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fruitcoops · 4 years ago

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Hey I was wondering if you could write something kinda angsty but with a pretty ending with the cubs, I’m trynna project getting stood up and turning it into something nice and good, even if it’s just in my head. No pressure but I just wanna smile for a bit and your work always makes me do so :)))

Hello lovely! I’m so sorry that you were stood up--that feels awful and whoever did it missed out on a wonderful person. I’ve combined this with some other asks in the same vein (y’all wanted my boys to hurt) so I hope you don’t mind. Sending love and hugs your way! Sweater Weather credit goes to @lumosinlove <3

1. Bad mental health day for Finn + pushing himself too hard + passing out (ft. Bee anon!)

2. O’Knutzy boiling over with a fluffy ending

3. Insecure Leo

TW for internalized guilt, vaguely implied self-harm (pushing himself too hard at practice), and relationship arguments

Finn had a few bad habits. He left dirty dishes in the sink, could never remember which setting the laundry was supposed to go on, and barely wiped his shoes on the doormat before entering the house. He wasn’t proud of his flaws, but he acknowledged that everyone had some—as long as they didn’t hurt anybody, it wasn’t the end of the world.

This one…this one was different. Even Finn knew that.

He gritted his teeth for the next set of squats, ignoring the ringing in his ears and the climbing nausea in his gut. The chart only said to do three reps, but he had been beating himself up for slacking a set earlier in the week and decided to do five to make up for it.

That, it seemed, was a poor decision.

His thighs were shaking when he finally put the weight down and he leaned on the wall to stabilize himself. “Fish? You okay?” Logan asked from the yoga mat to his right, staring up at him in concern.

“I’m fine,” Finn lied. “Just straightened up too fast.”

“D’accord.” He could feel Logan’s eyes on his back as he left the gym and headed toward the showers.

Finn’s worst habit was taking care of himself, and it wasn’t something that could be explained away as “oh, silly Harzy” like the washing machine. He made a mental note to take some ibuprofen before driving home so he would be marginally less sore in the morning, but he had the sinking feeling it would be a rough practice the next day.

Remus and Talker were playing some sort of volleyball with an old balloon between their stalls when he entered; he missed getting nailed in the head by a narrow margin and waved off their apologies with a forced smile.

A hand closed around his bicep as he passed, snapping him back to reality as Leo’s bright eyes came into focus. “Hey, lovey, is Lo with you?”

“He’s finishing up.”

A small furrow appeared between Leo’s brows. “Is something wrong?”

“Nope.” Finn faked a yawn and stretched his arm over Leo’s shoulder, dragging him down for a kiss on the cheek. “Cap’s workout just kicked my ass today.”

“That’s what they’re supposed to do,” Sirius said, rolling his eyes playfully as he passed. “You’re not a rookie anymore, O’Hara.”

“Yeah, yeah, alright.”

Logan entered the locker room a few minutes later; Finn closed his eyes and breathed in the thick steam of the shower until the fog in his head cleared a bit and he couldn’t feel the skin on his shoulders. It billowed off him as he dressed again and tossed the keys to Leo, who raised his eyebrows. “Me?”

“You. There’s a little bit of slush left, and you still need to learn how to drive in it.” And I feel like I’m going to pass out at any minute. He swallowed down the last thought and pasted a teasing grin on his face—what Leo and Logan didn’t know wouldn’t hurt them. It was his own fault for being lazy in the past.

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

What Leo and Logan didn’t know apparently did hurt them. In hindsight, Finn should have seen that coming before he passed out in the middle of a scrimmage.

The lights of the coach’s office made his headache even worse. “Care to explain?” Arthur asked in a voice like frost. To his left, Sirius was glowering.

“I already told Hestia—”

“Yeah, I know what you told Hestia,” Arthur interrupted. “I want to hear it directly from you.”

Finn sighed through his nose and picked at a stray thread on his jersey. “I…I pushed myself a little too hard at yesterday’s practice and didn’t say anything when I started feeling bad.”

“Why.” Sirius’ eyes were hard as flint.

“Because I didn’t want to be a pain in the ass! I can handle some aching muscles, it’s not a big deal!”

“Not a—”

Arthur put his hand on Sirius’ shoulder. “That’s enough, Black. O’Hara, I want you to look me in the eyes.” Finn raised his head. “This was a dumbass mistake and all of us expected better from you. Your safety and health come before any workout routine, and it is your responsibility to speak up before you scare the shit out of us by dropping like a rock.”

“I’m sorry, Coach.”

“Apology accepted. I also want you to call Heather when you get home and schedule an appointment with her.” Some of Arthur’s frustration melted into genuine concern and guilt crawled up Finn’s throat. “Doing that to yourself isn’t healthy, Finn. You’re a good man, smart, and I know you know better.”

“Can we talk for a second?” Sirius asked quietly, glancing at Arthur. He nodded and left the room.

“I’m sorry.”

“What the fuck, Finn?” Sirius ran a hand down his face, suddenly pale. “What the fuck was that?”

“It was stupid.”

“Yeah, no, I got that part.”

“I slacked off a set on Monday.”

“Wow, nobody’s ever done that before,” he said sarcastically, sitting down in the chair by the wall as Finn resumed messing with his hem. “You scared the hell out of all of us.”

“I know.”

“You know I’m not mad at you, right? I’m upset that you thought you had to do that at all.”

Tears prickled the backs of Finn’s eyes. “I know.”

“I’m sure as hell not your coach or your dad, but I’m going to say this as your friend, okay?” Sirius leaned over into Finn’s field of view. “Whatever you need, I’m here for you. This team wouldn’t be the same without you. I wouldn’t be the same without you. We need you to take care of yourself, Harzy.”

Finn nodded silently and Sirius gave his hand a quick squeeze, which he returned. “Does everyone know?”

“I told them you were under the weather, nothing more.”

“Classic media answer.” He tried and failed to crack a smile. “Thanks for not telling on me.”

“That’s not my job. My job is herding cats on ice skates for five hours a day.”

Finn’s smile was real that time and he managed a light laugh as he swiped away the dampness on his cheeks. “Love you, man.”

“Love you, too.” Sirius helped him stand up and hugged him tight for a second before letting go. “Speaking as someone who used to do the exact same thing, talking to Heather makes a world of difference.”

“I’ll give her a call.”

The cold feeling returned to Finn’s gut when they stepped out of the office; Leo and Logan were waiting by the opposite wall, looking angrier than Finn had ever seen. Sirius patted his shoulder once before walking off down the hallway toward the locker room, where he would no doubt deflect even more questions.

“Hey,” Finn said, barely above a whisper. Logan continued to stare at the ground.

“You lied to us,” Leo said bluntly. “Several times. Both of us asked if you were alright and you told us you were fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I accept your apology, but I don’t understand.” He ran a hand through his hair with a sigh. “Finn, this isn’t how we deal with things. We agreed to be a team.”

Finn bit his lip. I fucked this one up. “We did. I am so sorry for scaring you—”

“We’re not mad that you scared us,” Logan snapped, still looking anywhere but his face. “We’re upset that you refuse to take care of yourself and then lied to us about it.”

Leo nudged Logan’s shoulder before turning back. “Why did you do that, Finn?”

“I didn’t want to fall behind. I was just trying to make up for the set I skipped on Monday.”

“What? Twenty squats and some pushups? That’s not worth your health, honey.” The pet name soothed the terror clutching Finn’s heart and he took a deep breath. They still loved him. This wasn’t the end.

“It was a stupid thing to do and it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Let’s go home.” Logan grabbed his duffel bag off the ground and started walking toward the door; Leo looked like he was going to say something, but Finn gently took his elbow.

“He’s going to need a minute,” he said under his breath. Logan was a hothead about many things, but lying was in the top three. Finn knew he hurt him deep.

“Did you…” Leo trailed off and pressed his lips together as they followed Logan into the parking lot. “Did you feel like you couldn’t tell me?”

Finn shook his head. “No. This was all on me.”

“It’s just that I know I’m younger than both of you and I’m new to the hockey lifestyle, but I never want you to think you can’t trust me—”

“Leo.” Finn stopped walking and tugged on Leo’s hand, turning him around. Worry was painted all over his face and it sliced to Finn’s core. “I trust you and Logan with everything, but I got into my head about this and I wasn’t thinking about how it would hurt you. Please believe that.”

Leo sighed. “I do. I just don’t get it.”

“Neither do I, to be honest.” Logan was already sitting in the car with his headphones on as they crossed the lot. “It’s going to take him a while to talk to me, isn’t it?”

“He was really upset.”

“We’ll figure this out.” He tightened his grip on Leo’s hand. “We’ve made it through worse.”

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

The apartment crackled with tension until Finn literally had to stick his head out the open window to get a breath of fresh air. Waves of frustration and hurt rolled off Logan, though he still refused to look Finn in the eyes.

After dinner, Leo slid into the armchair before Logan could get there, leaving only the couch available. They carefully sat on opposite sides—Finn stole glances at Logan out of the corner of his eye for the entire first half of the movie. Ninety minutes of action later, he felt something chilly poking at his calf.

Logan kept his gaze trained on the TV as he scooted his freezing toes under Finn’s legs. Relief flooded Finn’s veins; he felt a little like crying, but instead schooled his expression into a small smile and rested his hand on Logan’s ankle, where it stayed until the movie ended.

Leo had fallen asleep by that time, splayed out sideways on the cushion with his face smushed against the armrest. “Il est mignon,” Logan said softly. There was a beat of silence and he looked over at Finn. “He’s cute.”

“He is.” Finn cleared his throat and met his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Lo. I never meant to hurt you, but I did, and I’m sorry.”

“Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I won’t.”

Finn had a few bad habits, but backing out on his promises would never be one of them.

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snowflake-of-destruction · 10 months ago

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I can see it changing the night completely. Maybe if Yuuri had his phone, he wouldn't have gotten drunk at all. Yes, in the original he was actively trying to bury his emotions and forget his problems, but always having a drink in hand (or something to nibble on, but we'll concentrate on drinks because of the specific context) is also classic behavior for socially awkward or not-up-to-interaction-right-now and yet forced to be at a party. The built in excuse to look busy and/or avoid talking even when cornered because the mouth is occupied....only trumped by "looking down at my phone so I don't need to make eye contact either." And once Yuuri starts looking at his phone (or is allowed to continue looking at his phone as the case may be, because, yes, Celestino probably confiscated it in the original canon when Yuuri wouldn't stop seeking out the worst comments about his free skate, but I think he could have been convinced to relent on the argument that Yuuri thought his family might call again) then he would also get sucked into the distraction, obsessing over the words on the screen to the point where he forgets to be drivne to drink--still intending to bury himself in champagne to feel better...at some point...after he replies to one more thread on twitter that's making him feel worse...

But wouldn't that make for a boring divergence? Yuuri holed up in the corner on his phone and not becoming the life of the party and subject of albums full of blackmail photos or causing Victor to fall head over heels? Maybe, though it would be interesting in and of itself to see everything change if he never caught Victor's attention before the viral skate was posted and there was no talk of Victor becoming his coach to plant the idea in Victor's head, and so there was little reaction beyond a like from the v-nikiforov account on the triplets' video and then everyone (but the triplets) forgetting it happened.

But we want instant gratification here so consider that while reading criticisms of his free skate, interrupted by incoming condolence texts about both the Grand Prix and Vicchan, and then combing through photos of Vicchan in his photo gallery, Yuuri inevitably starts to cry again. Then Yuri Plisetsky, becoming the human version of the "How many times do we need to teach you this lesson, Old Man?" Spongebob quote, stomps over (because of course he was closely watching Yuuri from across the room, for reasons that he will deny and are NONE OF ANYBODY'S BUSINESS, SHUT UP) and starts screaming, unheeding of how much attention he attracts.

Victor follows him like a good babysitter and apologizes to Yuuri. "He doesn't know how to behave around people. I voted that we should kennel him along with Makkachin, but Yakov thought it was important that he compete in the final for the Juniors for some reason. Now what's wrong and how can I help?"

Victor doesn't actually want to ask at first of course. Crying people make him uncomfortable, as we know, but Little Yuri's behavior forces his involvement and, well, seeing Yuuri cry hurts for some reason.

Yuuri opens up about Vicchan and Victor and Yuri both become instantly 1000% more committed to this cheer up endeavor (First step is not yelling abuse at him, Yuri).

And then...Hmmm....I'm not sure

And coming back to see this stream of consciousness response saved in my drafts weeks later I'm still not sure where I would go with this idea except a general "dance battles still happen and photos of a more posed type are taken and numbers are exchanged. Yuuri doesn't bomb Nationals and finishes the season while often texting his new long distance friends with as much flirting as adivce coming from Victor" and then it becomes fuzzy from there and doesn't yet *pop* as an au like it would need to

Let's play out another take:

THE ACCIDENTAL CATFISHING OF YUURI KATSUKI

Yuuri still gets balckout drunk at the baquet. He dances with everyone, strips for the pole, begs Vic to coach him, probably makes out sloppily with Victor until Victor summons restraint or someone else pulls them apart, and so forth all the usual escapades. Everything is the same except Yuuri has pictures and video of his own perspective of the banquet. A selfie series of him and his various dance partners and a mini video journal documenting how soft Victor's hair is in real life and how "WE ARE IN LOVE NOW AND HE'S GOING TO COOOOACH ME, MY VICTORUUU" is a must.

There are also two new contacts in his phone "Rude Russian" and "Better and Sexier Russian." Drunk Yuuri's idea of a joke, obviously, Hungover Yuuri --who remembers nothing but will freak out once he sees the pictures--figures. Rude Russian must be that little punk that kicked down the bathroom door. As for "sexier and better"....well, he knows who that must be also.

He ignores both contacts for awhile, even when both text him, but eventually he's convinced, probably by Phichit, to not let this opportunity pass him by. He obviously charmed Victor on the dance floor, now he just needs to keep it up through text--which is easy since he can preplan his responses and make every word perfect. It's low pressure and he doesn't have to worry about seeing Victor in person and having a live conversation until Worlds unless he wants to set something up sooner.

So Yuuri starts texting Better and Sexier Russian and charming him. Just friendly charming though. No sexting. He doesn't want to make Victor think Sober Yuuri is desperate after Drunk Yuuri probably already gave him that impression.

Yuuri deletes Rude Russian's messages or maybe does respond, but with a polite message about how he enjoyed meeting him, even though he really didn't enjoy that much he can remember, and "I can see from the pictures that we had fun in our dance battle, but I don't see what we would have to talk about now" that distances himself. He'd offer to send skating critiques or advice but he remembers the volatile little punk from the bathroom and decides better of it. Better just to say goodbye.

Except....".Rude Russian" was actually a call out toward Victor Commemorative Photo Nikiforov and "Better and Sexier Russian" was Yuri grabbing Yuuri's phone and imputting his own contact after Yuuri told him "I don't need your number. I already have a Russian's number in there"

Yuuri is unknowingly trying to start a long distance relationship with Yuri Plisetsky and told Victor not to contact him.

I don't know how long the misunderstanding could be kept up though, but there's a lot of humor potential and of course at the end Yuri will have to matchmake the actual Victor with Yuuri

it occurs to me that probably the most plausible explanation for why Victor and Yuuri didn't trade phone numbers at the Sochi banquet, and why Yuuri himself has no photos or videos of same, is Yuuri just didn't bring his phone

(or his glasses)

fic prompt, free to a good home: what if he did

#fic ideas

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lovemesomeharry · 4 years ago

Text

MAKE YOU MINE

Warnings: Curse words, angst, smut

Words: 8.6k

Summary: Harry and Y/N have been friends for a long time until Harry catches feelings and everything gets worse before things get better.

Y/N had always seen him as a star, always shining bright in the most devine color. Everybody knew and saw that he was the sharpest one among everyone but he would never dare to brag about it. To him, everybody was shining too and that just made him even more beautiful.

That's why Y/N loved to observe him. Whether it was him on stage, singing his soul out, and losing control in the best way possible just to make the crowd go wild and become alive.

Or he could be working and his best friend would try to remember in which angle the tip of his tongue stuck out between his rosy lips and his nose would twitch slightly when he was whispering his written words to himself just to let it taste on his tongue.

Or it could be in a situation like this one right here. Y/N watched him how he interacted with people, slightly tipsy, giggling too much and awfully affectionate. Those adorable dimples appeared on his cheeks as he flashed a wide smile to anyone that came to his sight. She couldn't hear what he was saying but it didn't prevent her own smile from appearing on her face as if she’d been a part of the conversation. Even if Harry was telling one of his usual bad jokes, everybody would still end up laughing because it was Harry who told them and he was so damn good at selling those awful jokes.

Y/N wouldn’t say that she was the opposite of Harry, but no one has ever come close to Harry’s charm and his approachable body language. He was a people's person and no one could deny it.

As the night went on Harry kept on drinking and became cuddlier, gigglier and his need to talk to his beat friend grew immensely.

Once he had spotted her a wider grin adorned his face if it was possible at this point, and anyone must have wondered how it didn't hurt to smile like that. He hadn't seen much of her because he was too busy chatting up the other guests, but he was about to change that.

“Y/N.” His words were slurred and a giggle followed right after he was successful at scaring her by approaching her from behind and nearly shouting into her ear.

She turned around, with a pouty mouth, and slapped Harry’s tattooed arm. “Why would you do that, asshole?”

Harry rubbed at the place where she had slapped him, even though her hit wasn't hard and he wasn't really in pain. “Ouch! You’re so mean. I just wanted to talk to you.” With his finger, he tapped the tip of her nose. “Wouldn’t have come here if I knew you were gonna be a meanie to me.” He moved his face right in front of hers and she could totally smell the alcohol he must have in his system.

“What do you mean? When have I ever been nice to you? I can't stand you.” Now she was grinning from one ear to the other as she watched how Harry’s faced dropped. She loved to mess with him but when he was drunk it was a lot funnier. His brain couldn't comprehend the sarcasm and it made him believe that she was saying the truth.

His eyes lost his previous spark and the corners of his mouth were turned upside down as he let the one curl fall onto his forehead to cover up the crease forming between his two eyebrows.

He looked so adorable, but of course, Y/N wasn't the one who would tell him that.

“Take that back.” His tone was demanding but whiny and he crossed his arms in front of his chest as he took a step closer to her. He strengthened his posture but in his drunken state it just looked too funny and Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his poor attempting to be intimidating. It just made him even more unhappy, as he put both of his hands at each side of her head and pressed his hot skin on the cool wall, coming so close to her that their noses almost touched.

She felt his hot breath on her upper lip as she shook her head. “No, I never liked you. Deal with it.”

Both were staring at each other and totally forgot the people around them and what situation they were in. The only sound they heard was their own heartbeat as they canceled out the rest of their world.

His green eyes looked at her slightly opened mouth and for a short moment, he hesitated before he pressed his lips to hers. She let out a surprised squeak when she felt his soft mouth on hers, sloppily kissing her. The kiss was short and she couldn't really comprehend it when he let go of her. “How do you like me now?” His voice was deep enough go make chills run down her spine and she couldn't believe what just happened.

He really kissed hee, his best fucking friend. She could still feel his soft mouth on hers and taste the bitter alcohol he had previously.

Y/N felt like as if she was dreaming, but when Harry just walked away she knew it wasn't one. In her dreams, he never walked away afterward.

She didn't really know what to make of this situation and tried to keep a cool head but the fast-beating heart in her chest made it not an easy task.

Would he remember him kissing her? Was he going to regret it? Are things going to be awkward between them from now on?

As bad she wanted to reminisce the kiss and do this again, she was scared that their friendship was hanging on a thread. So her enjoyment was cut short painfully for the rest of the night.

When Harry came by her house with fresh croissants and two coffees Y/N swore her heart stopped for a second.

He looked not as happy as he did a few hours ago and dark shadows painted his skin right underneath his eyes. He looked so tried but tried to cover it up by wearing a beanie and a gigantic hoodie. But it just ended up making him look even more tired and cuddly at the same time.

Y/N really wanted to focus on his looks but after what happened yesterday she hadn't had a chance to talk to him about the kiss. It was making her crazy not knowing what was going through the brits head.

The small voice inside her head told her he was going to regret it. He’d let go of her and wonder how he could have ever done that. He was going to call her names, or at least that's what her head told her. Even though she knew exactly Harry would never go as low as to call her names, she still feared the possibility. Even if it was.t his nature. Besides she wouldn't know how to feel if he’d ever been so rude to her. It would entirely mess up her confidence because she cared about his opinion too much for her own liking.

“Are you ok?” He had asked after staring at her for a solid minute and her not catching him doing so. A worried look took over his soft features as both of them sat down on both ends of her white couch. Much to Harry’s displeasure who wanted her to sit closer to him.

“What?” She shook her head as if she was trying to get those thoughts out of her head. “I’m fine.”

Suspiciously Harry raised his eyebrow. “No, you're not. You’ve been awfully quiet, love.” His leg was bouncing up and down and his entire body sank into the couch. He looked relaxed and Y/N wondered how he was so calm when inside her she was in such troubles. How was he so calm when it was his fault that she was in such a troublesome situation?

She was going to ask him about the kiss, but he was a bit faster and began to speak. “Is it because I kissed Naomi?”

Now Y/N’s head perked up. “Naomi?”

He nodded his head. “Yeah, I was a bit too drunk and kissed her. She texted me this morning asking what that meant.” He sighed as he pat his left leg. “It was so awkward. I had to explain to her that I didn’t think much of it.”

Y/N tried to listen to her best friend as he went on about it, but she couldn't really listen anymore when the small voice laughed at her. Of course, he didn't think much of it and he probably doesn't think much of the kiss they both shared, apparently on the very same night too. But she couldn't help but wonder if he could assume what she was feeling for him? Did he kiss anybody else? Could he still remember their kiss the way she did?

Why would he when he could have anyone? Harry always loved the attention he got from girls and was just taking advantage of his situation.

But Y/N just wished he wouldn't have brought her into this mess, because her heart was too fragile to come out without any bruises.

He's actually gonna try to let it go. He asks his heart to beat slower each time, but he can't get it right when he sees her in front of him.

With her wide smiles, her bright eyes and the loving charisma that she radiates so naturally, everywhere and at all times, it is impossible for him to keep a clear head. And if he is completely honest with himself, he does not want to keep a clear head when it means that she will not take up most of the space in his brain.

Ever since he had first heard her voice, it had echoed in his ear. Day and night. But it was not a nightmare. On the contrary. Her soft voice sounded like his new favourite song that he could listen to in a continuous loop without ever being saturated by it. Fuck. He would even play it at his concerts, he loved it so much.

That's how beautiful he thought she was.

He never wanted to admit to himself that she had his vulnerable heart in her hand and could do whatever she wanted and he wouldn't stop her. She could ram thousands of knives through it and he would thank her with a painful smile.

He felt pathetic. He felt so helpless. But most, he felt so stupid.

But it got worse when his eyes gleamed with jealousy. The sparks that sparkled for her were mixed with the gasoline that his jealousy fed him. A menacing fire was seething inside him, ready to spread. But it was not a fire of passion that spread a pleasant warmth in his body, but something that could destroy everything around him.

