oh yeah anon from a couple of weeks ago who asked about broadchurch i finally caught up on ep 2 tonight and i am way more invested in this season than i was in the previous season. i feel like the show is back to its roots and we’re back to exploring the dynamics of a small town that’s at the centre of a horrible crime and the people in the community have to come to terms with the fact that one of them was responsible and they can’t truly trust their neighbours the way they thought they could. also i missed arthur darvill’s face :’)
A/N: Sorry this is later than usual, just watched a devastating Broadchurch finale. Feel free to send requests if you want! 😊. I’m also sorry if this is really crappy, not too sure about this one.
Michael: You sat on the smooth, leather sofa, your head aching with every sneeze that ruptured through your body. Michael didn’t want to leave you like this, but he had an interview he had to attend. He texted you every hour or so, asking if you needed anything, or just to tell you he loved you and he hoped you’d get better soon. You were watching your fourth or fifth film of the day when you received a text from Michael.
Michelangelo: Hey babe! Hope you’re feeling okay. Our interview is about to start if you wanna watch. Channel 4. Loveeeee yooouu!! Xxxx
You smiled at the text, quickly switching to Channel 4, wanting to see how happy your boyfriend was when around his friends. His smiley, giggling face lit up the screen, radiating happiness through the wires and into you, making you smile at the sight. There he was, living his dream, you were so lucky to be there with him. The ride to get to where he was had been mind-blowing, you couldn’t wait for what the future held. Your head snapped up as you heard the conversation switch to you.
“So Mikey I hear your girl is a little poorly?” the interviewer said.
“Yeah, poor babe is curled up on the sofa right now,” Michael smiled fondly. He looked into the camera and winked. He knew you were watching. A few hours later, after the interview and the signing had finished, you heard Michael walk through the door.
“Hey babe! What you up to?” he asked, obviously caring for your well-being.
“Nothing much. I’ve done bugger all today,” you sniffled, your nose clogged up. Michael’s eyebrows furrowed.
“Bugger all?” he asked.
“Yeah,” you said.
“You’re hot when you speak British slang, you’ve got the accent to go with it,” he told you. You laughed.
“But tell me,” Michael inquired, “what does bugger all mean?” You chuckle.
“It means I’ve done absolutely nothing today,” you informed him.
“Ah, yes, well I knew that,” he laughed.
“Sure you did Clifford, sure you did.”
Calum: (A/N: Okay I’m sorry I’m a Liverpool fan, but did any of you see Coutinho’s goal against Southampton the other night? GENIUS!) Watching a football (soccer) match with Calum was never a good idea, especially when you were both extremely passionate about the game.
“No! No!! What are you doing? Sterling you’re a piece of shit!! Coutinho could’ve had that!!” you yelled in anger, Calum was right along beside you, agreeing and shouting at the TV, neither of you remembering that the players couldn’t hear you.
“Oh for god’s sake!” Calum exclaimed, “Ugh I’m getting another beer,” he sighed in frustration. You fell backwards into the sofa, your hair covering your face. Calum returned with two beers, one for you and one for him. You needed the alcohol at the moment, considering how badly Liverpool were playing. A few minutes later, an opportunity arose, Balotelli running down the left centre field. You and Calum were screaming your heads off, only to have Balotelli miss and the two of you to groan in annoyance.
“Bollocks!” you mumbled.
“Exactly! Wait what?” Calum asked.
“Bullocks, means damn. Either that or you’re referring to the testicles,” you laughed, Calum’s eyebrows raising.
“Well darling, you can see my bollocks any time,” he winked cheekily. You laughed and punched his arm, the both of you getting back to the game.
Luke: Luke was working late tonight. With the new album coming up, he was really feeling the pressure, spending long hours at the studio and returning, exhausted, in the evenings. You decided to take his mind off work for a bit and cook him a nice dinner for when he came home. You’d taken the day off work today, and making spag bol seemed a good way to spend it. A couple of hours before Luke was set to get home, you went to the shop to pick up some ingredients. You met some fans on the way, taking pictures with them and texting Luke, telling him to follow them. You finally got home again, only stopping to take more pictures with fans. Setting the ingredients out on the table, you set to work. You boiled the pasta, made the sauce, now all you had to do was dish it out. A moment later, you heard the door unlock and heavy, clumsy footsteps made there way into the kitchen.
“Hi babe,” Luke whispered down your ear. He leant his head on your shoulder, exhaustion dripping from his words.
“Hi Lukey,” you smiled.
“It looks great!” he said, eyeing the pasta on his plate. You dished yours out and popped it on the table in front of you.
“Bob’s your uncle!” you said happily. Luke stopped eating and stared at you, a grin on his face.
“What?” he asked, giggling.
“Bob’s your uncle!” you said again. Luke obviously confused by your British slang, asked you what it meant. “It means done; sorted; finished; completed to a high standard,” you informed him. He chuckled once more before saying:
“British people are weird!”
Ashton: Ashton was asleep beside you, his sandy hair covering his perfect features. You looked at him in awe, infatuated in every single detail of him: his personality, looks, even his smell. The sun streaked through the windows, lighting up his gorgeous face. He returned from tour yesterday, jet lag hitting him hard. The time had finally come for you to get out of bed and head off to uni. You didn’t want to go. You wanted to bask in his presence, remind him you were still there. As you began to sit up, Ashton grabbed your waist, mumbling incoherent words under his breath.
“Ash babe, I need to go,” you reminded him. His grip only tightened, burying his face in your stomach. You smiled. “Please Ash, I want to stay here too, but I can’t. I have a lecture in an hour,” you told him.
“Please don’t go. Don’t leave,” he begged, his emerald eyes rising to meet yours. “You can miss today surely? Please babe I’ve missed you so much. I just need you here right now,” he pleaded. You closed your eyes, considering it.
“Fine then,” you said, “I’ll skive, just for today though.” Ashton giggled. “What?” you asked.
“Skive!” he chuckled.
“Yeah, so?” you questioned.
“It sounds funny,” he told you, “What does it mean?”
“Skive? It means to not go to school, to twag off, pretend you’re ill,” you said. Ashton smiled once more.
“I like your British slang,” he said, snuggling into your side once more.
“She supposes the reason she tells him is the same reason she kept his phone number after all those weeks."
Notes: I submitted my grad school app and finished this fic so it’s been a pretty good week, I’d say? One chapter after this, then the epilogue. Probably be posting that stuff within the next couple of days? Endings are a Big Deal so I might sorta stare at it for a bit and move around commas and parentheses before posting, so I dunno when, exactly, it’ll be up. But I hope you guys like this chapter, at least. (Side note: I’ve spent an inordinate amount of time researching baby development, reading articles like ‘your baby at 6 weeks’ and whatever, but I know there are possibly, probably some inaccuracies and I apologize.)