the scones, now almost all gone. “Did you enjoy those?” He asked and broke into a beam when you nodded. “Third batch, those were,” he said vehemently, “first two were little explosions on the baking tray; you should’ve seen them. I’ve got some peppermint sea-salt crumbles huffing away upstairs right now. I’ll bring ‘em over right as they’re done.”

“Thanks,” you said for the third time that evening. “I can’t wait.”

The barkeep smiled but gave you a firm looking once-over. “You look like you could do with some mint to pep you up tonight. Them three treating you alright?”

“Always,” you told him honestly, and he puffed up with satisfaction.

“If they’re giving you any trouble,” he barked before turning back to the wine rack, “just holler, and I’ll give them a quick boot up their arses.”

Without a moment to respond, he vanished past the corner and down the cellar. Daichi sipped wordlessly at his drink beside you and Kuroo rested his head on his palm as he watched the man leave.

“He’s clearly never heard of the evils of favouritism,” he muttered under his breath. “Blatant bias is what this is.”

Daichi took a particularly loud slurp. Beside him, Ushijima grinned.

“Right,” he said slowly, “and will you be informing him of them tonight?”

“Think that lowly of me, do you?” Kuroo said indignantly. “Or are you just plotting to have all the mint biscuits to yourself?”

“Hardly, considering his favouritism,” Daichi supplied, and you smiled. “You all know what miracles that man can achieve with some Himalayan sea salt.”

“How on earth is he not married? Why is he still working on Christmas eve?!”

“How should I know? Go ask him out if you’re so heated up about it all.”

Kuroo only snorted and threw up two fingers at Daichi, who received it with a blown kiss. “You’re not getting all the biscuits either.”

Ushijima blinked. “Oh, so he is learning.”

“Careful now, I’m sure he’s only feeling magnanimous during the hols,” said Daichi. “You’d better lube him up with some more drinks otherwise he’ll remember this come January and get back at you.”

“Hullo,” Kuroo said, turning to face you fully, his head wearily in his hands. “Not only am I daft, now I’m deaf too, apparently.”

Taking a drink from your own glass, you turned to face him too for the first time that evening. He looked… melancholy, despite his signature smirk, and when you weren’t required to speak, you watched him intently. He was on his third drink, which was nothing considering anyone under three found themselves painfully sober, but he often glanced at the contents as if it was withholding the secrets of the universe in its depths, and only if he could drain it all would he find it scrawled into the bottom of the thick, tinted glass.

You couldn’t remember much what he seemed like earlier, but you could swear that his sighs were lighter and his eyes a lot more generous with their creases and laughter. You wondered if it was because of you—all the bland, insensitive things you seemed to say without a filter, or the fact that you were sat next to him and your misery was contagious.

If only there was a magic to Christmas and it would make him happier, you would pour what was left of your own joy into his dwindling glass and bring it to his lips. You’d watch it disappear down his throat and he would glow softly, the edges to his hardened lips melting away with eggnog spice, and he would lean closer with a sparkle to his eye and speak to you as if he held the key to festivity.

It was what he could be. If there were other people here, if you didn’t simply sit there dumb and motionless, staring at him like a silent film in an empty cinema.

Because there wasn’t magic, and you couldn’t do a thing about it, you opened your mouth to talk instead. “Would you prefer they plotted behind your back?”

“That depends,” he said after pausing to consider it, “would you share some of the biscuits with me if they did?”

Stone cold sober you were, yet you found yourself admitting, “I’d share anything you wanted, if it meant you’d feel better.”

Kuroo started, stunned and eyes glimmering like the fairy lights behind him. You could feel your sad, lethargic heart beat a tiny bit faster from fear, the adrenaline kicking in as your dull expression froze onto your face.

“You know,” he finally said, and your hands felt so cold you’d almost lost all movement in your fingers, “I never thought you’d notice.”

You most certainly deserved it, but hearing it stung more than you anticipated. Yet oddly enough, it was exactly what you needed for your face to work again, and you smiled. It likely broke the record that evening for the most disingenuous expression in the room.

“Right.” Because I’ve been so pathetically self-absorbed all evening? “Sorry.”