Harry was never a person who longed for revenge or liked to see others suffer. He is really not a sadist, but in that moment he became one.

Because a stranger dared to touch his Y/N where he should not touch her. He wanted to stomp to them and drag him off her.

But he could not do that.

First of all, that wouldn't do him any favors, because it would be just what the the press was waiting for. They already loved to fabricate the wildest stories about him, so, he didn’t really need to give them the satisfaction of a real story.

And second, the more pressing matter, she was not his Y/N. At least not in the way that he would like her to be.

That's why he leaned against the cool wall, sipped on his beer, and watched the two of them with eyebrows drawn together instead of doing anything. At least for now he decided to lay low.

He didn't even understand what she found attractive enough about him to let him talk to her. The stranger seemed like a lowered version of Michael B. Jordan, yet he seemed to be able to make her laugh. Her eyes always sparkled with the stars and Harry wished so much that he was the reason for it and not the prick in front of her.

Jealousy clouded his vision because Y/N felt that the stranger in front of her, whose name was Nick, was not a condescending version but came so damn close to the actor that the sight softened her knees. He bared his straight teeth when the opportunity presented itself and she could swear that she saw her own reflection in them.

“Would you like to continue this conversation in private?” Nick asked, coming dangerously close to her ear. She smelled his strong perfume and felt his hot breath tickling her skin. She sucked the air sharply and bit onto her lower lip as he graced her earlobe. An exciting sensation ran through her sensitive body parts but mostly, she could feel the tingling sensation between her legs. It had been too long since she’s been with a man.

Her fingers ran up and down the edge of her glass as she nodded. She tried not to appear too excited, but she didn't suspect she was doing a good job, as a playful grin spread across his handsome face.

The more she was pleased, the angrier her best friend became, still staring at them with an eagle eye, as if he was ready to grab his prey any minute before anyone else got the chance. Harry couldn't hear what she was saying, nor could he lip-read, which he regretted at that moment, but his alarm bells began to ring when the stranger stood up and took her delicate hand in his.

It hadn't taken him a minute to act and if his brain hadn't been completely clouded he would have thought he was foolish. How could he run after a girl who is only his best friend? She gets to go anywhere with whoever she pleases. Even if it was a Walmart version of an actor.

As he stood just inches away from the guy, he realized what he was doing and how ridiculous he probably looked. It's not like he didn't has his fair share on body counts.

But before he could change his mind, Y/N glimpsed at him with a questioning look. She raised her left eyebrow, almost as if to ask him if everything was okay.

Harry wanted to say no, even scream it out loud. But he choked out what was going through his mind at that moment. “I-I've lost my car keys.”

In his mind, he threw a bunch of curse words at himself and he would have absolutely no problem if a black hole appeared underneath him that could suck him in.

“What?” He heard Y/N's confused voice and the stranger finally looked at him. On his face, Harry could see the amusement again. Of course, he thought Harry was a fool and he, too, admitted to being one.

He swallowed the lump down his throat. “I can't find them anymore.” Harry had no intention of making that sentence sound like a question because it made his obvious lie even more obvious.

“Is it in your po-”

“-No” He nearly blurted it out. “You got to help me.”

Y/N looked sceptically at Harry. She knew him well enough to be sure he would never lose his car keys. He could lose his rings, but he would never lose his car keys. His car collection, which consisted almost entirely of vintage cars, was his pride and joy and he treated them like his own children.

Visibly annoyed and irritated by his actions, she sighed. “Are you sure?”

He just nodded and she struggled with the urge to ditch him to have her fun with Nick. But how could she be so heartless and abandon her best friend, even though he lied to her straight on without batting an eyelid? But somehow his eyebrows furrowed and the nervous lip chewing had gotten to her. So she turned to Nick with an apologetic look, but he understood the situation completely and put a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

He laughed. “Don't worry about it. I get it.” For a brief moment, Nick looked at Harry and put his best smirk on his face to show him he understood Harry's true intentions. But that didn't stop him from whispering something into Y/N's ear and gently kissing the spot behind her it.

Harry's eyes were about to fly out or Nick was about to fly across the room. He couldn't decide what would happen, but his guess was on the second one.

Y/N nodded after the stranger and when her eyes finally met Harry's they suddenly became cold and annoyed. A shiver ran down his spine when he realized that and he really knows which fuses were blown that he had freed her from that guy.

“I have seen the keys-” he started, but Y/N interrupted him with a horrified laugh.

“Cut the bullshit, Harry. I know you didn't lose your fucking keys.”

He had to swallow hard, but his throat still felt dry. He thought about what he could say to her, but her annoyed look somehow cut off the oxygen to his brain. So he was forced to take his emerald eyes off hers and instead looked through the crowd in the club that was already staring at them.

“Can we settle this somewhere else?” With his painted index finger he pointed in the direction of the curious onlookers, which is why she agreed.

It was at moments like these that she completely forgot who he really was. He is not just her best friend, a colossal pain in her ass, but also an A-list celebrity.

Harry exhaled the hot air, and gratefully grabbed her arm to pull her along.

He pulled her all the way outside, where the cool air whipped Y/N's skin and she only now realized how stuffy it was inside. The glowing moon stared down at them as Harry ran to his car. As they stood in front of it, his eyes drilled holes in her head and she raised her arms on her hips.

“Cat got your tongue?” She first broke the tense silence.

It took a moment longer before he finally found the ability to think clearly again, but his eyes were too busy marveling at her delicate features in the moonlight. He had to admit that the light made her look even more magical and her skin practically glittered. He tried to turn his eyes away from her, but she looked so ethereal and it didn't help him that he got to see so much of her soft skin. To do himself a bittersweet favor, Harry opened his car door with the supposedly lost key, which made Y/N laugh sarcastically and get into the car after him.

She was right.

“I didn't lose my car keys.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He reached his hand through his frizzy curls, which were slightly sweaty. “The guy was... weird.” He sighed slightly frustrated with her for not dropping the topic but also himself for getting into the mess he was currently in.

“Weird?” Y/N asked, sounding almost amused. “He looked like Michael B. Jordan, for fucks sake!” She couldn’t believe her best friend, because she was usually the one telling him if a person seemed off but he’d ignore her advice. So who did he think he was for rescuing her?

Harry didn't like the feeling that was brewing inside of him that could cause a series of hurtful words to leash out of his mouth. So he simply bit the inside of his cheek. Of course, she thought he looked like him.

“He only wanted to shag you.“ His deep voice spit the words out like venom. Both of his hands gripped the steering wheel hard enough to make his knuckles more visible.

She scoffed. “I was obviously looking for a husband at a club, right?” Y/N rested her back against the soft Italian leather and turned her head to notice his clenched jaw.

He really hated it when she was sarcastic with him and even more when she rolled those pretty eyes of hers.

“Why are you so pissed, H? Not that I ever cockblocked you.”

He tried to stiffen his breathy laughter, because she had no idea what she was doing to him. She did, in fact, do that, just not in the same way Harry just did and maybe it wasn’t fair of him to blame it all on Y/N because she had no idea what was going through his head. But yet Harry felt like she should know that she's living in his daydreams with him, that she's the first thing he thinks of after waking up and the last person to fall asleep to. He occasionally dreamed of her and as the nights got lonelier he’d imagine her laying beside him. He couldn't even shag anyone without thinking of the incredible girl sitting on his passenger's seat right now. He would compare every girl he tried to get into his bed to her and sometimes, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't take the stranger back home, because his heart was aching for somebody else. So yeah, she was a cockblock to him. The most annoying one he's ever had.

“Actually you did. Remember how Chloe was apparently using me for fame?” Chloe was the blonde and bubbly girl who was all over Harry just a few days ago when he and Y/N went to the gym together. She was all over him since the minute he stepped foot into the gym and even though he could see Y/N’s glaring stare on them he flirted back. His best friend even tried to warn him, but he shrugged it off and went through with a bathroom quickie.

And what makes it worse: Chloe wasn’t the only one. There were many more like her.

Thinking back he really didn’t understand why he had done all those things when he was never interested in those girls. Or maybe he does know why. He wanted to make Y/N jealous. See if she would give him any sort of reaction, but that never came. So now thinking back he didn’t understand why thought it was a good idea playing with peoples hearts and give them the two minutes of fame that they craved so badly.

She looked at him with disbelief. “She was! But I guess I’m sorry for caring about your reputation?” Her head slightly bounced off the seat as she crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I really don’t understand why it’s such a big deal who I shag.”

And honestly Harry wished he would feel the same way, but he just doesn't.

“Because you shouldn’t spread your legs for every guy.”

And Harry wished he just didn't say that.

Her delicate features twisted with anger as she straightened her posture so she could have a better look at him. She wanted to make sure that he really said those words but to her dislike he did.

A bitter taste lingered in her mouth and her whole facial expression turned sour.

“Excuse me? You’re calling me a slut, when you're the one with a new girl every week?” She raised her voice and truly couldn't believe how the conversation progressed from his ‘lost car keys’ to him accusing her of such things.

Harry’s tense fingers gripped slightly at his wild curls, obviously unhappy with his poor choice of words. “That’s not what I mean.”

“Then fucking enlighten me please? Because right now you’re acting like an asshole!” Her heart was beating rapidly and with each heartbeat, she felt a sharp pain shooting through her entire body. Of all people, she would’ve never expected Harry to insult her and make her feel dirty. Almost as if she was easy to have when it was most definitely not the case. But his little accusation broke her heart and her self esteem in a way that she had to question every decision she has made so far.

“It’s just” He started not really knowing where to go with his words. “I fucking like you.”

She sneered not catching on the real meaning behind Harry’s confession. “I like you too, but I don't walk around and call you a man whore.”

How could she be so stupid sometimes? He really wanted to ask her that. Because it was hard enough to admit that once but having to explain it to her was so much worse.

“You don’t get it, Y/N. I really like you.” He watched her face carefully as the panic spread through him. He can’t believe he told her like that, or at all.

Y/N was confused. So extremely confused and angry. Not for lying to her, cockblocking her or initiating that she’s a slut, but for the fact that he had the audacity to do this to their friendship. Once again. She barely had gotten the kiss out of her memories.

“You’re drunk, right?” She picked on her nail polish, slightly taking small bits of it off as she started at him with disbelief. Why couldn’t he just lose his car keys? “This is a joke.”

He didn’t know what to say to her anymore, so he stayed silent and took his eyes off of her.

“Harry, you always do that.”

“Do what?” Now it was his time to be confused.

“You’re not into me. You’re just bored.” She sighed heavily. Y/N didn’t want to reveal what she was thinking of his love life knowing that he wouldn’t like it. But at the end of the day he’s a relationship person. It wouldn’t be too bad if he wouldn’t fall so fast for the first person who gave him a little bit of attention. Because when he’s single he’d get all lonely and eventually falls in love with the first person he sees. It has always been like this, that’s why Y/N refuses to give in to him and let their friendship take the fall. Because Harry never got anything out of these relationships, besides a broken friendship and always a broken heart. “You always do that, you know? H, you just want attention.”

Harry thought he’d be able to smile if she’d slice his heart open, but the little cuts are already painful enough to make his eyes tear up if he wouldn’t fight it. “So my feelings are not valid and I just want attention?” A bitter laugh left his slightly quivering lips. “I think I got enough of that.” He shook his head at himself for letting those words slip out of his mouth. He knew she didn’t feel the same but at least she could’ve let him down less harsh. “You could’ve just said you don't feel the same.”

“Trust me you won’t feel the same when somebody else comes along.” He will, or at least that's what he thought. But it hurt like hell hearing her not taking him seriously.

He started the engine of the car without shooting a single glance her way because looking at Y/N would make him feel worse and he didn't know how much strength he had inside of him to not let his tears appear at this waterline.

He felt stupid. He felt humiliated. But mostly he felt so incredibly broken and scared.

He always knew him and Y/N was never going to be a thing because she didn't feel the same. How could she? She only saw him as her friend and Harry knew she deserves someone better. Someone who could give her the world, when Harry would have to hide her from it.

But Harry was so scared as he took her home and a million thoughts were running through his mind. He probably changed everything between them but he hoped he wasn’t going to lose her completely.

But he couldn't help to wonder if he just ruined their friendship?

It had been a little bit over a week since Y/N had last seen Harry. He dropped her off at her place and before she could say a thing he drove off again. So everything was left unspoken between them when all Y/N wanted to do was to talk it out with him. But she was scared. She didn't know how he’d react or if he'd want to talk to her.

And she’d understand if he didn't.

She knew she hurt him. That was her intention. She knew he would’ve stuck to his feelings if she didn't push him away to save their friendship.

They had come a long way and she wasn't sure if it was worth it throwing their close bond away for Harry’s small interest in her.

She’d be lying if she said the thought never crossed her mind. In fact, it did way too often for her own liking. It was just too hard to be platonic with him when he was too good at using his charm on her.

But at the same time that was another problem. He did it with everyone. So how could Y/N be certain he wouldn't get tired of her after they'd let their feelings take the upper hand?

No matter how hard she tried to ban Harry from her thoughts he’d always find his way through her thick skull. It was impossible for her to forget him when the image of his pained face was still haunting her and the only sound she heard was his strained voice.

She just hoped he as doing alright. That he wouldn't take it too personally and would get over it. The best-case scenario would be that they could laugh about it one day and would wonder how he could ever think to have feelings for his best friend.

But for them to reach that stage one of those stubborn people would have to give in and Y/N wasn’t sure who would be brave enough to take the first step. It has never been her strong suit and neither was it Harry’s.

Y/N spent her whole afternoon by being lazy. A quality she had started to be familiar with. It took her a while till she actually got out of her warm bed and before she really kicked off her day, she had a quick scroll through Instagram. But she regretted that almost instantly.

Pictures of Harry and a blonde girl were plastered all over the internet and she couldn't help but narrow her eyes at the familiar face. Chloe.

She bit the insides of her cheek a little bit too harshly as they seemed very cozy with one another at a concert last night, both of them dancing and hugging each other in a way Harry never did with Y/N. His hands were a little bit too low and her mouth came his dangerously close, but there weren't any pictures of them kissing, which made her sigh in relief.

She shut down her phone and threw it onto her bed and crawled underneath her blanket.

Y/N knew she shouldn't trust whatever she saw in those pictures because a bad angle could make anything look fishy. She experienced this firsthand when she and Harry became friends. Everybody seemed to believe that something was going on between them and an innocent hug could be interpreted as a passionate goodbye of two heartbroken lovers.

But no matter how hard she tried to tell herself that those are just pictures and no real confession, her brain wouldn't let her believe it.

If Harry liked her so much he would try to talk to her instead of waltzing to the next best thing. Y/N knew how he was and she’d predicted the unavoidable outcome. Sooner or later Harry would've become bored of her and leave her for someone new, someone more exciting and their friendship would be at the exact same place as it was at that moment.

She didn't like how both outcomes predicted how her heart would beat painfully in her chest and she wondered if Harry’s heart felt that even if it was for just a second.

It’s been exactly 22 days since Harry and Y/N last interacted with one another and Y/N couldn't help but count the days herself. She doesn't know when she picked that up along the way but at least it was getting easier for her to get out of her bed in the morning. So she thought it was better for her to look at the bright sight.

Besides she was happy to not have seen any more pictures of Harry and Chloe. So she believed it was nothing serious to him, even if the little voice echoed in her head how they both have gotten better at hiding from the rude photographers. But even if they weren't going out anymore she wouldn't be shocked. When has something like this ever meant anything to him?

But she banished those thoughts as she tried to go on with her everyday life.

Y/N really couldn't believe how much he was actually involved in her life. It could be an ordinary situation where she saw something cute, took a picture of it and her hand immediately swiped to Harry’s name so he could have a look at it himself. It happened without her knowledge and if she wasn't so fast she might have sent him accidentally a message already.

But it wasn't just that. It would happen if she got a coffee before going to the gym. Even though she had to go to a different café after changing her gym to avoid running into Harry. She’d order two drinks before it was too late and she stood their like an idiot wondering what she should do with the bullet coffe she hated but he always drank.

And what was more embarrassing was the fact how she would always think of Harry first, before she thought of anybody else, including herself.

That’s why her heart broke every day a little bit harder instead of trying to heal itself, but she slowly learned to get used to the heart ache.

But the sudden realizations kept her up all night and she wondered how she could've missed the signs when they were lying right in front of her very own, and apparently very blind, eyes.

Maybe it was because of her blind eyes or her slowness after working multiple hours without catching a break or her not being able to fight back the urge anymore after doing so successfully for 22 days that she sent Harry a picture of a cute dog she had found on Instagram.

When her brain finally processed what she had done, the horror on her face was obvious. She tried to delete the message but to her misfortune Harry had already seen it.

The grey bubble appeared which made her stop breathing as she waited anxiously for his response. Was he going to tell her to delete his number and leave him alone?

Harry – 09:34 PM

Can I come over?

Finally, Y/N let some oxygen inside of her again. She had to debate a bit with herself and tried to make up an excuse why he couldn’t come over. But she decided against it.

Y/N – 09:36 PM

Sure

She wanted to add a ’please’ but decided against it as she didn't want to sound desperate.

After she had sent the message her legs were bouncing up and down and she’d casually get up and rehearse a conversation that might happen.

She was nervous. She was so extremely nervous because she didn't what he was going to say.

But she knew what she had to say. She would do anything in her powder to avoid ending their friendship because the last few days had already felt like hell to her. How was she supposed to live like that for the rest of her life?

And when he finally rang her doorbell her mumbling stopped and she stared at the door trying to look if it really was Harry behind it. But she had no supervision so she began moving towards it. With unsteady steps, she opened it up to reveal a distraught looking Harry.

His puffy eyes looked even darker and heavier compared to when he was hungover and the little beard he grew made him more attractive but also proved that he hadn't been taking care of himself in a while, as his hair also looked a little bit greasy from where she stood.

They both just stared at each other, unable to exchange words but Y/N had hoped that she looked better than him. But she couldn't be positive about it because she wasn't exactly taking care of herself either.

Still, in silence, she opened the door a little bit wider to let him come him. When he did she caught a small whiff of his fresh cologne and her eyes wanted to tear up right at that moment.

She had missed him so much that just his scent made her already feel more at ease and all she wanted to do was to collapse in his chest and let him pull her closer by wrapping his strong arms around her body.

She wanted him close to her again.

For a moment the silence still remained and their were staring at their feet before they both started talking at the same time.

“I’m so sorry.” Did the two of them say at the same time with the same pain lingering in their voices.

He looked up first with an hopefull expression. He was so scared that she wouldn’t say anything and simply tell him to get his stuff out of her place. He was fearing for a text like that for so long, even today when her name popped up in his notifications. But once he saw the dog picture he was able to relax a bit and didn't hesitate when he asked if he could come over.

Now they were both standing there and hoping that it wasn't the last time they'd see each other.

“No, don’t be. It's my fault.” She started to say, still looking at her feet and playing with the hem of her sweatshirt as she stood there awkwardly in the middle of her living room, not knowing what to do with her body. “I shouldn’t have dismissed your feelings.”

A minor pain shot through his body as he remembered the heartbreaking memory. But he couldn’t be mad at her for doing so and just by looking at her he was sure he would never take that personally, especially after initiating that she was easy to have. “I-I know you don't sleep around and you don’t open your legs for everyone. I’m sorry about that. And lying to you.” He shook his head as she tried to speak again and at the fact that he actually said all those things to her.

“And I’m so sorry for being so bitter after the kiss. I should have not let my anger out on you. You were drunk.” She finally dared to look into Harry’s conflicted face. His hair was a little bit longer than she remembered as his curls seemed to tickle his neck and the patchy beard made him look more mature than he did before.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “What kiss?” Harry’s brain tried to remember when the kiss could have happened but there were no memories of him kissing the girl in front of him. He was sure he could not forget kissing an angel, or could he? “We kissed?”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah, at the party?” She bit her lip and tried to play it cool. “You kissed Naomi on that day too.”

“Wait a minute, I kissed you too?” As his brain started to work and a distant remembrance popped up when he pressed his lip to Naomi’s in a drunken state. But he could not remember kissing Y/N, but he wishes he did. “How could I forget that?”

Y/N laughed trying to ease the situation when the tension was becoming too much for her. “It’s not like it meant something to you.”

And with that, she did not only hurt her heart but also Harry’s, who actually showed her what an effect her words had on him. “Is that why you think I’m not being serious?”

Y/N didn’t want to nod her head. She didn't want to give him an answer he was waiting for so long. So she didn't, even if both of them could stop cutting deeper into each other's hearts.

Slowly Harry got closer to her. The wooden floor underneath him creaking with every step until he was close enough to touch her face gently and make her look at him. “Naomi doesn't matter. Chloe doesn't matter. No one does. But if I remembered kissing you, I would be over the moon.” His heart was beating at high speed as he confessed his feelings, hoping that she would too if she was into him. “Because you do matter to me.” With his last part of the confession, he pressed his forehead to hers and tried to hold her close. His eyes closed shut and he focused only on her breathing.

Y/N’s feelings were all over the place. She was happy. She was scared and she felt nauseous. Was this all happening? Was the guy she has been crushing on for a few years now finally confessing his feelings for her?

“You don’t remember the kiss?” Her voice was hoarse when asked and Harry almost immediately shook his head. “Shall I refresh your memory?“

His eyes were about to bulge out of his head and his hands gripped her face a little bit harder. He stepped away from her a little so he could see the sarcasm on her face. But she wasn't joking. She was being sincere and once Harry realized that his lips came crashing into hers.

His feathery lips sucked on hers before he opened his mouth a little and teased her with his tongue to let him in. Once she did he wanted to moan into her mouth at the sweet taste she provided him with. Her hands were roaming in his hair and he didn't even notice when she slipped his beanie off of his head and started tugging at his curls.

This is all he ever wanted. That is all she ever wanted.

She was amazed by how soft his lips were and he couldn’t grasp the fact that she tasted sweeter than her scent and so much more addictive after getting a taste.

Slowly Y/N started to walk backward until she felt the couch on her legs. She pulled Harry on top of her when she sat down and hungrily continued the kiss after the short break.

His hands were sliding down her face, her neck and eventually came to a halt as he touched her hips to keep her steady. He can't imagine how she let him kiss her again. It all felt like a dream to both of them and they were not ready to wake up anytime soon.

He slipped his lips off hers, trying his best to catch his breath, before trailing kisses up and down her neck. Her small hands we're still playing with his curls and when she started to pull at them he moaned into her neck. He had waited so long for this to happen.

Y/N pushed her chest into his and once he pushed her into the soft cushions he continued to kiss her body. His kisses we're short but he didn't forget a single spot to love. She watched him with hungry eyes as he began to move lower and lower until he was between her legs. He looked up between her thighs, finding Y/N in a needy state. “Is this ok?”

She nodded and waited patiently for him to continue.

“Talk to me, love. Tell me.” His voice sounded so soft and she could swear she felt a tingle between her legs because of his voice and the nickname he had used.

“Yes. Continue, please.” He giggled at how breathless she already sounded and because of those big eyes she made.

“Your wish is my command.” His fingers slipped off her grey shorts and he had to stiffen his laughter as he saw her Spongebob panties.

Her face heated up and her cheeks were painted a faint rosy color. “Don’t laugh. I wasn’t expecting for this to happen.” With both of her hands, she covered up her face, clearly embarrassed. But Harry couldn't care less what she wore, in his eyes she always looked ravishing and like a goddess walking this earth.

“Don’t hide your face, love.” He moved his body up again, just to stroke her cheek and looked deeply into her eyes. “You look absolutely stunning.” The intensity of his stare made her knees weak and goosebumps run up her spine.

She nodded her head when he leaned down and planted a soft kiss on her lips. “Let me make you feel so pretty.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Let me make up for what happened.” He kissed the heated skin of her forehead and stroke her hair behind her ear. “Let me make you mine.”

She nodded again, but when he rose his eyebrow she expressed herself, how he requested from her. “Make me yours, Harry.” With a smirk, he kissed her lips slowly, bit onto her lip, and pulled on it, which earned him a small whimper from her. A breathy laugh left his mouth and with his right hand, he slid down her body and gripped the hem of her panties. One last time he searched for disapproval or even just hesitation in her eyes, but when he could not find that, he dove right into the action.

His hand slit into her underwear and he started to rub small circles on her clit. He was soft at first, very careful and he didn't want to destroy his flower, his little petal, who looked too good for him. Who was too good for him. She closed her eyes and through her open mouth, quiet moans slipped through it. Harry was too focused on her delicate features to pick up the speed, only when she took his hand and started grinding on it, he started to put all his energy to make her feel good.

His long fingers pinched her pulsating clit and he could feel how wet she had already gotten, as his fingers started to slip. “Do I make you feel good?” He looked at her with those dimples appearing in his cheeks and he realized at that moment that he wanted her beneath him so many more times in his life. Only her, for the rest of his life.

“Yes.”, she moaned as his finger teased her wet slit. ”I need more.”

“Tell me what you need.” She opened her eyes, looked at him pleadingly as she moaned out his name. Harry swore he could cum if he saw her like this again.

“Want you inside me.” She kissed Harry’s cheek and moved her kisses along his sharp jawline, desperately searching for his soft spot. But before she found it he held her head back, to make her look at him.

“Not today. I need to make it up to you, angel.“ With that he lowered himself until his face was right between her thighs. With anticipation she bit her lip and stared at the green eyed boy, who was slowly removing her underwear. Her face was heating up, and the electricity she felt, whenever he touched her, made her want him even more.

“God. You’re so pretty.” He admired her one last time before his hands found her swollen clit to play with. “You’re so wet for me, baby.” He moaned and felt his own pants tightening around him.

His circles became rougher and faster and she couldn’t help but grasp his hair in her fists. Low moans escaped her mouth and she couldn’t help but arch her back.

“I want to taste you so bad.” He breathed on her pussy. “Can I taste you?” He looked up from between her legs to catch a glimpse of her nodding her head in ecstasy.

“Yes, please.” It didn’t take him long until he licked her slit clean before he focused all his attention to her clit again. With his plump lips he sucked it in and swirled his tongue around it.

Y/N jolted up from the pleasure she got and tugged at his hair to pull him closer to her. He let out a breathy laugh only intensifiying her feelings when she felt his mouth vibrate against her. “Harry.” She moaned as his fingers found their way to her wet entrance. He parted her lips and buried his tongue inside her again for a quick taste before he let his fingers do their magic.

At first it was just one, then two, before he started pumping his fingers in and out of her and he kept his mouth on her clit. Sweat was forming on his forehead and Y/N tried her best to keep his hair out of his face so she could see him whenever he looked at her. Her walls started clenching around him and her legs were starting to get tired.

Harshly she gripped the mattress and tried her best not to scream when he hit that spot inside her that made her see stars.

“You’re so thight, baby.” Harry moaned after he flicked his tongue over her clit harshly and his fingers were picking up on speed. “Do you want to cum, love?” She nodded her head, eyes closed, much to Harry’s dislike. “Talk to me.” His movements came to a halt which made her thrust her hips forward desperately.

“Please, Harry.”

“Please, what?”

“Please make me cum.”

He laughed before he buried his head between her legs again and began to eat her out as if she was his last meal and she couldn’t help but let her legs shake, and those moans out, when she felt the beard scratch her on all the right places. Harry was painfully hard himself but hearing and tasting her made him almost combust in his pants.

When his fingers picked up speed and she pinched her own nipple, her walls began to thighten around him and with one last moan she let herself go. “Fuck. Harry!” She closed her eyes shut, her back arched off the white material and helplessly she tried to breathe again.

Harry watched her with such adoration in his eyes as she came down and gave her pussy one last kiss before he held her face in his hands. She didn’t care that he was still covered in her juices and smeared it in her hair.

With a playful grin he looked her up and down and once her breathing calmed down a bit she gave him a small peck on his dimple, making it deeper on his cheek. Butterflies erupted in both bellies and a giddly feeling made both of them feel warm inside. With his thumb he stroke her cheek and rested his forehead on hers again.

“Are you mine now?”

#harry style fluff #harry styles fic #harry styles blurb #harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles writing #harry styles oneshot #harry x reader #bestfriends to lovers

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dreamescapeswriting · 4 years ago

Text

BTS Reaction | You’re Slim Thick [Request]

Slim Thick: The term describes a woman with “with big/toned thighs, plump booty, normal sized hips AND a flat/toned stomach

Seokjin:

The fans loved you and everything that you did for them, a few of them had convinced you to turn your personal Instagram into a business account so that more people could find you. You were always promoting self-love and how to love yourself a lot as the boys and Jin helped you a lot with it since it was he and the boys that had helped you anyway.

"You alright?" Jin asked when he came in from the studio one night to see you scrolling through something on your phone, you were frowning at it but had a small smile on your lips.

"Someone made a fan account?" You laughed nervously and showed him the phone screen. Someone had created an entire Instagram page dedicated to you and your way of promoting self-love. There were video edits and image edits, and although you and Jin were together and had many photos together not a single one appeared on the account. The owner - whoever it was - claimed that this was a place just for you and your positivity, not that Jin wasn't positive but they wanted a place to express their love for everything you did for them and many other people alike.

"It's sweet, they're all sharing stories about how you've helped them grow and learn to love themselves." Jin continued reading through the stories and told you some of the ones that he saw. They really loved the way that you used your platforms in a positive way and how you were always kind to everyone that you met even in real life, fans came up to you and you were always calm to them.

Yoongi:

You were an Instagram influencer before you and Yoongi started dating but once it was announced that you were together your account got bigger and you were recognised more whenever you were Yoongi or alone.

"It's a small interview, you'll be okay." Yoongi said as you stood in the waiting area with him, you'd been asked to give a small interview after some Army and some of your fans had nominated for you an award. You'd won by a landslide but now you had to give an interview about why you had won and what your account was about.

"They love you, it'll be fine." He assured you, he took hold of your hand and reminded you why you'd been nominated in the first place. You’d been nominated for ‘Inspirational influencer of the year’ someone who had been a positive influence to those who follow them,

“Y/n?” You looked up and followed a lady into her office ready to do the interview.

When it came out online everyone loved it, complimenting you on everything that you had mentioned in the interview. You’d been questioned on everything you posted about, and why you posted them and you said there was too much negative in the world and everyone deserved to think positively about their body and everyone elses body.

“People come in all different shapes and sizes, not everyone is going to blend into one mould and everyone should be different. More power to you if you’re different, you’re unique and brilliant in your own special way.” Yoongi read out the last quote you’d given and you smiled at him as he came over and gave you a kiss on the cheek, reminding you of how proud he was of you.

Hoseok:

"No, look I'm telling you it wasn't her it was the one that was in the closet-" You stopped talking to Hoseok about the killer show you had started that morning when you saw a fan standing behind him.

"Hi." You said with a smile to her and she smiled back,

"Do you want me to take a photo of you together?" You offered but she shook her head and smiled,

"I wanted to talk to you...to thank you actually." You and Hoseok both looked taken back. Your relationship had been out for a year and you'd had a couple of fans come up and thank you for keeping Hoseok happy but this was different.

"I wanted to thank you for always putting out positive vibes for us, for all body types. You're always so nice with us and other people and you're so sweet." You smiled at her as she continued to list the things she was thankful to you for. Hoseok smirked from his seat as he watched her talking to you.

"You're always putting out realistic goals for everyone's body it's just a nice change to see that instead of all the other people that are too skinny for words, or try to put on unrealistic goals." You smiled at her and moved over so she could sit down next to you and ask you more questions because you could tell the conversation was far from being over.

"What work outs do you do?" You shrugged your shoulders and looked at Hoseok,

"Dancing with him mostly but sometimes I run or swim when I feel up to it." It was as though she was taking notes down in her head but she smiled and told you she was going to try them all out at some point.

Namjoon:

You made videos online for people to watch, you'd been doing it for years and continued to do it when you were dating Namjoon but the small following you had gathered had grown into a huge one since Army wanted to watch the person who made their idol happy but they were also learning a lot from you. They started to love you more for your than just because you were dating someone that they loved, you were always coming across as positive in the videos and you never used Namjoon to grow your own following. The only time he’d ever appeared in videos were in bloopers or the one time you did a dance practice together but they loved it. They also loved the fact that you were always trying to spread body positivity on your youtube account as well as all of your social media accounts, you’d noticed someone being hated on in your comment section and you went into the comments and defended them against people who were being mean. Army joined in and decided to help defend the girl that had been bullied on.

“You took it down in a positive way though, no one bullied them back.” Namjoon said that night, you’d curled up next to one another in bed and you told him you were worried it would reflect badly. But the girl who was being attacked didn’t deserve it.

“You did the right thing Jagi,” He wrapped his arm around you and kissed the top of your head.

Jimin:

You were backstage in the changing room going through twitter when you found the thread about yourself, it was bizarre to you to find something like this. It was a thread dedicated to you and the way your body was shaped, focused on what you ate and what you did to maintain your figure. You read through it all before showing it to Jimin after his concert,

"They got some things wrong though, do I correct them?" You didn't want to piss anybody off by telling them they were wrong but you also didn't want people trying out the diet and workouts they'd put down that you did when you didn't.

"Yeah, if they're wrong you should make it right Jagi." He went off to shower after giving you a kiss on the head and you retweeted the thread telling them all of the corrections. Mentioning that you didn't have a specific diet type and just mentioned everything you ate on the daily basis and mentioning the actual workouts that you did. Instead of the harmful ones that had been listed that you had done.

“All good?” Jimin asked jumping over the back of the sofa and sitting down next to you, you handed him your phone proudly and smiled.

“They love you for this,” He chuckled reading through some of the comments that were thanking you for spreading light on everything that had been said in the thread and thanked you for being the way you were.

Taehyung:

You were doing a vlive with Taehyung, he’d invited you on to react to the newest music video and the new single that Army had been given earlier that day and it had started with you giving your first impressions and reactions but it had somehow turned into q&a session about you. Army asking you questions on your body type and how you managed to maintain it even when you were travelling a lot with Taehyung.

“I tend to work out in the gyms with him whenever he’s on tour and when we’re home I’ll normally just do some dance routines,” Then the questions started to flood in about what you ate and questioning you on advice for clothing styles that would best suit people of simuliar build.

“I tend to dress for me rather than everyone else, don’t let anyone put you in a box. If you want to wear something, wear it. Simple as that.” You giggled as more questions flooded in but you tried to keep the vlive on track of what was happening and what the vlive was originally about.

Jungkook:

You were sitting on your phone scrolling through your Instagram comments to try and reply to as many people as you could, you always tried to do this after posting something because a lot of ARMY would come to your comment section and ask for opinions on things, or question you on your body type and you didn't mind answering them.

"What's wrong?" Jungkook asked when he looked up at you, you had furrowed your eyebrows together and you were staring down at your phone.

"Nothing, I'm just trying to think of how to respond to something that someone asked." He moved to sit next to you and you showed him the question,

"Might be better to go live and talk about it." You nodded in agreement and opened up an Instagram live. Jungkook moved away from you again not wanting the entire thing to be about him being there.

"Hi guys, I'll wait for a couple of you to flood in and then I'll talk about the question that was left under my photo." You said with a smile trying not to come across as nervous, you'd never done anything like this before. The only time you'd been on a live video was with Jungkook and even then the focus was on him and not you and your body type.

"Okay so the question was ''How do I dress for our body type, we're the same way and I can't find anything that looks nice." You sighed and scratched the back of your neck.

"For me I tend to dress however I want, or in a way that makes me feel confident. Don't let anyone ever tell you what you can and can't wear, if you like it and the outfit makes you happy, wear it." You read through some of the comments that were moving quickly.

"You're always so positive about these things, how do you do it?" You smiled as you read it out and shrugged your shoulders.

"My whole life I was brought up being told what I did and didn't look good in, what people didn't want me to wear and in the end I decided that I would do whatever I wanted to do. Wear what I was confident in and not care what anybody else thought about it. It took me a long time before I finally got to that point but dress how you want is the answer to that." The live continued on for another hour until they ran out of questions and then you ended it, Jungkook coming over to you and hugging you from the side.

"You did good Jagiya," You hummed and closed your eyes resting your head on his shoulder and smiling about how lucky you were to have him.

Tagline:

@writingdreamsnottragedies @yoongisdumplingcheeks @snowy-meowl @lynnthevirgo @jooniesdarlingdimples @fan-ati--c @lyoongx @mitzwinchester @callingmyangel @rjsmochii @btsiguess-kpop @kneel-begyourpardon @taestannie

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radi0activesmile · 2 years ago

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angel-dust-addict:

Angel looked down at his side at Alastor’s comment. Indeed, he could see little pinpricks of blue beginning to show on the nightgown. That wasn’t good. “Shit. I fahgot how easy it is ta do that. Open shit like that back up when it’s somewhere real bendy.”

But rather than try to do anything about it, Angel just leaned his head back against the headboard and closed his primary eyes. He stayed that way for a moment, before reopening his eyes and letting his head roll to the side to face Alastor. There was still some visible swelling around his left eyes. Tiredly, a thread of that same hopelessness from last night lacing his voice, Angel told him, “Ya know, yer in tha real small minority wit’ tha not hurtin’ anybody who can’t fight back. Most guys down here wouldn’t think twice about it. Fuck, I think a lot of 'em get off on it. I can tell ya fa’ sure they do. Makes 'em feel powerful, I think. Goin’ by tha ones I know, anyway.”

He still made no move to address the bleeding. There was a small patch of blue staining the nightgown, but he was just profoundly tired and didn’t have it in him to go do anything about it.

“I, um, I don’t think I’ve properly thanked ya fa’ everythin’. Stitchin’ me up snd washin’ tha blood outta my fur. An’ stayin’. I kinda figured ya’d leave soon as I wasn’t bleedin’ everywhere. Wouldn’t'a blamed ya. Hell, I’m grateful ya even did that much. Cleanin’ those cuts out an’ stitchin’ 'em.”

Hesitantly, Angel added in a quieter tone, “I oughta repay ya fa’ that, but I don’t really… Ya’ve already told me a couple'a times ya ain’t interested in what people usually want from me.”

Angel sees it. He acknowledges that he’s bleeding, but he makes no movement to stop it. The stitches are under the nightgown, making it impossible for Alastor to know if the blood is coming from the massive puncture wound, or one of the smaller (though still deep) gashes. Still, it would be best to stitch them again, yet Angel makes no move to do so. Quite the opposite. He leans his head back. Even upon opening them again, he makes no movement to get up.

Does he not see this as a problem or-- no. One look at Angel’s eyes and one word spoken with that desolation in his voice answers that question before it’s even asked. He’s tired, he’s hopeless. What’s the point in taking care of himself, of mending his wounds when, without a doubt, those wounds will be delivered to him again? Alastor now feels reaffirmed in his decision to stay here to keep an eye on the spider. That look in his eyes, that desolate tone in his voice, it’s part of the reason Alastor chose to stay. Would that look fade in the light of a new morning, would Angel awaken, clean, tended to, and feel some form of relief and reassurance? Or would he continue to feel that sense of sheer hopelessness that’s been taught to him through decades of believing that it might get better, only to be shown how wrong he is over, and over, and over again?

Alastor decides to give his own two cents on Angel’s statement about those in power before explaining that he owes The Radio Demon nothing. He holds up a single finger. “Those who showcase their power by going after those who can’t fight back only show how weak and cowardly they are. If one truly believes in their strength, they will only fight on equal ground.” It’s why Alastor refuses to attack someone when their back is turned, or when they’re not expecting it, or when they run from him. If they’re cowardly enough to run, they are not worth his time chasing down. What does it prove to hurt someone who is shaking, groveling at your feet? They are already aware of what you could do. Now you’re simply being tactless. Cowardly, truly, because you clearly don’t think you could hold your own against someone who is willing to fight back.

His voice lowers in volume, his head dipping just slightly to the side as he holds up a second finger, then brings his hands back together to rest in his own lap. “You’ve already repaid me in full, my friend.” He says, his smile relaxing, no longer pulled taut, but easy going and looking rather genuine. “You’ve allowed me to talk your ears off more than once as of late.” It might sound silly, in fact, it most certainly does, but having a real face to speak to isn’t something Alastor often gets. Voices call into his radio show on occasion, yes, but it’s incredibly rare for Alastor to be able to sit down with someone and have a conversation face to face. He’s a terrifying creature. He’s The Equal Opportunity Killer. One look from him and demons will dart through moving traffic to escape. It must sound ridiculous, Angel might not even believe he’s being genuine, but their time sitting on that sofa together was worth far more to Alastor than anything Angel could give him.

He tilts his head in the opposite direction this time, gently resting it against the headboard. His voice lowers in volume once more. “I will go as soon as you’ve had enough of me, but if you would like me to stitch that back up for you, I will.”

The shadow startled Angel a little, but its resemblance to Alastor made it clear what it was. Freaky-ass magic mumbo jumbo, clearly, but it wasn't dangerous. To him. He had no doubt it could be dangerous.

"Yeah, about dat," Angel began awkwardly when Alastor assured him they were nearly there. "I, uh, look, ya know what I do. And some'a that ends up comin' home wit' me. So just ignore any'a that. It'll be betta' fa' both our sanity."

There was no squealing nor clatter of tiny hooves, which meant Charlie probably still had Fat Nuggets. That was good. As much as Angel wanted to just curl up, cuddle the little pig, and go to sleep, there was a great deal of unpleasantness to deal with before he could consider doing that. Not all of which he was guaranteed to be conscious for. That unnerved him, but he really had no choice in the matter at this point. His head was spinning and he wasn't actually supporting most of his own weight anymore.

As they crossed the threshold, he took stock of the room as best he could. There weren't too many things sitting out, but there were a few. If he'd had the blood to spare, he might have blushed in embarrassment, but he didn't. That was most of the current problems.

"Bathroom's pro'lly tha best fa' this. 'S brighta' an' easia' ta clean up tha blood," he suggested tiredly. He was starting to be glad he had taken Alastor's offer of help.

#angeldustaddict #blood cw #abuse cw #injuries cw #torture cw

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forasecondtherewedwon · 4 years ago

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3 Simple Rules for Dating a Centenarian - ch. 2

Fandom: The Falcon and the Winter Soldier Pairing: Sam Wilson/Bucky Barnes Rating: T Chapters: 2/2

Read chapter one on Tumblr.

Chapter two summary: Sam and Bucky talk after their date op in Germany.

“Four,” Bucky says.

Sam, plodding down the road beside him, turns to stare. His sidekick (and fuck him if Bucky’s thinking of Sam in the same terms) has his chin lifted, moving his gaze back and forth across the horizon in a slow sweep. With the lines of trees planted as windbreaks around the fields, they can’t see the highway from here. It could be nice, without the rushing noise of cars and trucks, if Bucky knew how to shut up. That sorta pout his mouth does when his face is in its sour resting position—that’s what Sam wants to see. Only because it means Bucky wouldn’t be talking and Sam could maybe find a few minutes of peace, some quiet in which to consider the Flag-Smashers they just fought.

“Four what?” he demands when Bucky doesn’t continue.

Can’t be hostiles. If Bucky had spotted anybody, he wouldn’t still be striding along, looking unconcerned. No, he’d be running flat-out towards their adversaries like the rash moron he’s always accusing Steve of having been. Trying to leave Sam in the dust until Sam kicked off and spread his wings.

“Four stars,” Bucky says, carefully, clearly, like that clears anything up.

“What are you doing? Rating our trip down the highway? That was a transport truck full of medicine and super-soldiers, not an Uber.”

Sam’s grinning to himself when Bucky turns his head to glare. Ah. So gratifying. Amends sound good in theory, but Bucky’s irritation is so much simpler in practice. Sam knows how to handle that. He’ll take the grouchy stewing post-mission over having to meet Bucky’s eyes across a table, the promised snapper dinner laid out in front of them. They haven’t gotten around to that yet.

“I’m not rating the ride,” Bucky says, “I’m rating our date.”

That trips Sam up, but just for a second.

“No, no, no, dates don’t end with me rescuing you from the underside of a truck.”

“You didn’t rescue me.”

“Man, those wheels would’ve turned you into ground beef,” Sam says with a snort.

“I doubt it. Fell two hundred feet without a parachute today and I’m fine.”

“You want a second opinion on that?”

Instead of watching Bucky’s scowl deepen at the joke, Sam sees his expression flatten out. It makes Sam narrow his eyes in suspicion.

“What?” he prompts.

“You’re wrong,” Bucky states plainly.

“About what those wheels would do to you? We can test it when we’re back stateside if you want. I’ll requisition a truck.”

“Not about that.”

Sam’s looking closely, so he spots the smile. A curl at the corner of Bucky’s mouth. He hopes, secretly, that Bucky is scanning the surroundings well enough for both of them, because Sam’s attention is homed in on this little sign of Bucky’s amusement.

“About the end of the date,” Bucky finally clarifies.

“Mission. The end of the mission, when I rescued you.”

“The end of the date, when I was on top of you.”

Something to throw with all his strength, that’s what Sam needs right now. Some physical outlet for how badly he wants to fling the creeping, seeking, aching things he’s feeling very far away from himself. He wonders if Steve ever just whipped the shield as hard as he could to vent his frustrations. It’s hot as hell out here under the sun and Sam can feel the dampness of his chest inside his suit, the sweat riding his spine.

He takes a deep breath through his nose, fine with the scent of manure and getting nothing but grass instead. Like inhaling the colour green. Smells like the field they landed in. Landed in and went barreling across until, yeah, Sam wound up on his back with Bucky above him, their arms fastened around each other like life preservers or umbilical cords or anything else tight and necessary for keeping people alive. Goddamn nose-to-nose. Over the phone, Sam could brush Bucky off. When he says this shit in person, Sam has nowhere to go, besides extending the wings and launching himself into the sky. But he doesn’t want to overreact (doesn’t want Bucky to see him overreact).