“No, I meant—” he broke off, looking angrily at his hands for a moment before schooling his expression into something less vicious before looking back to you. “I thought I was not showing it as much. I thought I was better than I felt, to be honest.”

“So, it wasn’t nothing.”

“What?”

“You said not to worry about it earlier. It.”

Kuroo glanced quickly at the other two, and relaxed when he saw that they were wrapped up in another conversation entirely. “I was just thinking too much, that’s all. It still is nothing.”

It was obvious you weren’t idiotic enough to believe a word of it, but it was easier to nod and say nothing, and Kuroo seemed to accept that just as well. You watched as he traced his finger over the rim of his glass, occasionally catching a note with the condensation clung to it.

“I heard what Daichi said to you a few minutes ago.”

You let out a little sigh, unsurprised. “Which part do you mean? He said quite a bit.”

Kuroo’s lips twitched. “That he did,” he said, but turned serious again. “I mean the part about letting it go.”

“Alright. Did you want to add to it? Or do you agree?”

“Of course I agree, you daft nit.” He flicked the back of your hand irritably. “I just wish I had been able to offer something useful of my own, instead of getting in a huff.”

“Well,” you said, spreading your arms out to gesture at yourself. “Go on.”

Kuroo rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of his old smile returning. “Don’t be a twat. All I can do now is do my best to make tonight as fun for you as possible. It’s what Christmas is for, after all.” He drew in closer to you, nose pointy and eyes as cool as flint as the smile vanished. “I won’t push you into anything, but you need to know that we’ll be here for as long as you want us.”

“And you?” You countered, your chin held high and teeth ground tightly together. “Do you want to be here? How could you?”

“How could I not? C’mon,” he said, his voice cracking near the end and you watched as he, like Daichi, crumbled a little because he simply had too much love to give. It would be easier, you knew, if they learned to withhold it from the undeserving. “I just want you to smile again, that’s all. You told me you used to love Christmas as a kid.”

“I did,” you said, not bothering anymore to pretend to not be saddened by the memory. It had come out one evening when a bunch of you had camped out, semi-drunk, at Bokuto’s apartment waiting for the fireworks to start. “I think that I would have been a very different person if I had people like you to celebrate with me back then.” You laughed shortly. “But it was easy to be excited about things you’ve heard stories about when you’re five and have the memory retention of a golden retriever.”

“I’m here now. We all are. Even the barkeep and his scones.”

“I know.” You said, and pulled back from Kuroo’s earnest gaze, too weak of spirit to hold it any longer. You’d rather he glared or curse, or anything other than—than that. “I know. Kuroo, I know.”

You watched his blurry shadow shrink, and you knew he had drawn back into his seat.

“I don’t want to ruin the rest of your night,” he said, voice thick. “This isn’t the time or place.”

You didn’t have the heart or energy to tell him that nights couldn’t really be ruined if they weren’t much in the first place. What a dreadful thing to be thinking—even though you’re happy that you’re out here, and people are talking to you and you’re surrounded by noise that isn’t your own fumbling about in an empty apartment, you can’t feel a single iota of it. Your pulse is still as slow as earlier, beating away at the pace of a cadaver.

Truthfully, you wouldn’t be able to recall the last time you felt happy even if someone pressed a gun to your head. Christmas was the pinnacle of not feeling miserable, and even then, it wasn’t enough. You still couldn’t prevent yourself from dragging everyone else down to your murky depths, still couldn’t bring yourself to not let everyone else down, even if you were old enough to not be berated for it.

Sometimes you still were. That voice would never leave you, shouting things and sneering and scoffing—it’d hang about the hallways whenever you felt particularly down, and it would shriek at you with words you’d memorized until you marched yourself down to the pub again, soothed by the murmuring crowd.

People didn’t like sad people. Especially ones who didn’t have a reason to be. What a failure.

“Hey, hey.”

Both Daichi and Kuroo had their hands on your shoulder, shaking you gently. You looked up to see the barkeep, lips almost twisted into an upset frown, as he held a large plate of pink cookies on a porcelain plate.

“Are you alright?” He asked and turned to the guys when you seemed to be incapable of speech. “Is she alright?”