“You just calling it a date because you don’t have rules for those?” Sam asks, deflecting.

“My three rules, you mean?” Bucky asks. He loses the smile.

“Right.”

“They’re for… everything. Supposed to be a blanket rollout, not doing anything illegal or that’ll hurt anybody in any aspect of my life. I’m sure the rules go for dating too, though Dr. Raynor and I didn’t really talk about those specific circumstances.”

“I think you might’ve mostly stuck to those rules today. I don’t think we hurt those guys.”

“Maybe you didn’t—”

“Get over yourself.”

“You’re a rude date,” Bucky notes. He’s looking straight ahead. No, not looking, staring. Like he does.

“I didn’t even invite you,” Sam says, refusing to correct this bonehead again about what kind of outing this was. “You walked onto that plane.”

“You wanted me to come.”

“Didn’t need you.”

“Oh really?” Bucky challenges. Sam clenches his jaw as he avoids meeting Bucky’s gaze.

“Hey, I was still in the air while you were clinging to that truck like a toddler to their dad’s leg.”

“You were in the air, but for how long?” Bucky asks, halting and grabbing Sam’s arm. Sam shakes him off in annoyance but stops too. “Until the Flag-Smashers knocked you out or broke your wings like they broke Redwing. They were mopping the floor with you.”

“And it was so damn useful to have you there to be the other mop,” Sam says sarcastically.

“If you’d put me back on the truck instead of in the field, we mighta had a shot at them.”

Bucky’s hands go to his hips, his Vibranium arm gleaming in the sun. He’s going to have to say more about that White Wolf thing. Wondering where the hell Bucky’s sleeve went and refusing to ask, Sam crosses his arms tightly over his chest.

“We had no shot. Not today, not without more information.”

“Information takes too long.”

“That’s what a successful op is,” Sam stresses, chopping the side of one hand into his opposite palm. “Intelligence gathering, corroboration, planning, execution. Information is what tells you to hang back instead of throwing yourself into a fight you’re not prepared enough to win.”

“We were already here. We couldn’t just let them leave.”

“Don’t worry about the hypotheticals now; them leaving is exactly what happened.”

“Unless Captain America has ’em on the ropes,” Bucky says deadpan.

“I hope they pushed him off the back of one of those trucks.”

“Were you thinking about that while we were up there with him?”

“At the time, I was thinking about pushing you off the back of the truck for getting us into that situation,” Sam explains, “that’s why I can picture it so clearly. See, Buck? I always have a plan.”

“Just like Steve.”

“No, not just like Steve.”

Sam pushes past Bucky to start walking again. After a couple steps, Bucky’s back at his side.

“You think the new guy had a plan?” he asks. “I don’t.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

“Sure you do.”

“Are you trying to get me to talk now? Mr. ‘I’m not a words guy’? Fine,” Sam huffs, tired from everything inside him that’s pushing to get out rather than their leisurely walk down a country road. Even so, he walks faster, almost stomping, and Bucky has to lope up next to him to stay in step. “I don’t think he had a plan. I don’t think he could fasten that dumb helmet on his head without a direct order. I don’t think he and his partner found us on their own initiative.”

“They work pretty smoothly as a team though,” Bucky tosses out.

“That looked like familiarity, not the result of inspiring leadership on the part of the Captain.”

“And not as good as us.”

Sam sends Bucky poisonous side-eye.

“I’m not trying to lead you.”

“I don’t wanna be led,” Bucky replies. “We fight together better than they do and that’s with you pretending you hate me.”

“Oh, I don’t need to pretend.” The comment is habit.

“All I’m saying is that it’s better. The two of us being out here doing this stuff together.”

“Especially with that dick waiting in the wings.”

Bucky stares at him long enough that Sam turns his head to stare back. When he does, Bucky glances away, but Sam knows where he was looking—at his back, where his wings are folded away.

“Waiting in the wings is a figure of speech,” he tells Bucky angrily.

“It’s perfect though. I always think of you as that dick in the wings.”

Sam exhales hard through his nose.

“I hope you don’t always think of me as anything.”

“I do. I always think of you.”

Freefall doesn’t jar Sam, no more than what he can remember it feeling like when he was a little kid and his dad would toss him into the air before catching him again. But what Bucky says changes the physics of his insides, the gravity all wrong with his organs. Heart plummeting then trying to sail straight up his throat like a balloon somebody just let go of.

Then Bucky adds, “You and that shield.”

“Drop it.”

He could just fly to the airport, leave Bucky here with plenty of time to think his stupid, shield-related thoughts. Maybe this smartass would have all the answers by the time he reached the plane, or Munich, if they went wheels-up without him. The truth is that the shield—and the Captain America persona—are on Sam’s mind just as much as they’re on Bucky’s, only he manages to keep those thoughts locked up tight. He has to make sure that shit’s contained, particularly if the new poster boy’s going to turn up like this. Sam doesn’t need that in his face.

As they walk, he glances at Bucky, who’s probably as aware of it as Sam is when Bucky gives him that stare. Blue as the sky overhead and heavy as a boulder. The realization that, although he didn’t mean to lead, Bucky followed him here, and continues to stick with him, is staggering. The pages of his mental photo album flip and he sees Steve crack a grin. It’s not like that, Sam tells that blond do-gooder, young in his memories. The only blond do-gooder who ever has or ever will look right with his arm threaded through the straps of the shield.

Maybe, maybe, this thing could work. Him and Bucky running ops, doing better at not getting their asses kicked in front of the government’s hand-picked hero. But Bucky’s gotta let that shit go. Since the Blip, Sam’s been trying to fly under the radar and that’s what he wants to continue doing. He doesn’t need to be showy, just effective; he doesn’t want to get dragged into some Cap vs. Cap contest, the inheritor against the upstart. If Bucky would take the time to think and listen, they could figure this out and be good. And do good. Understanding each other the way Sam wanted when he called Bucky up and they talked about Tunisia and rules and fish dinners. Bucky could make his jokes and, the next time, Sam could call his bluff. Show that gruff, rusty motherfucker what a real date looks like. What kind of team could they be? All kinds.

“Are we even going the right way?” Bucky asks after a half-hour of silence.

“Yes,” Sam says firmly.

He actually hasn’t checked. After they untangled themselves in that field, he just started walking, too keyed up to establish their position. He wonders if the grass still shows their path, crushed where they rolled to a stop.

“You sure?”

“Uh huh.”

“Got any thoughts you wanna share?” Bucky asks. Sam frowns and steals a glance at him. “What? I told you I’ve been going to therapy. I know the importance of a healthy dialogue.”

Sam tries to force his mouth to keep curving down, but he really wants to smile. Bucky’s not the worst company and he is obviously capable of growth.

“A question,” he says.

“If it’s sarcastic, I’m not—”

“Four outta what?”

“What?”

“You said four stars,” Sam reminds him. “Is that four outta five or four outta ten?”

Bucky’s smile spreads slowly, smugly, and Sam rolls his eyes hard. He’s no more aggravated by Bucky than he is by his own need to know. ‘Four stars’ was an incomplete assessment! Typical.

“I hate you,” he says.

Still smiling away, Bucky sways into Sam as he walks, their arms brushing. Could be an accident.

But probably not.

#my writing #story update #tfatws #tfatws spoilers #The Falcon and the Winter Soldier #Sam Wilson #Bucky Barnes #sambucky #Sam Wilson x Bucky Barnes

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gra-sonas · 3 years ago

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Roswell, New Mexico certainly knows how to raise the stakes. In the Season 3 premiere, Maria experienced a foreboding premonition that unfolded at a funeral, one that possibly placed Dr. Kyle Valenti in the casket. The Reaper came close to claiming Kyle after he was impaled and bleeding out -- until Max saved him. But then Kyle went missing.

Soon, Alex discovered Eduardo Ramos had been keeping a comatose Kyle tucked away safely, after someone had injected him with an unidentified drug. Now that Kyle is awake and back on his feet, he wants answers… but he might not like what he unearths.

Roswell, New Mexico star Michael Trevino recently spoke with CBR about Kyle's evolution, that funeral vision, the Valenti legacy and possibly directing an episode in Season 4.

CBR: After portraying a hybrid werewolf on Vampire Diaries, what was interesting about playing a normal human in Roswell, New Mexico?

Michael Trevino: It was just that. To be able to play a human, with these supernatural elements happening around you, that you are not necessarily part of, but you are there to reflect the human reaction of that. Being a part of Vampire Diaries, I was in that supernatural element. With this, I couldn't get too far away from it in my career, but it's about reacting to those things.

With Kyle Valenti, it's a role that is definitely more grounded for me, but hopefully, it is grounded for the audience. That's their character they can identify with. How would you react to being in Roswell, New Mexico, hearing about aliens, figuring out that they are around and live amongst you, and that perhaps there are more aliens out there?

Kyle could have been a local cop, a lawyer, a business owner. How happy are you that the writers have incorporated his medical/surgeon profession into the narrative?

Michael Trevino: For one, you figure with these aliens being around and anything going wrong with them, there would have to be some type of medical element. The whole lore of alien and alien autopsies, we need to have a character like that in Roswell. For me, to be a surgeon and then worked into everything that's happening with these three aliens in Roswell, it's big for Kyle.

This season, Maria experienced a funeral vision, and it seems to be Kyle's body in the casket. What were your thoughts on that development and what it meant for Kyle?

Michael Trevino: For me, Kyle seems to be the common thread throughout all the storylines. I'm really happy about that, being on this show and that the writers have done that. Although Kyle seems to be the one helping put out all the fires and he's there for everyone, being a good friend and doing whatever is asked of him, it would make sense that Maria is having these visions. Kyle might, or might not, have something to do with that. We are going to see that play out. Kyle is on everybody's minds. We are wondering what's going on with him. Where is he? That makes the most sense because he's there for everybody else.

The writers have "maliciously" teased and taunted viewers by continually putting Kyle in harm's way. Has that been part of the fun of this mystery, that "will they or won't they kill him" at any given moment?

Michael Trevino: It's safe to say that nobody is safe in Roswell. I do like that they've kept choosing Kyle to tease a bit. There's a warm spot for Kyle. He's a good guy. I watch the show and I'm like, "Damn. This guy is doing his best and trying to be there for everybody. It's a nice feeling."

Considering Kyle was painted as a dick in high school, there's been a lot of growth and evolution from him into a better person.

Michael Trevino: Yes, I believe this Episode 3.09 is a big turning point for Kyle. We find out a little bit more of his backstory. He's finding that out in real time. That can be frustrating. We see that emotion in Kyle. But this is finally where he takes a stand. He makes a hard decision. He's either going to go left or he's going to go right. He's carved out his path. "This is what I'm going to do. This is how I want things to be."

Moving forward, how focused is Kyle on uncovering the unknown assailant, who injected him with that paralytic drug, which left him bedridden?

Michael Trevino: Where we find him, he's reached his limit. He's been there for everybody, and he tries to put out fires. But, in this episode, he's really frustrated and it's kind of taken a toll on him. The last time we saw him, he was in a hospital bed in a barn. It's, "What is going on? What is happening?" He wants more answers. We are going to see him get those answers. But, then also, frustrated because, "Why me? Why is this happening?"

Kyle also learns some startling information about his father, the code that he lived by and more about that creepy little radio. How is Kyle unpacking all of this because it's a lot to take in?

Michael Trevino: He's trying his best to process everything he's discovering. But like anybody else, he has this idea of what the Valenti code is, of who Jim Valenti is, of who is his father. We are in season three. We've come to find out Kyle's father isn't who he really thought he was. That hurts. That's got to be shocking to his world. Very jarring. I feel that we see that in [Episode] 3.09. There's a bit of information that is given out that is very important and catapults Kyle for the remainder of this season.

What do you feel keeps Kyle in Roswell? He's had the opportunity to leave and work in other cities…

Michael Trevino: For Kyle, there might be some abandonment issues because of his father not being around. With that, he doesn't want to do the same thing to others. We've seen how vital he is, how important he is to what is going on in Roswell. He doesn't want to run away from that. And let's talk about the lifelong connection he has with Liz. He doesn't want to leave her not only in harm's way, but stuck with this mess. So, Kyle is choosing to stay and figure out what is really going on.

What else can you preview about what's in store for Kyle in the last block of episodes?

Michael Trevino: Kyle is going to have a lot more to do with what's going on in Deep Sky. He and Eduardo will become allies and work together, to do what they have to do, with Jones.

What was it like having original Roswell star Sherri Appleby direct some episodes, as well as Vampire Diaries creator Julie Plec and your former co-star, Paul Wesley?

Michael Trevino: Speaking to Sherri Appleby, it was nostalgic. She's one of the OGs for the original. To have her come on board and direct an episode -- even for her -- I think it's a full circle in her career. It was a blast to have her on set and be taking notes from her, just because of the connection she has to this story and these characters. Roswell is on the CW. It's on Warner Bros. television. It's a family I have been part of for over a decade. To work with Julie Plec and Paul Wesley, personally, is a great thing. As the years have gone on, our careers are expanding. It's a beautiful thing to watch. This business can be challenging. It can be tough. To see us all, striving to do the best that we can, is great.

You've aspired to step behind the camera. What's the appeal and are you going to get the chance in Season 4?

Michael Trevino: Being in this television world for so long, this is a machine. It takes so many people to produce one-hour of network-episodic television. Being on these sets as an actor has been great and a privilege, and I'm grateful for it, but I want to expand and do a bit more.

In telling these stories, I get very involved in the blocking of scenes or what's going to best service this story when we are in these scenes, doing rehearsals. I find myself figuring things out. I am interested in the camera moves. I am interested in where we are setting up lights. I am interested in everything. I want a shot at that.

After Season 3, I shot a short film in Albuquerque. That was my first time directing and it was such a great experience. I am in post-production on that. I've put it out there. I've spoken to producers. I can neither confirm nor deny if I am getting an episode this [upcoming] season. I'm hoping I will be.

You are on a superhero-heavy network. What are your thoughts on playing in that sandbox?

Michael Trevino: Marvel has obviously been top dog for some time, but DC has been doing some really great things. I feel in this world of streaming, that these television series are just as great as these big-budget feature films. What they have is they can expand on their storylines with these comic book characters. I would love to do one because of the physicality that some of those roles require. I love doing stunts and I'm very athletic. Any type of role that has that physicality to it, I really lean into that. Any type of comic book role that came my way would be a dream.

#michael trevino #kyle valenti #rnm 3x09 #rnm spoilers #rnm cast interviews #roswell new mexico s3 #long post is long

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boop-le-snoot · 4 years ago

Text

PARTY FAVOURS I CHAPTER 12

Click here if you are a first time reader.

Summary / TWs: Steve Rogers does not pass the vibe check yet again, le sad face. Loki is a good bro. Bruce fluff but what else is new? Literally everyone is a good bro, yo. Reader has best people. Tony's in there, kind of. Parents still suck.

For taglist: please send an ask if you changed your @! I noticed several people are unavailable :(

As always, my baby gay @miscmarvelwritings is the bestest beta!

"I think I am going to murder your father." Bucky's angry statement didn't surprise me. Neither did Steve's initial reaction, or anybody else's mostly pitying looks.

Bruce, my Bwucie, was calm and dejected. That worried me. I expected him to be at least a little bit green around the edges when Steve forcefully sat me down and made me explain the drunken, drugged stunt I'd done the night before, but alas, it seemed like Jolly Green was just sad. Or disappointed. And I didn't know which was worse.

The more I thought about it, the more defensive and abrasive I became. "And you'll kill yourself trying, he'll drive you fucking nuts" I responded to Barnes. "Honestly, I don't fucking see the problem here. My dad shows up five times a year at best. It's been like that forever. And it's not like I'm some kind of junkie," I defended myself, and my dad, because I really didn't see the huge deal about it. Relaxing once in a while doesn’t hurt anyone.

"It's not right!" Steve exclaimed, loosely banging a fist on the table. The self-righteous prick, seemed like he wanted to pick a fight just for the sake of it.

"And who are you, exactly, to say that? The moral police?" I blew up, standing and turning to the blonde man, hands on my hips. "Or you've decided to be my parent without asking me first? Keep your hopes up and maybe a fuck will magically appear, so I could give it to you."

He stood up in turn, getting uncomfortably close to my face. I was suddenly reminded of the fact that he was a very large, very strong man. "We want what's best for you! Can't you see it?" Rogers was getting red in the face, crossed arms, staring at me down like I was dirt under his shoes.

"How about..." I seethed, having to stop mid-sentence to swallow the scream that wanted to erupt. "How about... You FUCKING ask me what I want?"

"I suggest the Captain leave to go calm down," Loki suddenly piped up. He stayed silent throughout the whole conversation, picking at his food instead. Only after his sharply uttered words I noticed he had stood up. His hand hovered over my shoulder, body discreetly wedging between me and the Captain.

I heard Steve growl before he stormed off, throwing an annoyed look at Loki. A pregnant silence hung in the room. The longer it lasted, the more I wanted to crawl out of my skin, suddenly hyper aware of all these people - strangers, save a few - debating on what to do with me. Like I wasn't a person. Like...

"Ugh, fucking hell," I growled, beelining for my bag. I had definitely overstayed my welcome.

"Where are you going?" Bruce asked, standing up to follow.

"Home," I replied curtly, nodding my thanks to Loki for the intervention. He nodded back, walking off. I would have probably started swinging at the Icicle Dick if not for the raven haired Asgardian's timely interruption.

"I'll drive you," Banner trotted after me like a dejected puppy. I didn't have the mental capacity to deal with this, at all.

"I need to see Tony first. Meet you downstairs?"

Bruce nodded, looking even more confused.

Tony kissed me hungrily, in between promises to kill Steve and cancel my dad and get me my own apartment in the tower. Believing in fairy tales wasn't something I was ever prone to; I smiled, nodded along and did my best to shut him up with my own mouth on his. I left with the promise to text him as soon as I got home.

"How are you?" Bruce asked me as we once again drove through the busy city. This was becoming a nice habit but we really had to meet up when I wasn't going through another one of my turmoils.

"All things considered, I am great. Better than I've been in a while." I answered honestly, meaning it. However brief Tony's attention would be, it still satisfied me. Then and there I decided to always, always cherish what happened during my brief stint in his arms.

"Really?" Banner's warm smile was an unexpected but pleasant surprise. "Care to share?"

It threw me for a loop. I didn't know how much Tony wanted to disclose regarding what happened between us. I didn't know the extent of his friendship with Bruce. I didn't know...

"Tony," I choose the usual option. Admit what you can't deny, deny what you can't admit.

"I know the feeling," The good doctor chuckled, companionable-like and meaningful. "He tends to go all the way for the people he cares about. Too much, if you ask me."

"What do you mean?" I was confused. Sure, me and Tony were friends. But not, like, super close or anything. We'd fucked, or more like messed around, so I expected our friendship to grow colder. That's what happened when friends decided to bump uglies.

"I mean... He'll move mountains and challenge the government and bully them into dropping charges against you," There was a hint of sadness in Brucie's voice. I vaguely recalled seeing something on the news, something about the Hulk and a massive destruction spree. It didn't take long to put two and two together.

I reached out, putting a hand on his knee. He covered my palm with his own, giving it a brief, warm squeeze.

"It must be great having a friend like that. You're both wonderful and brilliant. You deserve no less," The smile threatened to split my face in two.

Bruce returned the smile but the sadness didn't go away. "You realize that extends to you, right?"

"Me? I'm just me, Bruce." I wasn't sure where this was going. "I'm Peter's classmate and the resident hot mess express."

Bruce frowned, deep and long, up until he parked. Life seemed to be taking back all the happiness it gave me previously-in fucking buckets. The strap of my bag was going to get its threads pulled out with the way I was fiddling with it.

"Baby… Princess?" The scientist turned to me, tone torn somewhere between stern and pleading. "Listen to me. You are brilliant. Incredibly smart, talented and beautiful. Don't ever, ever think of yourself as less than any of us." I gaped at him.

Did he mean us as the Avengers? Us as Tony and Bruce? Meanwhile he continued, "In fact, I think you are the one who deserves so much better. I don't know what Tony found in me… Or what you found in me."

Was the man an idiot or yes? That was the question of the day. Cursing Tony's affinity for small cars (bless me and my own SUV), I only hesitated a moment before grabbing the dumb Banner by his face and startling him into looking straight in my eye. "If you don't quit talking all that fake-ass bullshit, I will kiss you. On the mouth. With tongue."

"Uh," Was his articulate response. I watched him squirm, blush and lose the heat to his argument.

"Exactly. I've had it all with you idiots today. Next time someone says some stupid ass fucking thing, I will kiss them. On the mouth, with tongue. Pass it on," I exhaled, releasing his face and dropping my head onto his shoulder.

"Some way of solving conflict you have," Banner chuckled weakly, throwing an arm around my shoulders. "I'd like to see Steve's reaction."

"A boner, probably, because he needs to get laid before he spontaneously combusts," I grumbled venomously, still bitter about his reaction. The Capsicle needed to chill. Hehe.

"I'll pass it on too," Bruce remarked wryly. "See you next week?"

"Yeah. Thanks, Bwucie, you're the fucking best," I kissed the scientist on the cheek, giving him a tighter than usual parting hug and walking up the pathway. Home.

Mother was nowhere to be seen - and the obvious reason for that laid on the kitchen floor. Couple of smashed dishes, a bottle of whiskey laying half-empty in a puddle on the grey tiles. The living room rug bore more stains and the smell of alcohol, bitter and acrid (like my soul, hardy har), hung heavily throughout the whole house.

At least I wasn't the only one who fought for myself that day. Mother probably had landed a good one on dad, too, by God the woman could be ruthless with her icy words. Dad never stood a chance. I've felt begrudgingly respectful of the way mother put people in their place with her words ever since I understood sarcasm.

First things first, I cleaned up the mess and opened the windows a smidge, cranking the air recuperation system to the max. Hanging around a place that smelled like a bum on a good Friday night was a horrible way to spend free time. Having successfully cut myself and bandaged the cuts up, I retreated to my room, not wanting to spend more time than necessary in the quiet, stinky, creepy house that my home had become.

My phone was long dead so I plugged it in, waiting for the 2% to appear, turning it on. A few messages from Peter, first cheerful, then worried and then relieved. Tony must've placated the spider child and told him I was staying at the tower. Good call, Tones, or else poor Peter would've worked himself into an anxiety attack and crashed in a dumpster while patrolling. Or something. I still didn't quite get his spider-hero side-gig.

A text from Bruce - rather, a photo, of a disgruntled Steve with his eyebrows raised, titled "I told him the next time he freaks out, you will kiss him. With tongue. Barnes cackled for about ten minutes until he ran out of air."

And a text from Tony. My chest tightened when I opened it. "Good tactics. Sneaky, clever, I'd give it a B+."

I snorted. Then the phone beeped again and I froze. A text ordering me to be ready tomorrow, for a date night? Unreal. I was torn. A part of me was elated, thinking Tony wanted to keep me around like that. The other, more sensible part, was firmly telling me to chill TF down. He'll most likely kindly reject any further intimate interactions, maybe have me sign a few NDAs.

I still answered positive, mushy and cute and all. Feelings aside, I wasn't about to change my texting style for any man. My God, I was turning into a monster. A horribly cheesy, pink, soft, fluffy monster.

The next day, school was nearly unbearable. People talked. Not to my face, of course, since the rumours of me putting away Flash Thompson were still fresh enough for everyone to be cautious around me, but the whispers followed me throughout hallways, tongue in cheek remarks thrown at me from the bathroom stalls, behind the teacher's desks. Did I care? Nope.

Okay, I did, but not in the way one would think. The little spring in my step, a slight smirk. My thoughts were occupied with my upcoming dinner with Tony.

Peter and his pet nerds stood at my side, the ever watchful guards. I had no idea why they decided I needed reassurance or their comfort (I did not), but I had to admit it was cute. MJ, in particular, glared her Death Ray Stare at any male-identifying student that dared to as much as look wrongly in my direction. I mostly ignored the trio. Pete himself did a great job with entertaining his friends, he babbled on as usual, about everything and nothing in particular. Mouth ulcers. He was going to get them one day.

Dad called me during third period, saying he was flying off to California. I would have been lying if I said I didn't know why he scheduled the sudden trip; mother's total radio silence and the absence of her laptop in her own office spoke volumes about the state of my family's affairs. They had a fight and ran off to the opposite ends of the continent. I didn't understand why mother was upset with me, though. I saved her face during dinner at Tony's, so why is she mad about me going to a party with dad? Baffling woman.

Admitting the house felt like home when either of them were absent was hard. Or, perhaps, I felt nothing at all. Spending so much time around the Brady Bunch- the Avengers made me too soft for my own liking. It wasn't just Tony that lived in mind rent-free all the time now; there was Bruce, with his kindness, Bucky with his overgrown teenager attitude, Wanda with her wit and hair that smelled like cheap shampoo - seriously, I absolutely had to show her the benefits of decent hair products. That was just to list the few little quirks. There were so many people, all of them different and wonderful in their own way.

To summarize it, I was both happy for them and bitter for not having any of that to myself. Although it made me kind of glad I didn't have a sibling - looking after someone in the mess that mother and dad created would've been a nightmare. They say it's always a better place where we are not.

I went through a whole pack of cigarettes in a span of a couple of hours. Plagued by strangely melancholic thoughts, trying to push down the anxiety over my upcoming date, my choice of outfit proved to be a cumbersome task while in process.

Expensive but simple dress with spaghetti straps, in my favourite colour. That was the easiest part. A good base for any accessories. Would Tony like it? Would the press make outrageous comments?

Either way, it would. Dad's comments cut deeper than I probably realized it until now; in a sudden bout of self-awareness and a couple of mouse clicks later... Tony wouldn't care. Tony wears suits with sneakers. The Manolos flew back, towards my shoe closet, and a pair of Chanel trainers made their debut. A Hermes 2002 barely weighed down by my wallet, keys and phone. A nice coat, too, appropriately light and so very conceptual and fashionable.

I spent way too much time deciding on what to wear. A stern talking to, however, didn't help me, and I had to redo my make-up - the "nude", "all natural" look was one of the hardest to nail. Or so Marie Claire said. Whatever, my highlighter game was, as usual, on point.

THE TAG LIST IS NOW OPEN! @another-stark-sub @mostly-marvel-musings @vozit @littlegasps @pilloclock @shereadsinquiet @downeyreads @hermione-grangers-wife @individualistfem @sleep-i-ness @gigglyfox01 @capbrie @lillsxd @agustdowney @dee-vn @justanotherblonde23 @fanngirl19 @persephonehemingway (it finally let me tag you)!

#party favours #bun writes #tony stark x reader #tony stark x y/n #tony stark x you #bruce banner x you #bruce banner x reader #bruce banner x y/n #stephen strange x y/n #stephen strange x you #stephen strange x reader

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

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prompt: "you are my family."

imagine if i had the ability to be concise like just IMAGINE

Ashton is curled up in his bunk, listening to sad music, when Luke finds him. The bus trundling down the freeway has provided Ashton a soothing sedative, something to ease the ache in his heart a little bit while he’d tried (and failed) to feel better, but he’s still hurting, an hour later, and when Luke tugs the curtain back Ashton isn’t sure if he feels better or worse for it.

“Hi,” Luke says, and either he can’t see the redness of Ashton’s eyes in the dim light of the tour bus bunks, or he pretends not to notice.

“Hi,” Ashton replies miserably. There’s no point pretending he isn’t.

“Can I join you?” Luke asks. If Ashton says no, then Luke will turn and go, but not without making sad puppy dog eyes for enough time to cripple Ashton with guilt. And he doesn’t want to say no. He really doesn’t want to be alone; he’s just used to it, when he needs time with his thoughts.

Luke won’t be disruptive, though. Luke knows when the time is to be silly and when Ashton just needs to breathe, to sit in silence and let the air in and out of his lungs, forcing himself through this rough patch because there are always going to be sunny days outside of them. Luke’s definitely been there. He won’t really admit to it, but Ashton knows, has been there, a couple of times, and he knows that Luke will understand.

“Yeah,” Ashton says. Luke smiles carefully as he climbs into the bunk, which is just barely too small for the both of them. That’s never stopped them before, and it doesn’t now; Luke just snuggles right up to Ashton’s chest, tucking his face into Ashton’s neck as Ashton wraps an arm around him.

For a good few minutes, they sit in silence. Ashton’s sad music continues to play dolefully through his earbuds, and Luke’s breath is steady against Ashton’s skin, and Ashton closes his eyes and takes deep breaths and tries to stop himself from crying.

It doesn’t work. This is just — it’s familiar, and it’s different. It’s right, and wrong. It’s Luke — but it’s not Lauren. Not Harry.

It takes a few tears dripping onto Luke’s temple for Luke to notice something is wrong, and by that time he’s already picked up on the way Ashton’s body is shaking with poorly concealed sobs.

“Ashton?” Luke whispers, pulling himself slightly upright, or as close as it’s possible to get in the low ceiling of the bunk. “Oh, no. Don’t cry. That’s useless to say, I know. Um, take a deep breath. You wanna breathe with me?” Ashton bites down on his lower lip hard enough to hurt, but the sobs wracking his body are merciless, and force their way between his teeth and tongue, out into the open. He tries to inhale but it just makes him feel like he’s choking.

“Ashton, Ashton,” Luke breathes, “come on. Put your hand here, you can feel me breathing. Just do what I do. In…” He inhales, tapping Ashton’s wrist steadily until he gets to seven, and Ashton gasps for air, feeling hopeless, feeling helpless. “And out,” Luke continues, exhaling with eleven taps against Ashton’s wrist. “Again.”

Ashton glues his eyes closed and tunes into his other senses, to Luke’s voice, soft yet still filling the space around them, and the way his fingers strike an unflinching rhythm into Ashton’s bones, and the way his chest rises and falls under Ashton’s palm. In for seven, out for eleven. Distantly, Ashton wonders where Luke learned this trick.

When there’s less of an imminent threat of suffocation, Ashton opens his eyes. His eyelashes cling together with tears for a moment before he gets them open, and though it’s dark enough in the bunk, especially with the curtain drawn, it still takes Ashton a moment to adjust.

“Sorry,” he mumbles immediately. Luke makes a noise of disapproval.

“Don’t say sorry,” he says. “Don’t be sorry. It’s okay. I could tell something was wrong. I’m glad you, um, let it out.” Tentatively, like he’s not sure if Ashton will push him away, Luke reaches out and wipes a tear off Ashton’s cheek. Ashton gives a shuddering exhale. “Do you want to talk about it?” Luke asks quietly, thumbing away the wet streaks down Ashton’s face.

Not really, is on the tip of Ashton’s tongue. But Luke is being so patient and so kind, and Ashton wants to put his faith in Luke. “Homesick,” he says instead, voice wobbling on the word.

Luke hums. “Oh.”

“I don’t see how you’re not,” Ashton mutters, reaching up to swipe at his own eyes. The tears are starting to catch the breeze and dry on his face, and it’s making his skin feel tight and wrong. “We left everything behind to do this. Don’t you miss your family?”

In the pause, Ashton tilts his head awkwardly to look at Luke. Luke is staring out into the middle distance of sorts, obviously turning his response over in his head. It’s funny; sometimes Luke is so obviously the youngest, and other times, Ashton wonders if he’s not the oldest. There’s something about Luke that’s so childlike at times and so profound and thoughtful at others, and Ashton thinks that might just be the same trait in different settings.

“Well, my mum’s here,” Luke says thoughtfully, “so it’s probably different, for me. But, um, also, I never really…like, I’m the youngest. I didn’t look after Jack and Ben the way you looked after Lauren and Harry. I don’t feel like they, um, need me? Not to say they don’t miss me. Well,” he adds with a sort of wry, self-conscious half-smile. “I just mean — I guess I’m not worried about them getting on when I’m not around. And it seems like you probably are worried about that. With your siblings.”

Ashton has to admit that that’s part of it, and he wonders how Luke’s picked up on it. Maybe it’s because Ashton has displaced his tendency to mother people. In fact, his new victim is usually Luke. Now, in the dark, at the mercy of Luke’s gentle voice and calming techniques, that feels preposterous.

“But,” he says, “don’t you miss them?”

Luke ponders this. “I don’t know,” he says. “Like, in a way, yes. But also, the band is my family. You are my family. I — I don’t feel like there’s anybody to miss because it’s not like my family’s either here or there. It’s just bigger now. It’s everyone here and everyone there.” He shrugs.

Ashton sighs and closes his eyes. “You got smart when we weren’t looking.”

“I’ve always been smart,” Luke says, with a hint of defensiveness.

That’s probably true, if Ashton had ever cared to look before. He’d been so caught up seeing Luke as someone to protect that he’d failed to notice that Luke doesn’t need protection, really.

“I’m sorry for,” Ashton gestures ambiguously. “I’m usually, um, I don’t know.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Luke repeats.

“You’re sweet,” Ashton says, opening his eyes and looking up at Luke. “You really are. You’re thoughtful and you’re so sweet. I’m really grateful to have you.”

It’s hard to tell without much light, but Luke seems to be blushing. He shuffles back down until he and Ashton are face to face, noses barely a centimetre apart. “You’d do it for me,” he says quietly. “More importantly, though, I’ll do it for you. Whenever you need.”

Ashton believes him, that Luke will always help him carefully pull himself together, glue him shut until another seal inevitably comes loose. Ashton’s just pieces sewn poorly together, but he trusts that Luke will be there with the needle and thread, doggedly stitching him up like an old ragdoll that serves no purpose but that has too much sentimental value to throw away.

The look on Luke’s face says he’d never throw Ashton away, and Ashton believes that.

“I know,” he murmurs, bringing one hand up, tangling it in Luke’s hair. Luke dips his head, once again burying his face in Ashton’s neck, and Ashton bites down on what is almost a chuckle. He’s pretty sure there are rules against laughing so soon after crying, but Luke’s just — he’s just cute, and charming, and endearing, and adorable, but he’s also so intelligent, and soulful, and sincere, and — he’s Luke, and he’s more things than Ashton can name. “Thank you,” he whispers, in case the gratitude emanating off of himself in waves isn’t obvious enough.

The curve of Luke’s smile presses into Ashton’s collarbone, and Ashton breathes in for seven, out for eleven, as he taps the comforting pattern against the nape of Luke’s neck. That, combined with the continuous rumble of the tour bus as it swallows up the miles, is enough to lull Ashton to sleep.

#is this a prequel to emo lashton? the origin of emo lashton perhaps?? MAYBE SO #luke hemmings #ashton irwin #lashton #lashton fic #5sos #5sos fic #fic #my fic #its not INTENTIONALLY emo lashton but i was just rereading it and..........it very well could be #reveriesofawriter #ask #answered

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ivarthebadbitch · 4 years ago

Text

Strange things can happen

Chapter 13 summary: Aldreda breaks the news to Ivar, and Ecbert gives Ivar “the talk.”

Canon divergent, everybody lives, arranged marriage AU after 4x14. Read this chapter on Ao3.

Previous chapters: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

On Ao3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12]

Pairings: Ivar x OC, Ivar vs. basically everyone

Warnings: Semi-explicit discussion about sex (blame @volvaaslaug for this one)

Word count: 2386

Tagged: @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @nukyster-blog @bae-roman @adhdnightmare @danisnotsosecret (let me know if you would like to be tagged)

CHAPTER 13: Misunderstandings and miscommunications

It was late in the afternoon by the time Aldreda was alerted to the return of her father and her husband. She had spent the better part of the day pacing around in her room after speaking with Judith and her grandfather, trying to figure out the best way to break the news to Ivar. It would hurt his feelings to some degree; of that she was certain. But in time, he would see the sense in her decision. And even if he didn’t...well, he would just have to get used to the idea.

She tried once again to gather up her courage as she waited for Ivar to arrive. There was really nothing to be nervous about, she told herself. She had Judith on her side, her father surely would understand too, and between them, they could convince her grandfather it was the right thing to do. Yet somehow her hands were cold and clammy, and her heart was thumping in her chest.

She jumped when she heard the knock on the door. To her surprise, when she got up to answer it, she found that it wasn’t just Ivar being held up by some guards as usual. Her father carried him in on his back, and they both looked tired but exuberant.

Aethelwulf dropped Ivar on the bed with a groan and then pulled her into a tight hug. “All is well,” he murmured in her ear before turning to Ivar. “Show her?”

Ivar grinned and pulled her mother’s necklace out of his pocket with a flourish. It was stained reddish purple and smeared with dirt, but she was so happy to see it in his hands that she let out a sigh of relief.

“Thank you,” she said, and meant it.

“Ivar was the one who found it,” her father said, beaming with pride.

“With a little help from your father,” Ivar added, which felt like a major concession coming from him. He handed over the necklace with a slightly apologetic look on his face. “...it was in a puddle of wine. Sorry about that.”

That did not quite explain things, but she supposed there would be time for that later. Her mother’s necklace was sticky and stank of stale alcohol but it at least appeared to be intact. “And Father Wilfred?”

Ivar glanced at Aethelwulf. “The priest was already gone.”

“I see.”

An awkward silence settled over the room, with none of them entirely sure what to do next. At last, her father cleared his throat and held out his hand. “I will see to it that the necklace is cleaned properly,” he said, and she handed it back to him with a nod of thanks. “You should both rest. It has been a long day for us all.”

That was certainly true, and the day was about to become even longer. She let out a small sigh of relief as her father kissed her on the forehead and took his leave. Judith would break the news to him, but Ivar was her responsibility.

Once the door was closed, she turned to Ivar, still sitting on the bed with a broad grin on his face. “I have asked my grandfather for an annulment,” she said. No reason to dance around the subject, she had decided. Better to get this over with as quickly as possible.

She had expected him to be angry. She hadn’t forgotten their first night together, and the grip of his hand around her wrist. Or if he wasn’t angry, then she thought he would be sullen and resentful, like he had been in those first weeks of marriage when he had barely even acknowledged her existence. She was prepared for all of that.

She wasn’t prepared for him to look so hurt.

“What?” he asked, blinking in confusion. “Why?”

“You said you never wanted to marry me,” she explained. “I understand. I didn’t want to marry you, either. But we have a chance to fix this now, before it’s too late. You’ll be able to go home to your family.”

He stared at her, mouth hanging open. “You...you told them?”

“I did.”

He looked utterly bewildered. “But I don’t want to go back to Kattegat. I want to stay here.”

She frowned. “You just tried to run away two nights ago!”

“I changed my mind. Today.”

Now it was her turn to be confused. She sat down on the bed beside him. “What are you talking about?”

“I like you,” he blurted out. “I want to stay married.”

“You...you decided this today?”

He nodded. After a moment of hesitation, he reached for her hand, but she moved away. His expression turned sour. “I don’t want this annulment. I won’t allow it. You shouldn’t have said anything. You had no right to do that.”

She crossed her arms. “Well, it’s not up to you to decide; it’s my grandfather’s choice. And it’s mine.”

Now he glared at her. “I got your necklace back for you!”

“And I said thank you!” She could feel her voice getting higher and the words spilling out of her faster and faster. “I asked you what you wanted before and if you wanted to stay married, and you didn’t know. But you never asked me what I wanted! It never even crossed your mind! So maybe I decided to make a choice for myself and do what I wanted for once. Maybe I’m tired of pretending. Did you ever think about that?”

“Shut up,” he snarled. Now that the initial shock had passed, his expression grew darker. “You told them.”

“I did,” she said coolly. She wasn’t about to back down. He could bully servant girls, but she was a princess of Wessex and the granddaughter of the king. If he put his hands on her, he would pay dearly for it.

However angry he was, he knew it too. He opened and closed his fists a couple times without taking his eyes off her. Then, all at once, he seemed to crumple. He buried his face in his hands and let out a low sob.

She suddenly felt like the worst person in the world. She hadn’t meant to make him cry; no more, she supposed, than he had meant to make her cry the night after he had tried to escape. But the damage was done and there was no going back for either of them. They just needed to get this whole ordeal over with, and the sooner, the better.

“My grandfather wishes to speak to you,” she said tiredly, after a few minutes of listening to him sob. “I suppose he will ask you some questions about our marriage so he can decide whether the annulment will proceed.”

Ivar wiped his nose. “I don’t want to speak to him. Or you. Or anybody else.”

“I understand,” she sighed.

He looked at her sharply. His eyes were red and swollen. “You don’t understand anything.”

After that, he turned away and refused to talk to her. He stayed seated on the bed and sulked while she moved to her desk on the other side of the room and retrieved her embroidery. If he wanted to ignore her, that was fine: she was perfectly capable of doing the same. She threaded the needle and went to work putting the final touches on the cat she had started with Alfred. For a few minutes, the room was blissfully silent.

Of course, this was Ivar, so the silence didn’t last very long. “Oh, so you’re just going to ignore me now?” he demanded indignantly after several minutes, shifting himself around to face her direction.

She looked up from her embroidery. “I thought you didn’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“I don’t. I have nothing to say to you.”

“Well, you started this conversation, not me.”

He glared at her, but it wasn’t like he could argue with that. They lapsed once again into a tense silence, with Aldreda stabbing away furiously at her embroidery and Ivar glowering at her from across the room, until at last, there was a knock on the door and the guards came to take Ivar to speak to Ecbert.

Once he was gone and the door was shut behind him, Aldreda set aside her embroidery and took a deep breath. The thing she was quickly discovering about making her own choices—the thing she hadn’t realized would be so hard—was having to live with the consequences of those choices. Some part of her was filled with misgiving and dread. Already, she could feel events moving beyond her control at an alarming speed.

Had she made a terrible mistake?

Ecbert had taken a liking to Ivar from early on, and not just because he was Ragnar’s son. He found the boy to be clever and observant, albeit rather stubborn and impulsive at times, but those were not necessarily sins. And besides, Ivar had inadvertently given him considerable insight into the political dynamics and weaknesses of the Northmen—information that was sure to be useful at some point or another.

So it had come as a considerable disappointment to him to learn that, after assuming no small amount of risk, the match between Ivar and Aldreda had evidently been unfruitful thus far. It was an untenable situation: calling off the marriage would be a massive embarrassment and a blow to the new alliance with Kattegat, but it was hardly reasonable for his granddaughter to continue a marriage that could not be consummated when there were other suitors who would be eager for her hand. Beyond that, it remained to be seen whether or not Ragnar had been aware of his son’s unfortunate issue, and whether it was something that could be fixed.

He summoned Ivar to his library late in the day, just as the sun was sinking below the horizon. The light filtered in gently through the windows, casting the entire room in a warm red glow. Ivar did not seem particularly appreciative of the aesthetic, however: after being given his seat at the table across from Ecbert, he gave him a sullen glare and then quickly looked away.

Ecbert cleared his throat. “I heard that you and my son successfully retrieved Aldreda’s necklace, and for that I am most grateful,” he began. “It is unfortunate that Father Wilfred escaped justice, but it is not the most urgent matter at hand. I am sure that by now, Aldreda has told you that she has requested an annulment.”

He paused to give the boy a chance to respond. Ivar was staring at the table in front of him and picking intently at a splinter in the wood.

“Between a man and a woman, there can be misunderstandings and miscommunications of all kinds,” Ecbert continued after a few seconds of silence. “Not because of any ill intent or desire to deceive, but because of language, or age and experience, or simply the nature of the situation. So before I make any decision on the matter of your marriage, I must clarify some things with you, even though they may cause discomfort on your part. Is that understood?”

The boy gave him a sulky look and then lowered his gaze once again. “I understand, King Ecbert.”

“Wonderful,” Ecbert said blandly. “First, Aldreda told me that the two of you have not had marital relations, nor has any attempt been made. Is that true?”

Ivar’s jaw twitched. “Yes.”

“I was further informed that you told her that you were incapable of having such relations. That the problem was not that you lacked knowledge or will, but the ability. Is that correct?”

There was a very long pause. When Ivar spoke, his voice was barely more than a whisper. “Yes.”

Ecbert regarded him for a moment. The boy’s face was filled with shame. “Was your father aware of this?”

Ivar quickly shook his head. “I didn’t tell him. I couldn’t—I couldn’t.”

When it was clear Ivar was not going to say anything more, Ecbert sighed. “I explained to Aldreda that the consequences of having this marriage undone were immense and likely unforeseeable,” he continued. “The impact goes well beyond just the two of you. Our trade agreement with Kattegat in no small part depends upon your marriage—and, to be blunt—on your ability to consummate it. However, I am hesitant to give permission for the annulment to proceed, unless and until some new arrangement can be reached with your father. So in the meantime, I must ask you to try.”

Ivar looked up at him in dismay. “But—”

“I am not insensitive to the challenges involved,” Ecbert interrupted, holding up a hand. “Many young and inexperienced men find themselves daunted by the prospect of pleasing a woman—well, I never was daunted myself, but I know that is sometimes the case. Perhaps you are self-conscious and fear judgment, and that has affected your performance. But I am prepared to coach you through this myself, starting today.”

Ivar’s eyes grew even wider and his cheeks turned bright red. “That—that won’t be necessary,” he sputtered.

“Oh, I disagree; if it was unnecessary, we would not be sitting here, would we?” Ecbert folded his hands in front of him and cleared his throat. “But we must begin with the basics, so there is no question in your mind as to how a man gives a woman a child.”

Ivar’s face turned even redder. “I know how,” he mumbled.

Ecbert ignored him. “In order for a man to give a woman a child, he must penetrate her first,” he began. “The usual method is for the man to lie on top of her, but there are many other ways this can be achieved. She may lie on him instead, for example. It is largely a matter of comfort and preference, but I must say that personally, I find that second way to be the most pleasurable. Regardless of the method, after successful penetration, the man must ejaculate—”

There was a sharp knock at the door. Ecbert looked up in irritation as a guard poked his head inside. “I am speaking to my grandson-in-law. I said I was not to be disturbed for any reason.”