“Not at the moment,” came Ushijima’s comforting tone, “but we’ll make sure she’s better before she leaves.”

“You’d better.” The barkeep’s voice was stony. “You four finish those biscuits, understood? You’re not passing through those doors without someone laughing their way out, I swear to god.”

“We promise,” Daichi said. “They look delicious, if she’ll share some with us.”

“For fuck’s sake—of course I will.” With vehemence that surprised even you, you snatched up one of those genuinely beautiful looking biscuits and stuffed it into Daichi’s mouth. To his credit, he barely blinked, and chewed on it thoughtfully.

“Just the right amount of peppermint. Is that strawberry I taste?”

“I think it’s cherry,” Kuroo said in between bites of his own. “Or, wait. Maybe you’re right.”

“It just tastes like fruit punch,” Ushijima confessed. “Kind of like a really light sangria.”

“Does your mum know you drink?” Daichi asked incredulously, “why is almost everything to do with alcohol with you?”

Ushijima shook his head, but you noticed him peeking at you in his peripheral vision. “Definitely not. I do not look like someone who drinks as a hobby.”

“Literally your only saving grace.” You brought yourself to smile faintly before he grew so concerned he toppled off his stool. “Best not to piss Satori off tomorrow in case he spills all in front of her.”

“Oh,” he answered darkly, “he doesn’t know half the things I could spill about him.”

Kuroo raised an eyebrow at that but said nothing. His hand hadn’t left your shoulder for a second, and he squeeze it gently, hooking his ankle around a leg of your chair.

“Well,” he announced, giving the massive plate of biscuits a quick shake, “we best get to work, hadn’t we?”

And get to work you all did. The tension dissolved as quickly as the sugar did in your mouths, and with enough blind determination, the chatter seemed to return again effortlessly with Ushijima’s apparent treasure mine of dark Satori-related secrets that had you laughing despite everything else. A time of sharing indeed, considering some of the things you learned that evening, and you were almost touched that he had deigned to share them with any of you.

The next time the barkeep reappeared was when he came to collect the esoteric looking plate, and this time he seemed a lot more pleased when you gave him a smile, deeming you fit enough to face the rest of the holiday without his supervision.

It was a start, if nothing else. Most of the bar had disappeared by the time the clock chimed one, and even Daichi was yawning at half past, on his fifth mug of wine, and suggested reluctantly that perhaps it was good for you all to head home before someone got into an accident from being too sloshed.

They all offered to walk you home, Ushijima almost demanding you to go home accompanied as a lone girl in the wee hours of the morning, but Daichi fended him off just in time. Kuroo was the last to leave your side, gazing up at the slow return of a light snow, and he bid you goodbye with a wave that looked almost sad in the orange lamplight.

There were very few people on the streets by then. A few clubs here and there still had pounding music shaking the grounds, but all the storefront lights had been turned off, and London looked almost like normal again, shrouded in fluorescent orange and the whistling gusts of wind about your ears.

You tucked your hands back into your pockets, now chilly after the warm pack had died an hour back, and turned to head home.

#kuroo tetsurou #sawamura daichi #ushijima wakatoshi #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #female original character #pieces series #sfw #i writes the haikyuu

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megwritesfanfiction · 6 years

Text

Let Go, Chapter 8 (Raven/??)

Disclaimer: I do not own Teen Titans. This is a work of fiction that I am not making a profit off of.

A/N: Chapter 9 is almost done, so you guys can definitely expect it in two weeks!

Do you need to catch up? I got you! ->

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven

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WARNING - FLASHBACK CONTAINS MENTION OF DRUG USE.

Flashback

Robin had known she was struggling to deal with the events of her birthday.

They were used to her being withdrawn. They’d grown to understand her powers and the limitations they presented. Everyone understood that she needed to meditate and sometimes remove herself from situations that may cause her powers to flair up.

But, she hadn’t locked herself away in awhile.

No matter what was going on, Raven would come out for at least two meals and at least two or three television/team nights a week. Granted she would sit in the corner of the couch with her nose buried in a book, but she was there.

Until one day she wasn’t.

Robin understood her need for privacy. Her birthday was far from a happy day despite it ending with friends, cake, and ice cream. He informed the team that Raven needed space. He couldn’t find the words to tell them about her failed suicide attempt.