“Apologies, my lord king,” the guard said breathlessly. “Ragnar Lothbrok and his son Ubbe have just arrived from Kattegat unannounced. They are waiting for you at the gate.”

#vikings #ivar the boneless #fanfiction #fic: strange things can happen

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ilkkawhat · 4 years ago

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Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Nick Stokes & Cassie McBride, Nick Stokes & Sara Sidle Characters: Nick Stokes, Sara Sidle, Cassie McBride Word Count: 3,059 Additional Tags: Angst, Episode: s06e05 Gum Drops, Rescue, Father-Daughter Relationship, Adoption, Possible new fic series??? who knows it's 2021 anything can happen Summary: A brief dive into Nick's feelings surrounding Cassie's rescue, and what may have happened to her afterwards.

read on ao3

“Let me out.”

He couldn’t say the words at the time. Could only choke out a literal cry for help, though there were plenty of words that his brain was firing—and missing—but those three words in particular were just some of the few pleading thoughts he had while he was still enclosed in a glass coffin—one that was ready to collapse at any given second—why didn’t they see that? Why did they all stand on top of it? Why didn’t they open it immediately just to give him some air, just brush the damn ants off, no extinguisher needed.

He didn’t understand why it took so long to get him out.

To rescue him.

Maybe it’s cause that’s not what they do. They never really get to, always showing up when the rescue fails.

Or when it never arrives in the first place.

So they don’t really know how to rescue someone. Scramble around because they’re used to placing evidence markers and taking pictures, and unless it’s raining there’s really no rush because well, what’s the need?

And it hadn’t been known to him at the time that they were indeed aware the fan was going to die, that he was going to run out of air—he could only hope the desperation in his screams would tell them that, the ignored cry for help as they all left the hole, left him.

Did they just assume because the unearthed the coffin that he would suddenly be able to breathe even with the condensing, scratched kept closed? Figure, “we still have another hour or so until the air runs out entirely , maybe even more since he’s not actively breathing.”

He didn’t understand their odd sort of...patience with the situation. Even Grissom took the time to calm him down before the lid was opened.

His patience, however, in this rescue mission he’s taken upon himself despite Sara’s warnings, her doubt that it may not have a happy ending; is completely gone.

He’s not had any sleep since they started the case. Granted, he’s not had much sleep at all in the past five months but his senses are as sharp as ever, his eyes hyper focused looking for anything that doesn’t belong in the lake’s waters or forested banks.

Like the body of a little girl.

Or more gum drops.

He almost thinks he sees a trail of them floating in the disturbed water as they pass through, beacons of lights waving over—though he feels like he’s doing a better job than the supposed actual patrolman operating the boat. He’s waving his flashlight all around him, while theirs seems to remain still.

Then again, he’s the one acting like he’s going to “rescue a person, not recover a body.”

Yes, he knows that’s not usually the case.

He remembers being on the other end of that ray of light searching for a lost soul, remembers how close he was to losing his life, hanging by a last thread that was about to snap—how that light was really a rescue in itself in the darkness that entrapped him. His only light had been shot out to keep himself alive, only a dim green glow to remind him where he was.

Sara’s words continue to echo, their conversation playing on a loop as that small part of his brain tries to convince him not to get his hopes too high.

But luckily, he proves himself wrong.

“Stop the boat,” Nick commands, his light shining on another fragile thread, one he hopes is not already broken.

“Stop the boat,” he repeats as he throws off his hat to get full view, tossing it aside and nervously gripping the flashlight in his hand. His heart hasn’t raced this fast since it nearly burst in the box.

“Let me out,” he echoes, but it’s not a broken plea. It’s a determined one. He’s not even going to wait for the boat to stop, his legs are itching to run to the pair he sees sticking out between the branches. A pair of shoes small enough for a ten year old girl.

“Let me out,” he says again but he doesn’t wait for any sort of response, nor was he asking for one. If anything, it was for himself. The permission to take the plunge as he jumps out of the boat, not even caring if the water is still deep. He runs as fast as he can through the water and as he approaches his heart soars before it shatters when his light shines onto what he immediately assumes is a corpse.

There’s a slice on her neck, the classic slit of the throat that would kill anybody within seconds.

Her skin is pale, far too pale to still be alive though sure, it’s cold enough that his own skin is paling too, even more than that, it’s shaking. Is she shaking as his fingers press against her skin, or is it just him?

There’s still a pulse. It’s weak, it’s fading, but it’s there. Or is it the pulse that’s beating out of his own fingers?

There’s still rope around her wrists. Why would she leave it on?

There’s still a piece of gum in her hand, the final breadcrumb that she wasn’t able to put down because this is her resting place. Her premature grave.

But there’s still life in her yet, because like Nick, she’s a survivor.

And she’s being rescued.

“Hang on, baby,” he whispers as his soaked hand strokes her dry, matted hair. “I got you. You’re going to be okay.”

He hears the patrol call for the paramedics. They attempt to move her but Nick advises against it.

At least, not immediately.

And this is the part he hates the most, that he hated the most when he was the victim.

Click. Flash.

The picture of the living dead girl, another for the red room of his own photography of death and violence that haunts his dreams.

He mentally places it next to the picture of himself that he accidentally saw in Grissom’s office one day.

A morbid sense of hope washes over him; if he was rescued from a horrific crime and has been able to go back to his job—back to his life, there’s hope for Cassie, too.

Right?

The paramedics were not too far behind, and he had almost hoped that the flash from the camera may have shocked Cassie back to a full state of being. Crying and in deliriously tremendous shock, maybe, like he was when he was rescued; but in the same way as a baby cries when its born, it would be a comforting sign of life while this, right here is just...tragic? Hopeless? Despair?

He doesn’t know what he really expected, as this rescue is less triumphant than he thought it would be after everything that led to this moment. It feels more...depressing, like they’re still somehow too late. Perhaps it’s due to how he seems to be the only one driven enough, how there was almost a suffocating amount of people crowding his scene.

Cassie, on the other hand, has nobody.

Nobody but him.

He rides back with her, holding that same hand still clutching her last candied beacon of hope and he can’t tell if it’s still water dripping off of his face, or if tears are streaming as he remembers how his hand was held, how his family—both blood and found—were there for him. How they comforted him. Soothed him. Reassured him that this would never happen again.

Kept telling him that he wasn’t actually dead.

He texts Sara and Greg, tells them he got her. Being the lead on the case, he instructs them on what to do yet somehow, he feels like he’s lost that role having abandoned them for his own selfish savior complex.

They still do what he asks anyway.

When they get to the hospital, he’s turned away, because he’s not family. He’s shaking but not just from the cold of his wet clothes slapping against his skin, but from the anger as he lashes out, telling them she doesn’t have any, not anymore, and she needs someone. They express their “sympathy” but the best they agree to is calling him when she’s out of surgery.

He makes more calls, wondering who can be there for her, is there any family left?

There’s not.

Sara brings him a new change of clothes. Fresh pair of jeans, a t-shirt and a hoodie that he packed for the nights. He’s glad she chose that, as he hunches over in the waiting room.

“She’s got nobody, Sar,” he sniffles, rubbing his hands together. Even the fourth cup of coffee still hasn’t warmed him up. “Who’s...Who’s gonna take care of this little girl?”

“You know what’s going to happen,” Sara sighs. “She’ll end up in the system.”

“Is it...is it bad?” he dares to ask, knowing he’s crossing a line, he doesn’t meet her eyes when he asks it. Just stares into the swirling black sea between his hands.

“Is what bad?” she puts a hand on his back, sliding up and down beneath the hood.

“The...the adoption system. Just bein’...passed around like that. Thrown into an already established family, not sure if you’re gonna…”

“Fit in?”

Nick nods.

“It’s...it’s not easy. Doesn’t always happen right away, and when it does, it can...it can be a gamble. You know that well enough from the things we see.”

“Yeah,” he nods into his chest.

They sit in silence for few more minutes.

“You don’t hafta be here, ya know,” he shrugs. “G’s already halfway back to Vegas.”

“I know.”

“A-And Grissom’s flight probably landed, he might have more cases to assign.”

“I’m not the only CSI he’s got,” Sara smirks.

“Gonna be a while till she gets outta surgery, so they tell me at least.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

“Nah,” he pulls a face. “I just...I hope you’re not doing this cause…”

“Go on, say it. Cause I feel guilty?”

“That’s...not...but sort of…” he mumbles.

“I don’t feel...guilty. It feels good to have found her alive. I didn’t want her to be dead, Nick.”

“I know,” he sighs.

“And I don’t want you to...to be so hurt every time something like this...happens. You’ve changed, Nick and I can’t...I don’t know if it’s necessarily for the better.”

He finally meets her eyes. His face pale, wet and weary. Dark circles under his eyes that he typically conceals with a light coating of makeup, cause he knows people will just worry. His hair’s dried now, sticking up in all directions.

Anybody would think, and the patrons of the hospital most certainly do at this point, and even Sara seems to think that he’s nothing more than a broken mess.

He’s not.

“I think it is,” he tells her in a surge of confidence in his voice.

He expects her to be mad.

Instead, she smiles at him with pride.

“Well...seems like you might be right. I know this case kind of...got under our skins a bit but...I think you did a good job,” Sara tells him, and with a final press to his shoulder to keep him grounded and humble, she walks away, knowing before he even tells her what he’s about to do as she passes by a father walking with a small girl through the entrance to the hospital.

That’s when his mind is made up and he makes more calls, talks to more people including the child services agent assigned to Cassie’s case. He finishes paperwork for the case file, and for an application. He knows it’s going to take time to get approved, just as its going to take time for Cassie to recover enough for him to even...ask her if that’s something she would...want.

And that’s when the doubts sink in, what if she doesn’t want that? Doesn’t want him? She doesn’t even know him, all he is to her is the guy that found her. And he would understand better than anybody else the mistrust in strangers. And even if he’s a member of law enforcement, a public servant, somebody you’re supposed to be able to trust, what if he would just...mess it all up? Would it even work with his schedule? Unless he started taking more time off, he supposes. Less voluntary overtime—though Ecklie’s trying to cut down on that anyway.

The fears don’t settle, even with all the votes of confidence he receives from nearly everybody who accounts for him as a person worthy of being a father.

But more than that, he’s afraid of being a replacement to her, instead of what he really hopes to be; a connection.

And when he gets the card that she hand-draws for him, that fear goes away.

He doesn’t get to see her right away after the surgery, but the minute visiting hours open up again, he walks to the room with a case file in hand. He does his best to keep himself together, but shows the cracks as he can’t hide his empathy for her pain, though he doesn’t allow himself to fully cry and make her feel even worse.

Instead, he does what he’s always done best, and listens to her. Holds her arm and keeps her grounded, too, and she gets more and more confident as she continues to talk—though some parts are harder than others.

“You’re doing great, sweetheart, go on,” he encourages her with a smile.

They take breaks for her to rest her vocal chords. When her voice goes out, she uses the notepad and he waits patiently, letting her lead their conversation.

She’s just as smart as Nick expected, asking her own questions and discussing the pictures of evidence in the folder. While he’s never quite been a teacher, she’s the best student he’s ever had.

When the story is done, she loses composure and he sits on the edge of the bed, hugging her as her fists ball the sweatshirt stained with tears.

“You are so brave, Cassie. You are the bravest little girl I’ve ever met,” he comforts her, silent tears streaming down his own face and falling into the same dry, matted hair as they did before.

She doesn’t say much after that, but when she calms down enough and visiting time comes to an end, she asks one final question that he knew was coming, yet was still unprepared for.

She can’t even say the words. Writes it on another page in the notebook.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

He still doesn’t know if he was the right person to answer this question, if this was something that her counselor should answer but he’s both too excited and too anxious to keep waiting.

“Well, honey, you’re...you’ll be going with Ms. Nancy, you met her, she’s going to take you to a place that’s...that’s like a hotel, u-until you can find a new family…” He doesn’t feel confident in his explanation, winces in expecting her to lash out, “I don’t want a new family!” which is exactly what he reads on her face as the crayon rolls from her hand.

“And I...sort of threw my name into the hat, that you could come stay with me, but only if you wanta—”

“I’d like that,” she nods, and smiles.

“Really?”

She nods again more fervently.

“I wanted to keep it a surprise,” a voice startles Nick, the aforementioned counselor he had been consulting with enters the room with a wide smile on her face. “Before you came by, I had a moment with Cassie and discussed it. There’s still some hurdles of paperwork to go through, but by the time she’s out of the hospital, she can go to her new home. With you.”

“That’s...That’s wonderful,” he cries, quickly wiping his tears but they don’t stop coming, especially not when Cassie reaches for his wrist and pulls him back to the bed, reaching out in the same way he reached out to his own surrogate father when he was brought back from the brink of despair.

That’s what he wanted to happen, at least.

“What’s going to happen to me now?”

It’s the same question he asked himself when he woke up in the hospital in the restrained trance, tied up in tubes and wires, fearful that he would never return to his life as it was before—and in a way, he never would. There’s pieces of Nick that are still buried, just as there are pieces of Cassie dropped along the trail of gum.

“I don’t know,” he tearfully admits. His application was still in process. The child services counselor, while holding respect for him did seem to kind of...judge him for being so desperate about this. Suspicious, even. He knows everybody would attest to his character but knows that he’s still bogged down with a lot of baggage, no matter how well he’s doing on his journey through this life.

He’s uncertain of the future, both his and Cassie’s, but one thing he is certain of—

“No matter what happens,” he holds her arm again, uses his other hand to brush the hair out of her face, cup her cheek. “Where you go, who you end up with, I will always be there for you, okay? You can call me anytime you need—”

He digs out his own card, not hand drawn and just adorned with his job title and phone number, and knows it’s not much to offer to someone who’s just lost everything, but knows the weight of what he does offer, in two words that he once vowed to his own savior.

“I promise.”

Cassie may not understand all of what’s going on between the shock and her inexperienced age, but she does seem to understand what a promise is, and what a promise means.

She puts her hand on top of Nick’s, and even though she’s said it before in writing, she says it again out loud with the biggest show of strength he’s seen in any survivor, not even in himself.

“Thank you.”

#csi fic #csi fan fiction #nick stokes #sara sidle #gum drops #cassie mcbride #csi 6x05 #nick and sara #nick and cassie #mk.op #mk.fic #sorry i like to see you suffer nick #emotionally that is in this one lol

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choruscas · 4 years ago

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suptober day 16: switch it up!

please let me know if you’d like to be added to my tag list! (or removed if you prefer) it tags you in all my short stories like these so you never miss them!

During every single hunt, whether it was tulpas in Topeka, or shapeshifters in Sacramento, Dean had always tried to team up with Castiel.

Why?

Well, it was a long and complicated story. But to sum it down, Dean probably had the biggest crush on the damn angel and his feelings haven’t gone away.

Pray the gay away? Nah man. It was pray to the gay. Be bi or die.

In all honesty, Dean was very open about his bisexuality. After it sort of slipped out to Sam and his younger brother had no reaction (and it may or may not have been that his deadbeat dad was gone) and so he didn’t care who knew.

He could stand on a stage, wearing a bi flag on his back, having his dick out for any men or women who wanted a taste, and he wouldn’t give a flipping fuck.

However, he hasn’t had sex in two years. Why? Oh yeah, cause of the crush. Heads over heals crush that no man or woman could take away. He had tried to pretend the kisses and love were the angel, but none if it worked. It wasn’t what he imagined of, dreamed of.

If a djinn got his hands on him again, then who the fuck knows if Dean would stay or not. At least the djinn would give Dean what he wanted.

Often times he got angry at Castiel for not doing anything. But he couldn’t blame him.

Dean would never tell anybody this, but there was often times he cried himself to sleep because of how unfair life was in general. How unfair it was that Dean could never just get what he wanted, what he always craved.

At that moment, he was ticked. Just sitting there as Sam and Castiel rambled on about the hunt that he wasn’t paying attention to. However, that ass sitting on that chair though.

Jesus Christ.

“What about you, Dean?” Sam asked, his arms folded, leaning against the wall.

“Yeah. I mean, this rugaru seems pretty badass.”

“We’re hunting an Ōkami, Dean.” Sam pealed his attention away from Jack, who was bouncing on the bed sitting down.

“That’s what I said.”

Sam opened his mouth to say something but Dean got up from the motel’s table and slammed the chair against the edge of it.

Castiel looked up at him fearfully, as he knew Dean’s angry face. “D—“

“I need a drink. I’ll be back.” Dean snapped and left the motel, almost slamming the door.

God he was so fucking angry. Sam that day had been a little bitch boy and Jack was annoying and Castiel was oblivious to Dean’s obvious flirting and nothing was going his way.

Baby’s engine has sputtered and barely came to life, so he had to fix that before they went back to Kansas. So they were probably all stuck in deadbeat Wyoming for a few extra days.

He had stepped in a puddle and ruined his favorite pair of socks. They had good grip and were fairly new, but the muddy water from the puddle made them unwearable for the time being.

The stupid hunt wasn’t going anywhere. They were lost on just one hint on where the octopus or oak tree, or whatever the fuck it was called was.

He just needed to beat the shut out of something. Or someone. Anything.

He walked a little while away from the motel and found a junkyard that he noticed they had passed by when he was driving yesterday. There were tens or hundreds of old cars that nobody was using anymore. Perfect.

He found a bent crowbar and just as he was about to smash an old, rusted ‘69 Camarillo, a vibration and ringing sound went off in his pocket.

Fuck you, Sam.

“Hello?” Dean sighed, showing irritation in his voice more than he should’ve.

“Hey, so Cas and Jack are going downtown and I’m doing more research.”

“Wait— why did Jack and Cas go?

“I dunno. You weren’t there, so...”

“Yeah but— you know... my rule.”

The rule was a little complicated. Dean paired up with Castiel because ‘one angel and one human are better than two humans and two angels because the angel can protect the human on one team and the same for the second team.’

Which was bullshit. Dean just wanted to see his ass in tight pants and hear his whiskey and leather-like voice interrogate people.

Okay, it’s probably annoying that Dean keeps thinking about his ass. But it was a pretty nice ass. Can’t blame him.

“Alright. Well, sorry.”

“I always go with Cas.”

“I know. I guess I just thought of switching it up this hunt.”

“But you’re ugly as hell.”

“And Cas isn’t?”

Dean could hear his stupid shit-eating grin behind the fucking phone.

Instead of answering to his dumbass comment, Dean had hung up.

In all honesty, the day just wasn’t going his way.

Walking back to the motel, seeing his Baby from a distance, he quickened his pace to grab some things from the trunk.

But as he was walking, a piece of thread on his plaid jacket caught in a nail inside of a telephone pole. Not realizing it to start with, he continued walking, his hands in his pockets, squinting at the sun like he wanted to explode it.

He turned a corner and his plaid jacket had ripped with a loud sound. Beneath his right armpit, there was a giant hole revealing his undershirt.

Great.

He opened the motel door and quickly shut it as fast, then bee-lined straight to his suitcase and shrugged off his plaid shirt.

“Dean, you alright.”

“Hell no!” he barked, probably an octave higher than he normally spoke.

Sam, sitting down with his books and laptop, stood up to walk over to Dean. He didn’t treat him like some rabid animal, but normally.

“You know you can talk about it. I know about your feelings your C—“

“DON’T... finish that.”

“Dean. Please,” he continued. “It’s really hard to love somebody when you don’t think they love you back. But Cas really does. I know he does.”

“How do you know Sam!? Come on. It’s not like you’re an astrologist with some fuckin’ tarot cards or something.” Dean pathetically threw his hands up in the air, causing a loud smacking sound when he put them back down.

“Because he told me he does.”

Hold on.

What?

“You’re kidding.” Dean laughed.

“Dean, I’ve been in between this feud with you and Cas for about twelve years now. Do you really think Cas hasn’t told me? He told me post-purgatory. That’s when you don’t me too.” Sam paused, taking in a breath. “He said he’s so madly in love with you that it hurts, Dean. Hurts.”

It was like all of the sudden the world stopped. Dean’s heart rattled in his ribs and it felt as if vines were growing all around, permeating his lungs in such a way that he couldn’t breathe.

Cas loved him.

Later, Dean finally saw that ass in action.

And he loved him too. They both did.

(tags below)

@potato-painter @samhainsam

#suptober #suptober20 #deancas #destiel #oneshot #switch it up!#day 16 #day 16: switch it up!#dean winchester #castiel #sam winchester #jack kline

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mitsuki-murakami · 5 years ago

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i’m the one they should be scared of [Asahi Azumane x Reader]

Hii lovely!! I hope you’re healthy and staying safe! I was wondering if I could request a scenario with Asahi? You know how people think he’s a delinquent and a bad guy, what if the reader became like karasunos manager and people think she’s really innocent and a baby cause she’s quiet but she’s actually a complete badass and has perhaps a little bit of a temper 🥺👉👈

Requested by: @imbxckytrash

Hellooo!! I’m doing my best to stay healthy and safe, and I hope you are too <3

***

Sometimes you’re jealous of Asahi. People would automatically flinch and run the other way in fear at the sight of him. You, on the other hand, would constantly get pinches on the cheek and pats on the head whenever you tried to be serious.

“Look at you, you’re making them piss their pants without even saying anything,” you teased, laughing at how flustered he had gotten. However, you quickly noticed how scaring people off made him feel bad, so your teasing was infrequent.

At times you’re happy with it, because it makes it easier for other people to talk to you, which ultimately led to you becoming one of Karasuno’s volleyball team’s esteemed managers, equipped with skills of diplomacy and just a tiny bit of manipulation so things could go your way for the better of the team.

But at times, your temper got a little bit out of hand.

Until today, when Asahi recalled how you practically barked at the kids who made fun of him once while the both of you were minding your own business at the local playground, he still shivered.

“Oi, isn’t that the deliquent?”

“Hey, shut up before he hears you and beats the hell out of us.” Another mocked, and Asahi swore he saw a vein popped out on your forehead. As far as you knew, you were the only one allowed to bully your friend.

“F/N, it’s okay, really.. I don’t mind,” he placed a hand on your shoulders. For a moment, you thought about letting it pass, even managing to shoot him a faint smile.

“Wow, he’s scary even when he speaks like that--”

Ever so slowly, you stood up from the bench and shot a menacing glance at the boys behind you, catching them off guard. “Do you think it’s okay to make fun of other people’s looks like that?” You asked in a sickeningly sweet tone. Your voice was gentle, but your eyes screamed hell. Asahi wanted to grab your jacket and pull you down, but even he was scared of you.

You stomped a foot on the seat of the bench, acting as if you were about to climb across when the boys decided that they valued their lives.

“Damn punks,” you scoffed before you returned to your seat, blowing a strand of hair away from your face. “So, what were we talking about before we were so rudely interrupted?”

From then on, Asahi swore to never anger you. Students and other people your age that encountered the two of you often questioned why the large, scary man was so afraid of angering his tiny friend, seeing as he’d always scramble for reasons why you should calm down. Although it warmed his heart to know that he’d always have you by his side to protect and encourage him to see his good sides, he was glad to have never seen a scarier side of you.