She wasn’t neglecting her duty. Raven swiftly responded to each alarm before disappearing in the midst of her soul self, so he couldn’t fault her.

Logically, he knew that she was coming out of her room some portion of the day. Demon or not, she couldn’t survive on just air. The masked titan had found his suspicions were indeed correct, but he hadn’t realized she was leaving the tower.

When she stumbled into the common room dressed in a tight black dress, high boots, and neon bangles, the smell of alcohol and ash hit him faster than he was able to comprehend the scene in front of him.

Raven was drunk.

Drunk being the understatement of the year. Heaven knows what she had flooding through her system…

Her hair was out of sorts, and he was pretty sure there was vomit on her dress.

“Raven?” Robin questioned quietly, unsure of the scene in front of him.

Her eyes rolled from left to right as her wobbled. Her back hit the wall behind her as her hands went out in front of her, “Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Robin agreed walking over to her. “Are you drunk?” He steadied his hands on her shoulders, the smell of her night out burning his sinuses.

An acidic belch bubbled from her stomach as her head slumped forward, eyes going wide before relaxing again, “Yep.”

“Look at me,” he commanded.

“No,” she groaned taking a uneasy step back.

Pinching her face between his thumb and index finger, he tilted her head toward the light to check her pupils. “What did you take?”

“Nothing.”

“What did you take?” Robin questioned sternly, alarmed at the size of her pupils. He could only see a small sliver of violet.

Raven closed her eyes for a moment, brow wrinkling in thought, “Aside from alcohol? Some pink pills with little bunny rabbits on them, an orange one with a pizza, and one that was bright blue.” She smirked. “I snorted some-“

“What!?”

“Too loud,” she groaned, pushing him away from her. “And you asked, so don’t get pissy if you don’t like the answer.” She stumbled toward the kitchen, leaning over the sink as she felt her stomach bubble.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

She laughed bitterly, “Really?”

Robin sighed, “I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” she nodded proudly.

“But-“

“Fuck off and let me puke in peace please,” she groaned, fingers pulling her hair back.

“This isn’t the solution.”

She nodded. Her hands pressed against the edge of the sink as she pressed herself up straight. “Then what is?”

Robin looked at her, mouth agape.

“Huh? You seem to be so full of solutions in between judging how I deal with things! So you tell me, what I’m supposed to do!?” She shouted, turning sharply to face him. Her chest heaved as she unleashed her anger.

He was at a lost for words.

“What? I’m supposed to smile? Pretend everything is fine?” She snapped, running a hand over face roughly. “Act like I’m not going to kill you all in the end?”

“You don’t know that,” he shook his head. “It’s not over yet. There’s still a chance.”

There wasn’t. “Even if there was,” she slurred, shaking her head as her eyes blurred with tears and head throbbed. “It’s already ruined. He already broke me, so it doesn’t matter.”

“Raven,” Robin breathed, taking a step closer to her. “I think we should talk about this when you're sober.”

“I really think it doesn’t matter.” She turned her back toward the sink. “Just leave me alone.”

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Flash Forward

“Well, well,” Roy whistled amused as he approached the fire. “I didn’t know you smoked.” The sound of his bag swinging from his fingertips.

Raven rolled her eyes playfully. She could hear the dust crunch underneath his boots as he rocked back and forth on his heels with smug amusement as she exhaled. Keeping her eyes on the fire, she brought the cigarette to her lips, “I figured you wouldn’t mind if I bummed a few. I’ll buy you another pack at the next stop.”

“Not required. I have a carton in trunk,” he chuckled, dropping the bag by her seat. Using a stick, he carefully moved the pot resting on the iron rack toward him.

“Shouldn’t you have put things in the pot before putting it on the fire?” If he’d asked, she could have just levitated it unto the fire safely. “You’re gonna burn yourself.”

“You realize, I’m not just some pretty city boy, right?” He chuckled as he poked the fire. “Can you toss me the bag?”

Her wrist flicked delicately as the bag scooted next to him.

“Show off.”

Raven shrugged unapologetically as a slow satisfied smile curled on her lips as she continued to smoke. “You know, I could have moved that pot lid too.”