He was wrong. Nothing was as intense as what was about to unfold in front of the whole volleyball team.

As a third-year manager with a few tricks up your sleeve, you helped plan their upcoming training camp in preparation for the upcoming Spring Inter-High, alongside Takeda-sensei and Coach Ukai. Upon discovering your talents, Takeda-sensei let you take the lead for this one, and for that, you were determined to not let your team down.

You took care of reserving the shuttle, the inns that they were going to stay at, the food budget, and a lot more. Kiyoko became concerned with how much you were juggling, and you assured her that you were doing fine. She insisted on taking care of tossing balls and cleaning up after practices to help you, so you let her, grateful to have such a thoughtful co-manager.

Everything was set, and everyone was excited for new experiences, seeing as this particular training camp took place in a more urban setting. After all, Karasuno was gaining traction after winning many matches, so it wasn’t a mystery that this particular school reached out to your sensei. All that was left was for you to receive their call two days before training week. They told you that they would be giving you special instructions to ensure that the entire event was going to run smoothly.

Your phone buzzed loudly in your bag during practice, which you kept beside you at all times. You anticipated their call too much that even Nishinoya called you out for visibly vibrating with excitement, and that was something coming from him. You wasted no time at fishing your phone out of your bag’s pocket and let out a resounding ‘shh!!’ to the rowdy bunch before enthusiastically pointing at your phone to gesture that it was, in fact, the team that they would be playing with for the next week.

Daichi noticed and told the team to keep quiet, and everyone’s attention was on you as you pressed answer after standing up and straightening yourself out.

“You’ve reached the manager of Karasuno’s volleyball team!” You greeted, trying to fight back your shaky smile, but you failed. You saw Asahi shoot you a thumbs up and you smiled at him in return. He knew how badly you stressed yourself out for this very moment, and he did his best to help, but you refused, telling him that he should focus on practicing. He worried over you, but he believed in you enough to know that you could handle this.

“Yes, hello..” Upon hearing the other team’s coach reply with a rather despondent tone, you furrowed your eyebrows. You decided to brush it off and instead opted to wait for their next words.

“I’m sorry, but I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the training camp...” At that moment, you almost dropped your cellphone, but you wanted to hear their reasoning. It had better be good.

“May I ask why?” Tanaka jumped at Asahi’s sudden movement. At that moment, he knew you were starting to get pissed off, which spoke volumes of how well he knew you.

“Another school has contacted us and we decided to take them up on their offer.” The coach bluntly responded, which caused you to twitch at the anger bubbling up in you.

“I see.” You begun, before sucking in a breath to continue.

“I really hope you considered this very carefully, Nobu-san.” An annoyed smile crept up your lips, and without you noticing, Daichi, Sugawara, and Asahi flinched, confusing the lower years.

“I-I apologize, but I’m sure you would’ve taken up this offer as well--”

Your voice rose unexpectedly and your grip tightened immensely. “With all due respect, Coach, you probably couldn’t tell how prepared we already are for this training camp. We’ve already reserved a shuttle, an inn, and catering--”

“I understand, but--”

“So I respectfully hope that you realize how much this inconveniences me, and especially the team that I oversee, mister.”

Thinking that you were done, the Coach took in a breath as if he were about to speak, but you didn’t let him.

“This won’t be without consequence,” you gritted your teeth, and you were about to continue until you noticed that Kiyoko-san had a firm grip on your shoulder, urging you to stop. It was then that you realized that You harshly pressed end call and threw your phone back into your bag.

You stormed off towards the entrance, using both hands to slam open the gym’s gate, making a really loud noise that startled even Coach Ukai.

“Scary..” Tsukishima remarked, and the other first years agreed, terrified as well.

Asahi rushed after you, not minding Daichi, who was telling him to let you cool off. He didn’t care, someone needed him. Most importantly, it was you who needed him. You who stuck by his side no matter what. You who never failed to see his good side. You who never let him down once.

He had a good idea of where you ran off to, so once you came into view, he took his time walking over to the shaded part of the school’s grassy quadrangle. You were sprawled across a few seats, your forearm covering most of your face. It didn’t surprise him that you knew that he was there, as you sat up just a little bit to allow him to sit down beside you. He basically pulled you so your head could rest on his lap, and you complied, making yourself comfortable.

“So I guess it didn’t go well.”

“No shit.” He lightly chuckled at your response, his fingers absentmindedly threading through your hair, which helped you calm down a little bit.

“Want to tell me what happened?” With Asahi, you knew that just being there with him and waiting for the right time for you to raise that question, but for you, he knew that talking about it right away helps you take your mind off of it while simultaneously coming up with a solution.

“They cancelled on us. Said another school offered them to train with them, so they decided to cancel on us just like that.” You explained, aggressively wringing your hands together. He pulled your hands apart, mumbling a quiet ‘don’t hurt yourself’ before nodding for you to continue.

“And I had everything prepared.”

“You did. I’m sure you did a great job with that.”

“But it was all for nothing! That was the first major event that Takeda-sensei entrusted me with and it’s all a big disaster.” You ranted, feeling like a huge disappointment. “I failed him, and worst of all I failed you guys..”

“Except it wasn’t your fault.”

Huh..?

“Yeah, it’s not.” He insisted, seeing your dumbfounded expression. “It wasn’t your fault that they cancelled on you on the last minute. No one saw that coming.”

It was at times like this when you wondered who really was the pillar of your relationship. Asahi always viewed you as the one who held everything together, but now, you weren’t so sure.

“I’m sure Takeda-sensei wouldn’t have trusted anybody else more than he did when he was looking for someone to handle this while he was busy handling other stuff.” You looked up at him with newfound admiration, silent as you weighed all the things he said against everything you thought you did wrong.

You couldn’t bear the emotions filling you up inside, so you shot up, resolving to go back to the gym to make a very important announcement. You couldn’t leave your club mates hanging after your little episode earlier.

“You’re the best, Azumane.” He was about to mutter an awkward thank you, but instead you settled on planting a small kiss on his cheek before you ran off, trying to hide how red you were.

Maybe he should anger you more often after all...

***

Olololo thank you for requesting Asahi!! He’s a character I’ve never worked with before, so I hope it’s okay~

Special thanks to @capt-spangles and @akaira for helping uwu

Thank you so much for reading!!

Taglist:

@from-sejiou-to-the-stars

(ask me if u wanna be in the taglist 👀)

#asahi #asahi azumane #asahi fluff #haikyuu asahi #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu oneshot #one shot #hq #hq x reader #asahi x reader #haikyuu imagines

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vanchlo · 4 years ago

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The Partner / Chapter Eight, "The In Between"

Word Count: 6.1k words / Story Masterlist / Read The Assistant / Read on Wattpad / Song: Sweet Child O' Mine by Guns N' Roses (click to listen)

P.S. - Next chapter will be coming on March 23rd, but I only know this because I've written it already :P Otherwise, I know that they are pretty random which I'm sorry for. Thanks for reading!

"People live with things they don't talk about hidden in their heart."

- Un-Go アンゴ

There, I stop, because I realize what I’ve done. I hear it in my words and in her weeping, the step that I shouldn’t have taken. Without knowing, I spoke in present tense, and knew that I’d only made it worse. It reminded us of what we couldn’t have- what we wouldn’t have. What should’ve been. Should be.

Her head shook from side to side, although belatedly. Her cries had quieted at moments too, that is until her head dove back against my chest, and they returned. I held her there, pressing my lips to her head and closing my eyes, being sucked back into my thoughts. The should’ve-beens made a regretful comeback, and as each one paid a reminder to me, so did a tear down each cheek.

Two Weeks Earlier

Despite the sunshine pouring in through the window, the sight of the glittering snow outside my window chilled me to the bone. Wrapping my arms around myself didn’t help as the cold seeped in through my cardigan.

“Cold, again?” somebody chuckles from over my shoulder.

“Yeah. God, can you turn up the heat in this place, or what?”

“I dunno, you’ve already had me turn it up three degrees t’day. Not sure my Dad brain will allow me anymo.’ Yer gonna make me heatin’ bill skyrocket here soon.”

“Harry,” I giggle, looking behind me to catch his face just in time for him to surprise me with a hug from behind. “Come on, the baby and I are cold. You better soon, or else I’m buying a space heater for my office.”

“Yer gonna be usin’ that kid as an excuse fer ev’rythin.’ Arentcha, Becks?” a shiver runs down my spine at the feeling of his beard against my temple, but it doesn’t compare to his freezing hands on my stomach.

“Yes, because are you trying to make me turn into an icicle with those hands of yours?”

“What, I jus’ got back from lunch. ‘s winter outside, don’t y’know?”

“Wow, I had no idea,” I reply snarkily with a nod to my window before us.

“Watch it, sassy pants, or ‘ll keep those churros fer myself.”

The scoff is already curling my lips when I turn around, “You wouldn’t dare.”

“I would,” Harry contests, raising a brow at me until it all dissolves into his wheezy laughter. “Hey, put that pout away, sweetheart.”

“Don’t try to butter me up, mister,” I mutter, turning away from his waiting arms. His tongue clicks in response but I ignore it, starting for my phone that rings.

“Becks, I was only kiddin.’ Y’know I wouldn’t take away yer churros, love, they’re yer favourite,” he begins, but for some reason that really annoyed me. It doesn’t help when he takes hold of my hand, rooting me to the spot. “Hey, Crabby Pants, yer phone can wait. They can leave a message, but I wanna talk t’ my fiance.”

“What?” I mumble, facing him at last. The corners of his lips lift, and his contagious happiness is hard to resist.

“‘m sorry fer teasin’ you. ‘ll see ‘bout turnin’ tha heat up on this side, and yer churros are waitin’ in me office. ‘d never deprive my baby’s mum o’ her favourite food. No, not my wifey.”

“You better not,” I sigh, giggling against his lips when they press to mine. The gold flecks in his sage-colored irises catch the light when he looks down at me. Sometimes, I still wonder how the sunshine on his face could all be for me.

“I won’t,” Harry hums, reminding me of his own little ray of sunshine when his hand comes to my belly. “Ya should be careful with those churros, I think yer startin’ t’ show.”

“Am not.”

“Are to. Ya had a li’l bump this mornin’ when we were gettin’ ready. I saw it in tha mirror in tha bathroom when you were changin.’ Cutest thing I ever did see,” he coos, painting my face in thick strokes with that radiant smile of his. “Boobs are gettin’ bigger and bum too. ‘m likin’ this whole pregnant thing on you mo’ and mo’ ev’ry day.”

“Of course, you are,” I whisper, feeling the smile drain from my lips when the light catches it. The doctor said they’d fade with time, but three months on and the pink lines still won’t let me forget that nightmare I can’t escape. I saw them every day, in the shower with him or when I watched him get dressed beside me in the bathroom. The mornings when I woke up before him and dragged a finger across his tattoos. He was lucky that none of them were ruined by the numerous stitches, but they got by unscathed. I just wish I could say the same for everything else, for me.

“Hey, where’d that pretty smile go?” Blinking, I focus my gaze back on the dimples that fall into his cheeks.

“Your scars, they’re still . . ,” my train of thought disappears, because it’s nothing that I haven’t said before.

“Still there. I know, they jus’ don’t go away, buggie.” Frowning, his words sink in, but for maybe the fifth time. With a huff, I distract myself with the cream tie dotted with blush flowers that he picked out today. “Hey you, dontchu roll those pretty eyes at me.”

“I’m not.”

“But you are. ‘s it ‘cos somebody hasn’t had her churros yet this week?” his whiny voice grazes my ears from above. It’s difficult, but I control my lips and busy myself with picking a loose thread from his tie. “Becks, I see that smile,” he continues in a mocking tone, and soon I’m giggling against his neck as his nose drags along mine.

“‘Kay, baby, ‘m gonna go and grab yer lunch befo’ my meetin’.”

I whisper a ‘thanks’ against his lips before watching him disappear into the hallway. It’s not often, but my office is quiet, absent of the constant sounds of keys clicking, phones ringing, and a certain somebody being quite good at distracting me. Crossing the room, I plop down in front of my computer. The new messages showing on the side jump at my attention, but what grabs it is the picture frame beside it. With a smile that makes my cheeks ache, I pick it up to admire for the tenth time today. I’m sure that I’ll hit one hundred here, sooner or later.

“Think I like yer frame better, y’know.”

“Really?” I respond, lifting my eyes to Harry who sets down a greasy taco bag on my desk, a protein shake on the side. Don’t even get me started on how he’s already the nagging Dad.

“Ya, like the color and phrase better,” he notes, making me squirm from his hand on my side. It’s forgotten when it travels over to my belly, the exact place I hadn’t realized I’d laid a hand on too. “Can hardly believe it’ll be four months in two and a half weeks. We’re almost halfway there.”

“I know, it’s crazy to me.”

His mumbled agreement comes as I trace the lines of our baby’s profile over the frame’s glass partition. The same frame had sat on my desk for a while now, often updated with the newest sonogram picture after our latest ultrasound. One similar to it sat on Harry’s desk too, both a present from him. Several more occupied our fridge, phone lockscreens at times, and I’m sure in similar forms at both of our parents’ houses.

“Me too. I can’t wait tho,’ t’ be a dad.”

I didn’t think that my smile could get any bigger, but when I tip my head up to look at Harry hovering there, somehow it does.

“You’re going to be the best daddy.”

Sunshine fills every inch of his face, especially in the dimples caved into his cheeks. I hope our baby has those. Please.

“Why thank you. I feel rather lucky my kids get t’ have such a wonderful mummy too,” he notes with a quick wink, sponging a kiss to my forehead warmly. A few moments pass of admiring the picture until his voice interrupts my thoughts again. “Yer sure ‘s okay ‘m helpin’ My’ with that case in Bedford comin’ up?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Won’t miss me too much, will you?”

Now, I don’t even bother to hide the way that I roll my eyes at him, accompanied by a sound of disgust. His nose wrinkles before his face creases in annoyance.

“Don’t ask stupid questions,” I almost retort with a joking tone, until I melt at the way he rubs his nose against mine in what some call a kiss. “We’ve been over this, Harry, it’s fine. Skye can stay the night with me if I get lonely, or something. I know an opportunity to have another win against your arch enemy can’t be passed up.”

This time, I really stumped him. It brings a song to my lips, because it’s not often that I get to surprise him anymore. Sometimes, I miss those days, but I’d never go back to them. No, we didn’t have the sweet honeymoon period of first meeting, it was the total opposite. I’d never give up where we’d finally gotten to now, engaged and expecting a baby in a little over five months.

“He ‘s not.”

Still, the crease between his eyebrows remains and I only want to laugh more, “Is too. Malakai Watters is your arch enemy, Harry. You’ve been griping about him since I first met you, no excuse about it is going to work on me.”

Shaking his head, I already hear the argument coming my way, “Watters ‘sn’t my enemy, you silly one, he never has been. ‘ve never had any enemies.”

“Lies and more lies. I’m pretty sure we were enemies once, but you’ll excuse that one too.”

“Eh, I think I can agree with that one,” his face has relaxed and so has his shoulders that rise and fall softly. The green in his eyes lights up when he cracks a laugh from above, despite still being upside down for me. At last, he spins me around and pins me with his hands planted on my armrests. He always has to hog those, at movies and in the car. “Enemies? I dunno ‘bout that word, but you drove me bloody mad in the beginnin,’ so much so ‘s a wonder ‘m marryin’ you now. Wouldn’t have believed anybody if they’d told me back then you’d become my bride. Snotty li’l Holte, me personal assistant.”

“Harry!” comes my exclamation, and like always, followed by his innocent giggle. Innocent, my ass.

“Hey, you were jus’ as guilty, Becks, don’t go denyin’ it. You did everythin’ in the fuckin’ book t’ push me buttons.”

I’m laughing before him and unsure of how to stop until grabbing hold of his neck to press my lips to his. His laugh buzzes against my mouth, cinnamon sugar sticking to his lips. That little churro thief. The gold in his eyes is sparkling when we separate, my cheeks aching once more.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” my question comes in a mumbled sigh, eyes darting between his reddening cheeks and glistening eyes. Wait, what? “Harry, why are you crying?”

“Have I ever told you how lucky I am t’ have you tho’?” Giggling for a reason I don’t know why, I lose myself in those neverending greens for the hundredth time.

“Perhaps, but another time wouldn’t hurt my ego.”

A wry titter escapes his lips for just a second when the first tear glides down his cheek. One that I immediately catch with the pad of my thumb.

“No, I mean it. We fought like cats and dogs when we first met, and we hated each other,” he goes on in a voice leaking of that molasses once more. Mine begin to part until his terse shaking head tells me ‘no.’ “Hush you, don’t you lie either. I know we hated each other’s guts nearly, but outta nowhere, you became my best friend. A few hundred hiccups between then and now, and look at us, gettin’ hitched and havin’ a baby.”

“Yeah,” is all that I can come up with. More like the only words I can shove past my lips. Ones that already tremble from the emotion spilled from his sunshine eyes. “Thank you for not giving up on me.”

“Reckon I have you t’ thank that fer, and loads mo,’” he corrects with wrinkled brows and a rub to my belly. Memories swim behind my eyelids as I kiss him back, hoping that if this is a dream after all, that I never have to wake up.

I wasn’t sure where I was anymore. No, this place I had never seen before with my two eyes, visited in my dreams, or travelled to in a book. Looking around me for some clue as to where I was, all I could see was golden trees, robin blue cloudless skies, and sunlight pouring in from every corner. It shined on my face and filled me with a warmth, one that I felt underneath my bare feet. When I peered down, my hands habitually went to my stomach but I found that it was completely flat once more.

A question filled my head instantly at the discovery, one that joined the many others of where I was, and everything that was around me. It all fell away instantly when something else took place inside of my head. I could never describe it to anybody or put my finger on it, but that feeling of mine told me that I wasn’t alone. Still with my hands on my stomach, I looked back up and found a young girl walking towards me. Sunlight shone down on her, following her as she walked through the kneehigh grass dotted with flowers. For a reason I couldn’t name, I didn’t want to look away from her in case she disappeared, but my attention was drawn to the beautiful field we were suddenly in. Wild flowers tickled my legs, reaching up to the lilac dress that fell to my knees and hugged the curve of my shoulders.

At the sound of rustling nearby, I glanced upwards once more to find her stopping a few feet away from me. There it was still, that feeling of mine, and as I stood there looking at her beaming up at me, I felt the way it filled my insides. There was something about her that I couldn’t figure out, but I feel like I should know who she is. I tried as I looked into her olive green eyes that sparkled with the secret she knew and I didn’t. A divot fell into one of her freckled cheeks as they rounded from her spreading lips. It sat there on the tip of my tongue as my feet led me forward, as if she was calling me to her. I didn’t know why or how I could, but I felt as if I knew her. This is what brought my hand forth to cradle her cheek, and thumb at the dark ringlets tickling her heart-shaped face.

She couldn’t be more than seven, a few years older than Harper. The second the thought appeared inside of my head, I wanted to shake it, knowing it couldn’t be. But as she stepped forward to wrap her arms around me, I felt the wetness descend onto my cheeks as she surrounded me with her sunshine like warmth. It felt as if I was hugging my younger self, because she was a spitting image of what I looked like, save for those green eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered against my dress where she nuzzled her head into my chest.

“What are you sorry for?” I asked in return, rubbing circles into her shoulder where the sleeves of her green dress ended, the same shade as her eyes. She didn’t offer an answer, only squeezed me tight before pulling away to look at me with furrowed brows. “What’s wrong?” the words spilled out when a tear raced down her cheek, her smile disappearing.

Again, she didn’t answer me, only hastily encircling me once again with her arms. Once more, questions danced around in my head, chasing answers that wouldn’t come, subconsciously or from this little girl. Somehow, I knew her and felt close to her, but I didn’t know how or why. She was beautiful and so sweet, I already knew but I wasn’t sure how.

An ache filled my chest when the next words left her lips, ones that I couldn’t begin to understand. “I’ll miss you.”

Instead of uttering another question that would go unanswered, I held onto her tighter, trying to make out what she had called me at the end there. It was a name, but not one I could remember now. The songs of birds flying overhead surrounded us, as did the trickling of a nearby stream, and a hummed song that I knew from somewhere. One he would always sing to me, but for some reason, I couldn’t recall who he was now.

“Who are-,” my long awaited question came, but it was torn away when I looked down to find my arms empty. In a confused blink, the grassy field decorated with flowers and sunshine was gone.

At my feet, sat cold tiling and the birds were no more. So was the sunshine and warmth. Shivering, I wrapped my arms around me, feeling very cold all of a sudden. Belatedly, I looked up and at my surroundings, wondering where I was now. A dimmed, empty room stared back at me, quiet from the sounds of the world until one broke through the silence.

A cry pierced my ears, and made me spin around. A door stood across the room to my right, where the sound came from. Without knowing what I was doing, my bare feet padded across the chilly floor, and I twisted the handle. Another room awaited me, but this one wasn’t empty. Nor was I alone.

Rows upon rows of hospital cribs stared back at me, little bundles of blankets sat in each one. Babies. They all were quiet except for one. My feet led me in that direction without me knowing it, because there it was again. My feeling. It guided me towards the sound, one that grabbed hold onto something deep inside of me. I knew what it was and what I heard, it was clear as day.

A smile shot up into my cheeks when I stopped at the cradle that held a squirming, crying baby. Its pink face was pinched from wailing, a blush colored hat covering its head as a striped blanket hid its body. But as I reached out to pick them up, I blinked and they were gone. Stepping back, I stumbled and righted myself. Where did they go?

Where’s my baby?

Tears clung to my eyelashes, blurring my vision as I stared at the empty crib. A divot in the miniature mattress stared back at me, and so did something else. My bottom lip wobbled as a briny tear ran over it, but it came to shake harder when I read the name card stuck to the inside of the rolling crib.

Annie S.

Before me, my hand trembled as I reached into the crib, feeling the corner of the card before-

“Becks, lovebug,” a voice murmurs, and the image is ripped away from me. With a jolt, I feel the warmth of a hand on my shoulder, rubbing a line down my back. I’m glad to have been woken up by him and torn away from that nightmare, but at the same time, I’m not. I wanted answers. “It’s time to get up and have a shower, my love. It’s six-thirty, you have to wake up soon so we can go to work.”

Gulping, nothing will go down as a ball sits in my throat. Peeling my eyes open, Harry and I’s familiar bedroom materializes before me. With a ragged breath that races to fill my lungs, a wetness paints my cheeks.

“You can sleep for a little longer, bug, but I’m going to hop in the shower, if you want to join me,” his whisper comes against my temple. Hastily, I turn to bury my face into the pillow, hiding my wet eyes. “Okay then, but you have to be up in half an hour,” Harry finishes, pressing his warm lips to the top of my head.

As I listen to the sound of his parting footsteps, I grasp onto the covers tightly. Only when I hear the spray of the shower and him close the door behind him, do I let loose my sobs into the pillow. I lie there, wondering, why the tears and what is that dream supposed to mean? I’d had weird pregnancy dreams before, vivid ones even, but nothing like that. No, never.