“I’m sure,” he chuckled removing the foil packs from the bag and placing them in the hot pot. “My stick also works quite well.” Roy guided the stick into the lid handle and lifted it back to the pot.

“So would pot holders and tongs,” she remarked.

Lifting the mentioned tools from the bag, he raised a curious eyebrow, “I have silverware and plates to make up for my lack of pot holders.”

“Fancy,” Raven smirked.

“The fanciest hobo meals you’ll ever eat, my dear,” Roy assured. He took a seat on the log next to her, leaning back on his elbows comfortably.

“Hobo meals?” She frowned, removing her vibrating phone from her back pocket.

Changeling.

She quickly ignored the call with a sigh.

“Yep,” he confirmed, glancing at the phone from the corner of his eye as he stretched casually. “Basically, some meat and vegetables expertly packed inside a bundle of aluminum foil.”

Her phone buzzed again. “Sounds tasty,” Raven commented, her fingers pressing the ignore button once more. She inhaled loudly, hoping to catch a whiff of the meal cooking in front of them. The sweet aroma from the firewood mixed with the smell of cooking meat and the ash of her cigarette. “Smells good.” Her phone buzzed again.

“Won’t be ready for a bit.”

Her fingers pressed the side button once again to send the call to her full voicemail box. At least, Changeling couldn’t yell at her anymore.

“There’s beef and chicken,” Roy informed as her phone glowed again. “The vegetables on the menu tonight are potatoes, green beans, zucchini, corn-“

Raven’s eyes drifted down seeing Changeling’s notifications flood the front screen of her phone, “None of those are vegetables.”

If you’re going to ignore my calls…

Now, he was texting.

At least have the decency to tell me why.

“What the hell do you call potatoes, green beans, and zucchini then?” Roy laughed as he lit his own cigarette, eyes still casually on her phone.

You just ignored my calls.

“Potatoes, sure,” Raven sighed as her eyes moved from her phone to Roy. “Zucchini and green beans are fruit, I believe.”

I know you’re there.

“Yes, but we treat all of those things as vegetables,” he argued with a smirk.

She shook her head, attention split between Changeling’s serious text and the silly conversation with Roy, “But it’s a not a vegetable. Just because you treat something like a vegetable doesn’t make it a vegetable.”

I know you’re ignoring me.

“That’s fair,” Roy shrugged, taking in her argument. “But, who's to say they don’t want to be treated like vegetables? What about what they want? ”

You never had a problem telling me to piss off.

“Are we really having this conversation?” She questioned, glancing at him brows knitted with confusion. Her phone buzzed, screen illuminating.

He shrugged, pulling out a cigarette and placing it between his lips, “It’s an important conversation.”

So, I’m trying to figure out why you couldn’t tell me you’re leaving?

Raven felt her heart slam against her rib cage as she stared at her phone. “Uhh,” she stammered, blinking as she fought for control. “I don’t think-” Her fingers quickly unlocked the message screen without thought, thumbs hovering over the keyboard. “I think they’re more concerned about being cooked alive if anything.” She started to type.

Gar, I want-

She sighed, thumb tapping the delete button.

Gar-

What the hell was she supposed to say? Her emotions were tangled with amusement from Roy and panic from Gar’s texting.

“Yes, but,” Roy kept his eyes on her phone as he lit his cigarette. “You don’t speak ill of the dead. We’re honoring the sacrifice these brave plants made for our nutrition.”

She couldn’t decide which was worse, her conversation with Roy or trying to explain herself to Gar. “Yeah,” she murmured. Raven honestly hadn’t really heard what Roy had just said. Her mind tried to untangle the messy web of words jumbled in her head.

I can see you typing.

Shit.

I’m sorry. Raven typed looking at the unsent message. I didn’t think me leaving was going to be a big deal. It wasn’t a complete lie. She honestly figured Changeling wouldn’t care enough to bombard her with messages. One voicemail and a couple of confused text messages were to be expected, but this was unexpected in the best and worst ways possible. Inhaling, her fingers continued to craft a response. I thoug-

“Alright,” Roy breathed, exhaling the end of his cigarette. “I tried,” he muttered as he tossed the butt of his smoke into the fire. Standing with another loud sigh, he stepped in front of Raven.

Her fingers froze, stopping her work on the unsent message. Raven slowly lowered her phone to stare at him intently, “Yes?”

“I’m going to apologize for this now,” he told her seriously. His lips were tight as he rocked back and forth on his heels with his hands clasped behind his back. “Because after I do it, I’m not going to feel bad.”

She slowly leaned away from him, brow raising curiously.

Roy inhaled slowly, hands going out in surrender as he looked up to the night sky, “I’m sorry.”

“Okay?” Raven questioned slowly. Her eyes wide and confused.

Roy snatched the phone from her hand, sprinting away from her.

“Roy!” Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach. Raven leaped from her seat chasing after him. Her phone illuminated brightly in his hand as he led them away from the fire. What the hell was he gonna do with her phone? And where the hell was he going?

His pace slowed as he stopped in front of the cliff. “I already said I’m sorry,” he called as he tossed the phone into the cliff.

“What the fuck?!” Raven screeched charging at him.

“Whoa,” he shouted, sticking his arm out to grab her before she went off the cliff. “Watch yourself there.” Roy wrapped another arm around his waist and pulled her another step back.

“Watch yourself?!” Her pulse pounded in her head as she watched her the light from her phone disappear into the darkness below. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

He shrugged, unapologetically, “I didn’t want you to fall.”

“I can fly!”

“I forgot about that.”

Her chest heaved as she struggled to make sense of what exactly had occurred.

“Be careful anyway,” Roy warned gently. His arms slowly released from her waist as he turned to walk back to their fire.

Raven stood at the edge of the cliff, feet sinking into the dust as she looked at the abyss. Her fists curled at her sides as her head throbbed. What the hell just happened? She pivoted sharply, giving into rage, “Harper!”

“One sec, Rae,” he answered. Expertly ignoring the sound of her angry steps, he knelt by the fire carefully pulling the pot of food from the fire. He dusted off his hands and looked up at her. “What’s up?”

“Are you fucking serious?!” She roared. “You just threw my phone off a goddamn cliff!”

“Yes,” he confirmed, using his stick to knock the pot lid off. “I remember. I was there, and I also apologized before hand.”

“You’re lucky I don’t toss you off that cliff,” Raven warned. Her fingers tore through her hair as she struggled to control her rage. She briefly remembered a time where she would have actually tossed him off the cliff.

Not to kill him.

She’d only let him fall far enough to make a point.

“I am indeed.”

She closed her eyes for a second as she placed a hand on her abdomen as she breathed deeply. “I am trying very hard not to murder you right now,” she whispered as she felt her body tremble.

“Sit down,” Roy commanded softly. He stood, folding his arms in front of him.

“Fuck you!”

He bit back a dirty remark. “Sit down,” he repeated calmly as he walked over to the log seats. He had to be patient. After all, he’d just thrown her phone off a cliff and she’d graciously decided not to sentence him to the same fate. “Please?”

Her shoulders sagged in defeat as he walked over to him. Violet eyes narrowed dangerous as she slowly sat down.

Roy sighed taking out his wallet, pulling out a worn piece of paper and presenting it to her.

“Your will?” Raven questioned sourly as she eyed the paper. If he was hoping to calm her down, he was shit out of luck there. This just gave her more time to plan where she was going to hide his body.

His eyes widened as he gestured for her to take the paper.

She scoffed, snatching the paper from his fingertips. “Okay?” She questioned, staring at the photograph confused. “A photograph?” She added, looking to him, feeling the tension in her brows lessen.

Roy sighed as he took a seat next to her. His elbows rested against his knees as his fingers laced together. Jasper eyes focused on the fire in front of them as he nodded, “Yep.”

Raven looked back at the photo. A beautiful woman with long black hair smiled brilliantly toward the camera. In her lap, she held a chubby cheeked red haired baby that was loosely wrapped in a fuzzy yellow blanket. “Your mother?” She questioned. Why was he showing her this?

“No,” he pulled out a cigarette, placing it between his lips. “That’s my daughter.”

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Despite their unpredictable lives, they were all creatures of habit.