Who was that little girl, and how did I know her? And where had my baby gone, I think to myself as I rub at my belly, worrying away.

“Ree, what do you mean you’re not getting married?”

Rolling my eyes could not begin to convey the thoughts racing through my head, born out of her exclamation.

“Of course, I’m getting married, Skye. What, are you daft? That’s not

what I’ve said at all, if you’d been listening,” I tut with an unruly shake of my head, snapping the cap back onto the honey bottle. “You asked when the wedding was, and all I’ve said is that Harry and I don’t know with everything that’s changed. We had a date for August but cancelled it after we found out about the baby.”

The sofa sighs when I plop onto it, leaving my steaming mug on the table. My best friend of over twenty years tsks beside me, biting off the side of a cookie. Her faux disappointment is all but lost on her when her eyes brighten, cookie crumbs soon falling from her hands.

“Speaking of, let’s see that bump. It’s been awhile, hasn’t it?” she nearly squeals, reaching forward to lift my shirt.

“Goodness, Skye, assault me much? All you’ve got to do is ask, don’t need to be undressing me now,” my response comes in a giggle, one that soon falls away when her hands fly to her mouth. My lips soon slide into a smirk that I find hard to control at the sight of her, after lifting my shirt the rest of the way.

“Bloody hell, you do have a bump, and it’s getting big! Fuck, I wish my boobs were as big as yours. Totally unfair, that is.”

“I dunno what you and Harry are on about, I hardly see anything,” I remark with a shrug, the smile staying when her hand comes to rub my pale stomach. “I just look bloated.”

“Ree, come on,” she scoffs with a tilt to her lips that to my surprise, remains quiet as she stares at my stomach. “It’s more than just bloated, you idiot. You’re pregnant, you’re having a baby. Sure, it takes a while to show, but you’re starting to!”

“Hardly,” I chuckle, dropping my blouse once she leaned back against the pillow with her cup of joe. “It’s weird being at this awkward stage where I’m pregnant but I don’t look pregnant.”

“I can imagine, but hold on. Take a few steps back to the ‘not knowing when you’re getting married’ part. Do you and Harry really not know?”

“How are we supposed to?” it comes out in a laugh, not as I’d expected at all. “I’m due to pop this baby out around the same time we had it planned for in the first place.”

“So,” she begins whilst blowing on her coffee. Something clicks inside of me when that happens, along with the raise of her brow. “You’re just happy with waiting, and not knowing when it’ll be? That doesn’t sound like you, Ree.”

“Thanks for being depressing, Skye,” I try to say with a laugh, but it doesn’t go over well, because I can’t find one. No, if there was anybody else in the world who could read me like a book, it’s my first grade best friend. “No, I’m not really happy about waiting, but I’m excited about this baby, and what is being married besides vowing to date each other forever? No, it actually is okay. We’ll figure it out. Maybe we’ll randomly go to the courthouse one day- don’t worry, you’ll be invited, if we do. Or just wait and make it grand- you know, once I lose the baby weight or something.” I sip from my peppermint tea with a hand on my bump, knowing that I couldn’t be happier, but still wondering how we’re going to do all of this.

“Don’t be so sad, Ree, my god!” she exclaims with a playful swat to my shoulder. I laugh along with her, but as I stare into my tea, it doesn’t remain for long. She’d hit a nerve and with a cautious glance her way, I can tell that she knows it. “How’s about the house? The six bedroom and three bath with a grand yard, covered porch, marble kitchen island, fireplace, walk in closet, and dare I say, a pool?” she blabbers on in a posh sounding voice, making me laugh this time.

“Good, it’s um, good. I dunno what else to say, Harry’s the one who talks to the contractors and all,” I offer with an outstretched hand, unsure of my words.

“Come on, Ree, you’re building a bloody house!” her boisterous laugh comes. Her eagerness shows, as well as the three glasses of wine she had with dinner. I’m not sure the one cup of black coffee is going to help her much.

“I know, but I dunno- I more so just go over the plans with Harry and approve them, I guess?” I say with a large shrug of my shoulders. “There’s not much to update you on since you last asked about it. It’s a house, they take forever to build. I won’t get to have much fun with it until it comes to like, picking wallpaper and tiling.”

“Well, will it be ready by the time the baby comes?”

“I doubt it, but Harry keeps insisting it will,” I muse aloud, watching the ripples in the brown liquid when I blow on it, feeling the steam grace my cheeks. “It’s fine if it isn’t.”

“Your response to everything is ‘it’s fine,’ since when are you like that?”

Pressing my lips together, I lift my head to meet her curious stare, a tired one after that wine, “I’m just going with the flow, Skye. I’ve found it’s better than being upset about plans being changed. I wanted to get married, then build a house, and then have a baby. But it’s okay, we get to do the baby part first. It’s like dessert before dinner, and I can do that. It’ll be fun,” I tell her, feeling the truth in them as well as the grimy half-lie.

Should I tell her or will she brush it off, as if it’s nothing? It wasn’t nothing to me though, that dream this morning, it’s bothered me all day. I’m not sure how much longer I can go without telling somebody about it, but it scares me to have to recount it, and being afraid they’ll tell me it means nothing. Because that’s the last thing it meant to me, and something inside of me keeps telling me that I shouldn’t just forget about it.

“If you insist,” she sighs, clucking her tongue. “Are you two still meeting Asher and I tomorrow night?”

“Y-Yeah,” I answer shakily, too deep in my thoughts to notice the way the tea burns my lips. What if I can’t figure out what that dream meant, will it be okay?

A cacophony of sounds pelted my ears the second we walked in the door. Apparently we weren’t the only ones with the good idea of trying the new pizza and arcade place on a Friday night.

“Well, this place ‘s neat, innit?” Harry comments as we approach a table tucked into the corner, between skeeball and some flappy bird looking game.

“Yeah, it looks great. Loads of games,” Asher comments when we pull out chairs to sit across from them. “No, don’t sit down. We just ordered the pizzas, but they may take a little while. Let’s go and get started on the games. I saw Pacman and a Supermario game when we came in,” he continues emphatically, already getting up from his seat. Skye laughs beside him, joiningAsher as I let go of the chair.

We pass parents and children, teenage couples, and a few others like us on our way to the front. There, we find the machine that’s replaced the coin contraption back from our day. No, you no longer had to feed coins into each game and have paper tickets spit out at you.

“’s kind o’ sad, dontchu think? ’s all digital now. Ya don’t have tha fun anymo’ o’ counting tha tickets and yer coins,” Harry muses while sliding a card from his wallet.

“It’s easier to keep track of.”

“I suppose, but that’s no fun. It made me day findin’ a lost coin or line o’ tickets on the ground,” he hums with a shake of his head, pressing buttons on the touch screen. “How much should we do, you think?”

“I dunno,” I answer, forgetting the screen showing different dollar amounts and a description of how some games cost more than others. Instead, my attention is pulled to behind me. I’d seen her on our way in, but now, I look again at the mum sitting in the corner feeding her young baby, watching on as the dad holds up their son to shoot basketballs.

“Hey, ’m talking t’ you,” somebody says, nudging my shoulder with theirs. Turning back around, I find Harry’s green eyes waiting for me with furrowed brows. “Right now, we’re kids again with their friends, playin’ arcade games on a Friday night and stuffin’ themselves with pizza. We still have a ways t’ go on that, five and a half months actually,” he notes softly, nodding his head towards the mum.

“Yeah,” I murmur sheepishly, crossing my arms and looking back at the screen.

“I didn’t mean it rudely, Becks.”

“I know. A tenner should be fine, let’s just do that. We can always load more money onto it,” I insist, lifting my feet and clicking them together, like I’m Dorothy and wanting to go back home. Because, well, I do. It’s loud and my stomach hurts, I’m not sure from hunger or nausea, or both.

I’d been excited when we’d agreed to come here with Skye and Asher earlier this week, but no matter how much I tried to push it away, that stupid dream couldn’t be forgotten. Especially since I had it again last night, and I dreaded going to sleep tonight, in fear I’d see that mysterious little girl and that empty crib where our baby should be. It-

“Becks?”

“Wh-What?” I stammer, looking up quickly to find Harry waving a plastic card at me.

“We’re all set,” he announces, stepping to the side so Asher and Skye can buy theirs next. I follow him, moving out of the way for a little boy and his big brother to come through, rushing to the bathroom behind us. “You okay? Not feelin’ sick or anythin’, are you?”

I think about shaking my head, but when I look back into his eyes, I get The Look. The Harry Styles Look. The Look of all Looks. No, it wasn’t the killer stare I’d first familiarized him with when I sat at that desk at the end of his hall. This one came not soon after though, and it’d stuck. Ever since then he could read all of my tells, including how uncomfortable I am right now, or maybe just how I’m overthinking. He knew that look too.

“I’m probably just hungry.”

The curl hanging over his forehead is knocked loose when his head bobs up and down, but I reach a hand up to set it back in place.

“Don’t worry, we’ll get some pizza in that belly soon. I know how you’ve been craving it,” his dimples once again hide under his beard, one that had been growing thicker as the winter carried on. I feel its length when his lips sponge a kiss to my temple, his hand caressing my bump only a few seconds later.

“Thanks.”

After a few games, I found myself getting into it more and laughing at Harry’s competitiveness. I’d learned a long time ago that laughing about it was better than getting mad about it, and also that going to play games with Skye turned out better, watching the boys play from the sidelines.

“You doing okay, Boops? Tummy not good or are you tired?” the question came as I watched the little screen rack up my tickets from a Scooby Doo version of Whack a Mole. Instead of a red button marked with ‘25 cents’ a touchscreen with a card swipe sat there.

“Both, but what’s new?” I murmur, following her past Ring Toss, some car racing game that doesn’t give you tickets, and Space Invaders. At last, we found Air Hockey open and decided to have a go.

“So, what is it really?”

“What’s what?” I replied with an air of faux stupidity, pretending to focus hard on hitting the puck back her way.

“Why have you been acting weird lately? Just because I had some wine last night doesn’t mean I didn’t notice it.”

“Oh, that. You noticed,” I comment, avoiding her eyes even when she gets the puck past me. Bending over, I pluck it from the holder and hit it over to her, following it.

“Yeah, I noticed that. Whatever it is, which by the way, what is it again that’s bothering you?”

“You don’t sound very smart when you’re drinking. You do know that, don’t you?” a laugh is close to my lips, but it disappears almost as soon as it’s thought. As if to spite me, she picks up the glass of the pink hard cider she’d ordered. Sometimes, I missed drinking and how it made nights like these all the more fun.

“Thanks for pointing out the obvious,” she sighs, tsking when I make the puck into her goal. Groaning, she slams the rest of the cider before dropping the puck onto the glow in the dark table. “But really, what is it?”

“God, are you and Harry stubborn,” I remark with a near groan, taking her cue when she hits it hard my way, deciding to do the same. “Fine . . so I had this dream the other night, like a nightmare almost and . . . ,” I carry on, detailing the entire thing to her, almost hoping that maybe if she says it’s nothing, her inebriated mind won’t remember it.

“Good game, glad you could get some rage out on that one, seeing as how you nearly gave me a bruise that one time.”

“Sorry,” the word drops carelessly as we walk away from the table and through a loud pack of kids. She makes a comment about never wanting kids, only to turn to me regretfully with the same word on her face. “It’s okay. I’m probably worrying for nothing.”

“I know you and don’t want to say that myself, but it was just a dream, Ree. Aren’t they like, manifestations of your thoughts and all that jazz? Maybe you saw the little girl once or see yourself in her, and want to protect her. It’s the mother in you coming out, I’m sure. I wouldn’t worry too much about it and what it means, it’s just a dream.”

“Yeah, it’s just a dream,” I agree aloud, more grateful than ever for Harry and Asher stepping in our path, telling us the pizzas had arrived. Sitting down beside Harry and arguing with him about Hawaiian pizza whilst our hands sat on the other’s thigh, this had once been a dream to me too.

But the one about the empty crib and the mysterious girl, no that was almost a nightmare, and I’d had enough of those.

#harry styles #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles au #boss!harry #lawyer!harry #attorney!harry #ceo!harry #lawyer romance #office romance #hecky #becks holte #harry x becky #one direction fanfiction #alternate universe #fanfiction #writing #fic #wattpad #vanchlo writes

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redcameleon · 4 years ago

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SSM 2020 Day 1

Prompt: Stuck with You

Summary: At the end of the war, Sakura was tasked to keep a close eye at Sasuke. Even though things started off awkward, they somehow managed.

Rating: K+. curse word.

A/N: This ended up longer than I expected hehe. Enjoy~

With the war over, there’s bound to be lots of things to clean up after. The Allied Shinobi Forces plans to continue on for as long as possible, which means new treaties need to be made. Damage control needs to occur, and there’s people needing to be healed.

One loose end that needs to be tied neatly into a bow is none other than Uchiha Sasuke. Deciding to come back to Konoha with the rest of them, they can’t just let him loose without supervision.

“What?” Sakura reiterates back after hearing the Hokage’s command.

“Didn’t you hear me? You’ll be keeping a close eye on Sasuke while he’s in the village. Don’t leave him out of your sight. Just make sure he’s not trying to kill anybody. And maybe try to make him feel more comfortable. Surely you can do that, right?”

“Umm but-”

“I mean you’re perfect for the job! No one knows him better than you do.” Do I? Sakura thinks.

“So basically, I’m stuck with him?” She raises a questioning brow.

“It’ll just be for a few weeks. We’ll see his progress and decide whether further supervision is necessary. You’ll report back to me every two days. You’re dismissed.” Having received a direct order from the Hokage, that means she most likely can’t defy it.

Tsunade leans back in her chair, watching her former apprentice walk out of the room. She has to admit another reason why she’s tasked Sakura for the job is for her sake. Tsunade hopes that by doing this, they can begin to repair their bond. She’s placing her bet on them, on things turning out for the better.

Sakura doesn’t even know how to start. Does she just show up at his apartment and pretend that they’re fine? What would she and him even talk about? She can’t imagine how awkward it will be. She knows she’ll have to see him more often now that he’s back in the village. She just didn’t imagine it would be this soon.

She knocks on his door a few times. She hears some footsteps before the door swings open.

“Hi, Sasuke-kun.” She tries to quirk a smile.

“Sakura.”

“Umm I was wondering if you’ve eaten yet. I brough some onigiri for lunch. You still like them, right?”

“Hn.” He steps back into the apartment with Sakura following suit behind him.

Silence.

Sakura is inwardly kicking herself to say something.

“So, what have you been up to?” Is the only thing she can come up with on the spot. She watches as Sasuke turns around to face her, raising his eyebrow. Her gaze is immediately fixed to the missing limb. That might not have been the best thing to say, seeing how he is probably having a hard time doing things with only one arm. He probably has a list of things he wants to do but can’t.

“Is the pain still bothering you?” She manages to stir the conversation.

“No.” She sighs in relief. Even if he feels pain in the smallest amount, she knows he won’t tell her. She decides that she should call it a day in her attempt to befriend (approach? monitor?) Sasuke.

“Well I think I’m gonna head out. I’ll leave this on the table. I’ll see you later, Sasuke-kun.” She lets herself out.

She knows Sasuke is good now. He helped them end the war, and he’s even agreed to come back home to Konoha with them. But even though last time, they were fighting side by side, it still doesn’t excuse the messy tangled thread that is their relationship. She doesn’t even know where to begin to untangle it. A part of her hopes she can undo them. Does he want to though? Or will it be another effortless attempt from her end to salvage what’s left of their relationship? Sakura can’t help but drown in these questions.

The next day, she asks him to come to the hospital for a checkup. She thinks she can make work an excuse to see with him. After all what other choices does she have at the moment?

She sits in her office, holding a clipboard and scribbling down some things when she hears a knock on the door.

“Come in.” The door slides open and Sasuke enters. “You’re here! Have a seat, Sasuke-kun.” He does as he’s told.

She begins to unravel the bandages around his left shoulder, and not long afterwards a familiar green glow begins to appear. She takes her time to examine the flesh and notes down her observation.

“It’s healing real nicely! And I’m glad you're not experiencing any pain.” She covers up the wound with new bandages. “I heard Naruto and Kakashi-sensei are researching on making prosthetic arms. Hopefully they can be done soon.”

“Hn.” She notices his expression seems indifferent. She grabs this opportunity to ask him a few questions she’s been curious to know the answer to.

“How are you doing?” Sasuke turns to look at her, curious at where she’s heading with this question. Sasuke ponders whether she’s referring to his missing arm or something bigger than that. Should he just lie and be done with it?

“Tired.” Sakura is not taken aback by his answer. She does notice the faint dark circles under his eyes. And he does seem more sluggish? She can’t possibly imagine the burden he’s currently carrying. But she’s trying to understand him little by little. She places a hand on his shoulder, trying to reassure him that she’s there.

“If you ever need anything, let me know.” He stays there for a while before getting up and heading for the door. Sakura gathers up her courage and asks him. “Do you wanna grab dinner together?” Sasuke pauses in his step and stays there for a moment, as if he’s considering whether or not he should take her offer.

“Sure.” He opens the door and closes it behind him. A part of Sakura seems to brighten up just a bit. She quickly files his paper in a folder and tucks it in her cabinet. She takes off her coat before exiting her office. Sasuke’s leaning on the wall across from her office. He waits for her until she approaches him.

“There’s this really great dumpling shop next to the hospital and I think we could try that.” Sasuke shrugs his shoulder and begins to walk to exit the building.

“Sure.” She catches up to him.

Dinner is quiet. Sakura doesn’t make tons of comments, deciding to let silence occupy them for now. Sakura notices even though he appears distant for now, he doesn’t seem to reject her or push her away. That part, she’s certain. She begins to hope that things will get better. Are getting better?

It basically sums up their whole relationship afterwards. She doesn’t try to do anything extravagant. All her efforts are just trying to show Sasuke that Konoha is still livable, that Konoha is still their home, that the people living here are not evil, that he can and will heal, that she’s there for him no matter what. Slowly, she feels like her message is getting across to him.

Some days she would bring food to his place and they would eat together. At first, they don’t say anything, but small talks are beginning to be made. Her second tactic is to try to take him around Konoha, letting him see the newer parts of town, even though after Pein’s destruction almost all of Konoha is new. She likes to think he is listening to her whenever she’s rambling on about the shops she likes in Konoha and the new buildings being built, and yes actually he has been.

Other days they spar with each other. Sakura thinks their relationship must’ve progressed a lot of Sasuke to agree to spar with her. Then again, Sasuke seems to be the kind of person to take on a fight with anyone. It might be the only way for him to vent out some pent-up frustration without being punished. They always end up well, though. No one is hurt badly and even if they were, Sakura can heal them in a jiff.

She believes things are finally looking up for them. There’s no more awkwardness between them and Sakura thinks Sasuke is finally getting more comfortable around her. He’s not putting up a guard around her anymore, she’s beginning to let loose a bit more too, occasionally teasing him.

“I think he’s doing really well.” Sakura smiles as she reports back to the Hokage. The older woman leans back in her chair in satisfaction.

“That’s what I like to hear. Now unfortunately I have another mission for you.” Sakura widens her eyes in curiosity. “A nearby village needs our help to heal their sick, and I’m sending you and a couple other medics and jounins.”

“How long will I be gone?”

“Hm.. probably a week. Why? Are you sad now that you can’t be beside Sasuke?” Sakura tries to fight the blush that’s slowly creeping up to the tips of her ears.

“Psh no.” Maybe. Tsunade chuckles in amusement and hands her a scroll filled with the mission’s details.

“You leave tomorrow.”

“I’ve been assigned a new mission tomorrow.” Sakura drops in the news in the middle of their dinner. Sasuke looks up from his plate to look at her. “It shouldn’t take more than a week. It’s nothing dangerous. I think..”

Sasuke hums in response before digging back in his food. This is probably the last meal they’ll spend together before she embarks on her one-week-long mission. Sasuke doesn’t know whether it’s his feeling or if the night is going by quicker than usual.

She leaves first thing in the morning.

Sasuke wakes up later than usual and lets out a heavy sigh. The day is going to be more dull now that he doesn’t have someone to spend it with. He’s gotten so used to seeing her everyday that not seeing her for a week might have an effect on him. Back then, he’s gotten so used to the loneliness. Now that he’s experienced company, he longs for it more than ever.

He hears a knock on the door followed by a familiar voice.

“Oi Sasuke!” Sasuke groans in frustration. “I know you’re in there! Open up!” Naruto hollars, banging the door a few times. Sasuke gets up and opens the door to be met with a grinning blonde. “Oi!” He closes the door back on his face and treads to the bathroom.

Naruto decides to let himself in now that he’s made his presence clear.

“Tsunade-baachan told me to keep an eye on you until Sakura-chan gets back.” Great. One whole week with Naruto. Sasuke curses under his breath. This is going to be a long week.

One week couldn’t have gone sooner enough. Sasuke hears the news that Sakura is back from his mission when Naruto barges in his apartment that very morning.

“Hey, let’s grab lunch with Sakura-chan! I just saw her head to the Hokage’s tower.”

“No.” He dismisses his friend and grabs his coat before heading out of his apartment.

“Wait where are you going?” Naruto reaches out to stop him but Sasuke disappears in a blink.

“Good work Sakura, you’re dismissed.” Sakura bows before making her way to exit the Hokage’s office. “Oh and, I think Sasuke still needs to be kept under close supervision. I assume you’re still up to the task?” Tsunade finishes in a sarcastic tone. They obviously know from her recent reports that they can be sure Sasuke is not going to attack anyone. Sakura smiles before turning back to look at her former Master.

“Yes! You can count on me!” She walks down the stairway, feeling lighter and giddier than ever. She wonders what Sasuke did throughout the week she’s gone. She heard that Naruto had been in charge keeping him company and she can’t wait to hear all about it. As she exits the gate, she notices a figure leaning on the wall. She takes a closer to see someone familiar and walks towards him.

“Hi Sasuke-kun!” She clasps her hands behind her back, leaning forward. “Did you miss me?” Sakura giggles as she teases him.

“Hn.” Sasuke scoffs. I did. He can’t seem to utter the words though. He hands her the plastic bag he’s been carrying. Sakura takes it and peers in to examine the contents. Her face lights up.

“Oh my gosh I’ve been craving for these!” He’s taken the time to bring something from her favorite restaurant. He remembers how much Sakura brags about them.

“Lunch at my place?” Sasuke offers.

“Mm! That sounds lovely.” She smiles as they walk together side by side, the back of their palms occasionally brushing against each other, sending jolts of electricity through their body. “Wait, then will Naruto be there as well?”

Shit. He’s forgotten about Naruto. He scoffs in annoyance which can’t help but make Sakura laugh.

“We can always go to my place.” He thinks, that might not be such a bad idea after all.

#ssff #ssfanfiction #sasusaku fanfiction #sasusaku #sasuke #sakura #otp #redcameleon!writes #ssm20 #ssm20d1

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