Nightwing was, by design, a creature of habit in almost every aspect of his life.

But the others…

Starfire, for example, monopolized the television on Monday and Thursday night starting at eight in the evening. About ten minutes before her first show, she’d make a large bowl of extra butter popcorn and during the last commercial break of her final show she’d grab a pint of frozen custard to enjoy.

Terra always had the same pre battle ritual. Once they’d arrived, her feet would slide to a sudden stop. Crouched and feet planted in a battle stance, she’d lace her fingers, crack her knuckles, and toss her head from left to right.

Cyborg regularly indulged in a midnight snack. Typically, around eleven or eleven thirty he’d start preparing his midnight dish. Waffles, steak and potatoes, super meat leftover sandwich… Something heavy, hearty, and simple. If they had a long day of crime fighting or the pantry were bare, Cyborg would head out for some takeout to indulge in.

“Sweet baby Jesus, dude!” Cyborg jumped stepping into the kitchen, hand clutching his chest.

Changeling smirked, looking at the clock on the side wall then casting a glance to the brown paper bag in his hand.

Eleven forty-five.

Just as he predicted.

“The hell you doing up?” Cyborg wondered, stepping into the kitchen. “Had I known, I would have gotten you a veggie burger. I went to that diner near the bay.” He carefully unpacked his midnight meal, taking a seat across him Changeling.

“I’m not hungry,” Changeling shrugged, leaning back in his seat to watch his friend organize his food in front of him.

Cyborg carefully unwrapped his burger. A delicious triple patty burger, slathered with four different selections of premium cheese, a quarter pound of bacon, lettuce, tomato, the chef’s super secret sauce, and served with spicy Cajun fries. With a happy sigh, he licked his lips as his fingers curled around the burger.

The green man waited until the burger was at his friend’s lips. “You know,” Changeling spoke, suppressing a smile as his friend lowered his meal. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Alert the media,” Cyborg smirked harmlessly.

He figured since Raven wasn’t here, someone else had to pick up the slack in slinging sarcastic comments at Changeling department. “You realize I’m not dumb right?” Changeling questioned folding his arms in front of his chest, casting his friend a hard stare.

“B…” Though he’d outgrown his old code name, Changeling found he couldn’t escape the nickname. “I was joking, I wasn’t tr-“

“Of course,” Changeling shrugged innocently.

“We know you aren’t stupid, B,” Cyborg sighed, feeling bad about the quip. “I mean we might give you shit from time to time, but…”

“Right, right,” Changeling nodded. “I get it.”

Cyborg, seemingly satisfied, picked his sandwich up again.

“So…”

Cyborg froze, mouth stretched over his burger as he prepared for his first bite.

“Care to tell me why Raven told everyone but me she was leaving?” He questioned calmly, green eyes fixated on his friend.

Cyborg dropped his burger, staring at his friend in panic.

“Well, me and Terra, but…” The changeling shrugged as he trailed off. His eyes narrowed as he waited for an answer.

Cyborg swallowed hard, eyes wide, and fingers twitching nervously as his mind searched for the correct response to that question. “I think,” he started slowly. “I think you should talk to Raven about that.”

“So, you’re saying I’m right?”

“Garfield-“

Changeling chortled bitterly as he leaned back, “I’m Garfield now.”

All he wanted to do was eat his damn burger in peace. “I mean, that’s your name.”

“You never call me Garfield.” Unless it was something serious.

“All I’m saying is,” Cyborg started, keeping his eyes away from the changeling and on the table in front of him. “I think you should talk to Raven.”

“About why she didn’t think I needed to know she was leaving?”

“I didn’t say that!”

“But it’s true,” Changeling nodded. He pressed his palms to the table as he stood up. “Thanks for confirming my suspicions.” He walked out of the kitchen. “Enjoy your burger.”

Cyborg scowled, dropping his burger back in the bag, “A man can’t even eat in peace in this got damn mutha fucking tower.”

So much for his midnight snack.

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Daughter?

Raven pulled the photo closer to her face as she examined the baby staring back at her. She could see Roy in the fiery curls that framed the baby’s head like a little halo. Her dark eyes and skin were clearly from her mother.

“Her name’s Lian,” Roy commented as he lit the cigarette.

Since when did Roy have a daughter? And how didn’t she know? Did anyone know? “You’re a father?”

“I am,” he acknowledged with a small nod.

What the hell was she supposed to say to this? How was she supposed to feel? Her rage had fizzled in to confusion, shock, and a weird pang of dread as she stared at the photo.

“I’m also a drug addict,” Roy commented casually.

What? “What?” Her head snapped to him, eyes wide with bewilderment.

“Well,” he exhaled, blowing the smoke toward the fire. “I don’t use drugs or drink right now, I’m sober, but…” His brow wrinkled trying to figure out how to word this. “I’ll always be addicted, so I’m a drug addict with or without the needle between my toes.”

There were so many things she could comment on Raven couldn’t pick just one. “What am I supposed to say to this?”

“Anything you want,” Roy shrugged, unbothered by her shock.

She looked back at the photo and then to the redhead, mouth open as she yelled, “You don’t get to throw my phone off a cliff and the dump your damage in my lap like it’s nothing!” Her chest heaved as confusion bled back into anger.

“That’s fair, but you’re not worried about whatever’s going on in Jump or your phone anymore, so I’d say it was worth it.” Roy tossed her a cocky smirk, running a hand through his hair. “And I figured you’d have mercy because I have a child. Low yes, but…”

Raven felt the color drain from her face as she remembered the unsent text message she’d been crafting to Changeling. He really was going to think she was avoiding him, now.

So much for her fairytale romantic moment.

Not that she was expecting it, but…

He cleared his throat, voice fading to a serious tone. “I’m not asking you to tell me why you left Titans West-“

The fire illuminated the planes of his face and made his eyes glow. Even without her empathy, she could feel the sincerity radiating.

“But don’t think I’m not smart enough to see that you’ve got some major emotional baggage of your own,” he told her. “And that’s okay.”

Raven’s face softened with shock, the sound of her heartbeat deafening in her ears.

“It’s okay that you’re ‘damaged’. Fuck, I’m damaged,” he smirked, turning to face her tenderly. Roy placed a hand on her knee and giving it a little squeeze. “I like to think that the damage makes us better. Makes us real.” He looked at her softly, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.

A sad smile curled on her lips as her eyes stung with tears, “Right because you can’t be a superhero without being broken.”

“It’s not about that,” he told her gently. “So, I read somewhere that in Japan they put gold in the cracks of their broken pottery,” Roy recalled with a smile. “Because the cracks makes the pottery beautiful and unique. Sure, you can have a perfect manufactured piece, but the ones with cracks have a story. They have character. They’ve experienced things.” He gently bumped her arm with his shoulder. “You have character. Your experiences, good and not so good, make you who you are.”

“That’s really beautiful,” Raven whispered, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.

He exhaled loudly, “Great because I didn’t actually read that lovely little piece of information. I heard it in an AA meeting. Or was it NA?”

A loud cackle escaped her before she could stop it. She almost hated how she couldn’t stay mad at him, “You’re ridiculous.”

“I am. I’m also damaged too,” Roy started again, clearing his throat as his tone became serious. “No matter how fucked up we are, we’re worthy of being whole. So what if we have cracks.”

He sounded like her therapist.

“And it seemed like those text messages were taking little pieces from you,” he told her gently. She didn’t need to know that Roy was aware of who she was talking to. “Honestly, it seems like everytime you’ve touched your phone chipped away at you so-“

“You chucked it off a cliff?” No use crying or plotting murder over spilled milk now.

“I did,” He nodded with a small chuckle. “I’ll buy you a new one when we get to Chicago.”

Covering a smirk, her fingers traced of the photo she still held. “We’re days away from Chicago.”

“Exactly. You need some time to unplug.” If they really need to reach anyone, Roy had his phone and they both had their communicators. “Untangle yourself from whatever’s keeping you from being whole.” His cigarette firmly tucked between his lips, he went over to the pot.

Raven felt her shoulders slouch and relax as she watched him carefully remove the foil packs from the pot. “I’m still mad at you,” she told him with playful seriousness.

Roy laughed. That was fair.

To be Continued

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